Carry On

by The_Torch

Summary:

(This is for all the people who want the movie versions of these characters to be together, but forget the significant age gap between them. I fixed it for you. As per usual, the answer is time travel.)

Kurt's not sure why he's been dragged out of lesson to be shot across space-time, because Hank himself doesn't even know why he wants to do it. But in classic comedic fashion, Peter Maximoff manages to screw up a crucial part of the process- couldn't he be a mature adult for once? Not the teenager he once was?

Well. The teenager he...currently is? The sight Kurt wakes up to is quite disorienting. Why is he at Peter's house? Why is Peter a teenager? Why is it 196-
Oh. The machine worked.

...but how's he meant to get back home?
(And what on God's green earth are Erik and Charles doing in the present?)

Chapter 1: From Those Days Of Past

Notes:

Greetings, readers! So, this is my first work I'm gonna post, and it's being written at midnight before mock exams, so if the quality doesn't live up to standards, I hope that's fine. Being that this story is not yet finished (I know where it finishes, I write things in like OneNote then post it here, I just need to write it all), the tags and ratings an' jazz will be updated as I go along. I do not have a beta reader because I don't trust anyone in my life who knows about the X-Men with the information that I write Nightsilver fanfic. I bid thou adieu until the end notes roll. Enjoy!

---

 

 

Kurt knew a few things.
1. He was feeling a bit nervous.
2. He was feeling rather confused.
3. He was feeling quite anxious.
3. He was strapped into a hastily constructed yet diligently built time machine that Hank had created no more than 4 days ago after a supposed 'whiz' of inspiration from 'somewhere in the past'.
5. Kitty was giving him an encouraging smile.
And last but not least,
6. Peter Maximoff was taunting him.

 

"And you're tellin' me, Mr. Beastie, that it won't tear the kid apart subatomic particle by subatomic particle?"
Hank's shrug in a distracted response was not helping Kurt's stomach fall out of it's twist, but did increase the smirk on Peter's face.

"Pretty sure." The scientist responds after a few moments too many of awkward silence, "I just have a hunch that it'll work."

"Oh, don't say that. It will work. Kurt won't be killed. Right? I really don't fancy his blood both literally and metaphorically on my hands." Kitty inquired from where she stood, her aforementioned hands encased in similar machines and straps and wires to the ones that surrounded Kurt himself. None of it made any sense to him. He wasn't even sure how he ended up in this scenario. He let his thoughts drift, all the more to try and distance himself from the "Will Kurt be turned into ashes before our eyes?" conversation.

It had started this morning. Hank had been rather erratic the past few days. Not sleeping, constantly in the underground area of the mansion. Toiling away at a project he insisted had come to him in a dream. But then Hank suddenly had burst into one of Kurt's lessons (mind you, whilst looking like a dishevelled madman), demanding that Kitty, Kurt, and Peter come and witness the machine he had been crafting, his magnum opus. Naturally upon hearing such a proclamation, others had tagged along.

He could vaguely hear their voices over the hum of the electricity, Charles and Rogue embroiled in concerned talk, Logan pacing around anxious, Bobby and Jubilee and Scott playing cards in the corner (and betting on whether or not Kurt would be evaporated). Jean monitoring silently from the door, casting glances at the Professor.

Why Hank had asked for Kitty had become obvious when he revealed his marvel behind the sliding door. A giant, 10ft tall monstrosity of wires, cogs, screws, hubris and metal. There was a capsule for a person to be suspended in as their atoms were replicated and shot across space-time. There was a station for a pair of hands to funnel power into. And there was a large series of computers that Kurt could spend hours picking apart, but never understand.
The station was for Kitty's hands. She'd slot them in, and with augmentation from Hank's machine, her powers would not only project a duplicate of Kurt's consciousness into the copied atoms, but actually send the replicated particles back in time. And space, of course. So it was clear why the little she-ghost was needed.

But why Hank had asked for the quiet student and loud-mouthed teacher was something else entirely. Hank wasn't a man distant from philosophy, but his mind worked mostly in science; facts; numbers. So it was a rather confusing thing for the man to have come out with "I just have this feeling." It was one of those things that did not ease Kurt's tremors. And considering Peter had point-blank refused to step anywhere close to the hunk of time-travel nonsense (mostly on account of the glare Logan was shooting at the thing, partly because he was eating a Twinkie at the time), it was up to the teleporter to step up and give his life (potentially) for science. Hank had asked really nicely after all...

"Kurt?" Hank's voice rings out, breaking his train of thought.

Kurt tilts his head up to face the scientist. His tail tries to flicker in nerves, but is held down. It puts him on edge. If something goes wrong, there's no getting out.
...besides bamfing. But he wasn't sure if he could in time. He wasn't sure of a lot of things.

"So uh...I'm gonna start rolling it now. Kitty? You good?" Hank turns to Kitty, who steels herself by sucking in a breath, and nods.

"20 to 1." Scott mutters under his breath, before placing down a card.
"Are you betting on the idea that Kurt will just die?" Jubilee responds, shocked, placing down her own card. "Just...disintegrate?"
"I mean, look at Hank. He's falling apart. He's probably closer to disintegrating than anyone in that gizmo of his."
All 3 turn to gaze at the scientist, who is admittedly not in the best condition he's ever been in, both physically nor mentally. His eye twitches.
"...Those eye bags could carry the collective global debt and still have room for another coffee." Bobby remarks, laying down his card.
"Snap!" Calls out Jubilee, collecting in the cards as Scott glances at Bobby.

"The machine takes after the creator."
Hank's hand shakes so bad that his coffee mug smashes to the floor; not that he even notices he dropped it.
"40 to 1." Scott mutters with a sly grin.

"Okay. I'm just going to...start it. Yeah." Hank mumbles, and begins flipping on all kinds of switches and turning knobs and pulling levers and pushing buttons, all of which Kurt notes down mentally as he observes the proceedings. Hank's hands keep jumping, probably due to the amount of caffeine the man had consumed over the past few days- Kurt could smell the roasted beans from where he was strapped into the machine, a good 10 feet away. His tail again tried to flicker in nerves, but was caught by the straps.
"Kitty, you gotta be thinking about Charles. This mansion, me and Charles, so Kurt's sent to the right place. You got that?" Hank calls out. Kitty nods in affirmation, too nervous to speak.

For a few moments, nothing happens.

Then, Hank turns a wheel. And something happens.

The lights all across the mansion start blacking out, flickering, bursting as the machine draws in energy from all across the school. The room they're in starts rumbling slightly as the machine powers on, and Kitty lets out a shriek as it starts drawing in her powers through her hands, violently sucking them out as it fills it's hunger. Sparks fly from the computers and steam seeps out of pipes, everyone at the back of the room shelters themselves as Hank hides behind his desk.

And what Kurt feels...why, what Kurt feels is extraordinary.
He knows what he's feeling, and it feels like what it is.
His every atom being scanned, dissected down to the subatomic particle and the pulsing in and out of matter from the foam of the fabric of the universe, and studied as much as anything tangible can be studied. His eyes shoot wide open, and he thinks he yells out, but nothing registers in his ears, only the roar of the machine in his ears as it takes in absolutely everything that is him in that current moment, and analyses it, breaks it down and starts copying it to the other side of the machine.
It'd be an extraordinary sight to see if anyone was bothered looking and not focused on keeping safe.
Slowly, atom by atom, cell by cell, a *second* Kurt was being built from a myriad of ingredients that Hank procured from...somewhere. From the heart outwards, spreading like a mould into the air, into the straps of the machine. A lifeless thing, sure, but a Kurt nonetheless.

Then Kitty shrieked louder, the sound turning into a definite cry as the machine truly began to suck what it needed out of her. It needed her power, and the mechanical monstrosity was going to take it.

Everyone else felt almost frozen in time, the world happening too quickly to react to.

But there was one person there fast enough to understand it.

"Turn the thing off!" yelled out Peter, as he sped over to Hank and hauled him to his feet, dusting him off before grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.
"Turn it off!"

All Hank could do was tremble, murmuring nonsensical sounds as he shook his head, gesturing to the machine and the computers as if it would make Peter understand. He didn't. Peter's eyes flicked over to the numerous switches and knobs and levers and buttons and wheels, and he very quickly runs through the pros and cons in his head of just flipping them all the other way and pushing all the buttons. But he knows enough about computers (and about Hank) to know that that's an objectively bad idea, so he goes with Plan B.

He darts across the room to Kitty, and starts trying to yank her hands out of the machine, in hopes that even if Kurt gets disintegrated, at least he can save the poor girl's hands and psyche. And who knows, it might turn the machine off. With the way the blue mutant is screaming within the machine (and with how there's an eerie creepy second version of him lying limp and lifeless in the second tube thing), Peter knows better than to try and touch that. So he grabs Kitty's forearms, and begins trying to tug her out of position. Hank yells out, but Peter just snarls back "Turn! It! Off!" in retaliation, not turning to address the deranged scientist. Why won't the lunatic just press a kill switch? Did he not include a kill switch? What kinda nutter doesn't include a kill switch in a machine?!

Kitty looks up at Peter, finally taking in what's happening. She cracks her eyes open, seeing Peter right there above her and-

There's an indescribably loud noise, a mix of a whir and a boom and a giant flash of light, and then the world goes dark.

 

 

---

 

Notes:

I feel like my pacing is always off, I don't know, is that something you guys pick up on? Like, I feel like sometimes I can't put down onto a document what's actually going on in my head, I've never been good at descriptions. I just feel like scenes read as more rushed than I intend them to be, even when I do my best to extend the word count. If this is a problem you notice, how could I tweak it in future to be better? Or is it congruent with the time travel theme? Not sure. Hope you enjoyed so far, god knows when I'll update it, I'm a student.

Chapter 2: Back to the...maybe 70's?

Notes:

Welcome back! Don't expect something weekly out of me, please. I'm just trying my best, working with the bursts of creativity I manage to hold onto. But I hope this chapter pleases all...I tried switching between Peter and Kurt without really saying when. I hope it's obvious, but I will say that this is quite Peter-centric. He has a habit of taking things over with his massive ego at this age.

---

 

Whistling...soft whistling.

 

It comes from the birds in the trees. That's something Peter knows. If he wanted, right now, he could run up that tree and find the birds. Pet them before they could ever run away. Fly away? Fly away is a better term. Peter thinks anyway.

Peter's pretty good at thinking. Maybe not thinking things through entirely, but he's pretty good at thinking, he likes to believe. He can do it pretty quickly. So he ends up doing a lot of it, all the time, whenever other people get too slow. He gets a lot of thinking done in those times. People sometimes compare the mind to something like a train station, with all those thoughts being trains. Peter think's it's a little stupid, but if he must use the metaphor, then his mind would probably be a very chaotic train station. Trains departing without permission, shooting by without a care in the world (hitting a couple pedestrians on the way, for good measure), only stopping for the briefest of seconds before zooming away, and all he has left to reel things in is some rope, like he's some cowboy.
He's no cowboy. He's sure he could be one. He just isn't. That's just not him. He's a teenager. He fits being one very well. No plans for the future just yet- he'll figure those out later. It's not like he'll be late. He, of all people, won't be late. How could he be? He's the fastest guy in the world.

So yes, he could likely speed up that tree and pet the whistling birds before they ever noticed...but he's slightly more preoccupied by the thing in his tree in his backyard that his little sister ran away screaming from. It's something he doesn't know. He intends to find out.

(Not because he cares about his little sisters, of course. Just because he's curious. Indeed.)

He takes his hands out of his pockets and huffs, dusting off his palms before he zips up the tree, the world blurring around him as he runs so fast that not even gravity can catch him. The world settles again once he sits on the branch that the thing is on. He leans forward, then reaches up to snap a twig off of the tree (he's sure it won't mind for that long), before using the twig to poke the thing.

Okay, perhaps "thing" is a bit of an exaggeration. It's clearly a boy, maybe his age. That's kind of how it looks. He looks? Maybe. Peter will ask when it wakes up. If it wakes up. It might be dead.
It kind of looks like it. Draped over the thick branch of the tree directly at the halfway point. It has this long, ropy tail that ends in a sharp spade, adorned by little spines all the way down, that hangs similarly limply. Peter reaches out to touch one of the little spines. It feels like the ones on that bearded dragon that he saw one time at a county fair and nearly stole but decided maturely against it (Wanda stopped him, the snitch). He pulls his hand back afterwards- if it wakes up, he's not sure it'd appreciate having it's tail touched. He sure wouldn't, if he was passed out/ maybe dead on a random tree branch in some kid's backyard. In the suburbs too. On a kind of sunny day, with a kind of cloudy sky, clouds that look sort of like acorns and sort of like nameless shapes but Peter thinks he can see a helmet. He likens it to one anyway.

There's a soft groan from the blue thing and Peter's attention snaps back to where it was. Right. This train of thought is priority. Focus on this one. Focus on the blue boy thing with the tail that probably isn't dead because it made a noise. Right.

If Peter looks closely, now that the sun has kinda shifted and the acorn-cloud has moved and the sun can shine down onto the thing, it has all these weird little symbols on it's blue skin. They look a lot like scars. They're definitely symbols of some kind- though what, Peter's not too sure. Maybe it's something to do with the fantasy elf ears this thing has, or it's 3 digits, or it's yellow eyes-

Yellow eyes? Oh. Oh, it's eyes are open and it's looking at him. And he's crouched on the branch, twig still in hand and extended out to it, watching. Mouth slightly agape because he keeps forgetting to close it. Peter momentarily wanders if it has a wallet in it's jacket pocket to steal. Y'know. Whilst it's distracted.

"P-Peter?" A very grumbled and disoriented voice rings out from the thing's fanged mouth, past soft but chapped blue lips, with quite a thick but noticeably German accent layered over top, like water over a fire. Or like fire over oil? Peter can't catch the right metaphor in time before it leaves him. And did it say his name? He's not sure, he wasn't paying that much attention.

"Are you an it or a he? Like, are you a boy or a thing?" Peter asks, trying to be polite about it to the best of his ability, which isn't much because he's not normally polite. He just gets the feeling that he should be to this thing.

"...Was?" The thing replies, blinking a few times before swinging it's head around to try and gauge the surroundings, "Charles...?"

"Charles? Who's Charles? Are you Charles? Does that mean you're a boy, not a thing? Should I be saying he? Are you human? You don't look it. Charles...I know that name. Oh, Charles! He was that drunkard supposed telepath right? Showed up a while back to make me break my dad out of the Pentagon, who's Magneto by the way, as it turns out, I know, crazy, runs in the blood. Literally runs cause I'm a mutant and I'm so quick cause of it. Oh wait, are you a mutant, is that why you look weird? No way, cause like me too? Do you also have a dad like Magneto? Or a mom like that? You kinda remind me of that blue chick who was in Paris, don't remember her name. Why are you even in my backyard?"

To Peter, it's a perfectly sensible rambling where each point connects neatly to the last.
To any standers by, it's so fast that it's like he sped straight to the final period.
To a quite concussed Kurt, it's sort of in between.

"Mutant? Yes...I'm a mutant. And I'm Kurt. And you're Peter. And you know-" Kurt begins.

Peter interrupts, as is natural, "How do you know me? Are you FBI? CIA? DEA? The cops in general? Undercover? Detective? Drunk telepath?"

"...none of those things, no. Can we get down from the tree now?"

"But I'm comfy here. And I don't want you freaking out my sister again. She'd ask for m help and that's annoying and I have much better to be doing."

"I'm very much not comfy."

"Oh. Uh. Sucks. So how do you know me? You FBI? CIA? DE-"

"None. None of those things. It's...complicated. I think."

In all honesty, Kurt's only just about figuring things out now. He woke up after being poked with a stick, but it took his tail being touched and a few moments after that for his brain to truly start up again. When he looked across from his aching position, he saw...Peter. But not quite the Peter he knew.
This Peter was younger, more full of energy and constantly distracted. His hands don't stay still comfortably, and he clearly can't stop himself rambling. The dreaded lines of age, stress and trauma haven't yet made their mark around his deep blue eyes, and the smirk that this Peter is producing prompts Kurt to feel around and check if his wallet is still in his back pocket. Much unlike the relaxed and toned down Peter he had met, both as a teacher and fellow X-Man under Raven's training. And even toned down, that Peter was a menace.
Looking into those eyes had made Kurt worry very hard about what had gone so critically wrong back in the present. In the future? Things are difficult. Kurt sure does hope he's in the past.

Kurt shakes his head, and his tail flickers. It draws Peter's attention. He sits on his own hands to stop them reaching out and grabbing.

"How would you feel if I told you...that I am from the future?" Kurt asks tentatively.

"Oh. Well that would make you the second." Peter responds, letting one of his hands free so he can twirl the twig around his fingers, the thing a blur.

"...Was?!"

"Well yeah, the first was that weird guy with the bone claws. Out of his knuckles, it was insane." Peter mused, nodding his head.

"Oh, Logan? He has not told me of any time travel adventures...but we are not so close yet, I imagine." Kurt similarly muses, rubbing his chin as he ponders the situation.

They both muse on their respective interactions with the brooding Wolverine for a few moments. Quite different experiences.

"Yeah, Logan, whatever his name was. I didn't really care. I just knew he wanted me to steal something so I did. Turns out, get this, he was making me break Magneto out of the Pentagon just to haul him off to Paris! And then, Magneto turns out to be my dad! Wild day." Peter happily rants, content to just let words spill out of his mouth without a care as to who hears him.

Kurt is mildly perturbed, to say the least, but does the sensible thing and doesn't pry- he's seen adult Peter and Erik interact, after all, and doesn't need to see how that goes down with Peter the teenager he is right now.

"And you're saying he came from the future to do it? But Logan has been around so long...I imagine Kitty just projected his consciousness backwards...unlike me." Kurt mulls over his thoughts aloud, not thinking too much about anyone who hears him. The particulars of his thoughts make him look down at himself.

Is this body even his?

It's the first moment he's had to truly comprehend that idea. He was cloned. Sent back in time. Crash-landed in a tree. But heck, he was cloned. Like, there's a second him. And it's this one. These cells, these atoms, these ions. They're...not the ones he was born into, not the ones he's used to. They're just something his mind is inhabiting, if he heard Hank and Kitty right. Perhaps that's why something feels off. Those hands he looks down upon, they may look exactly like his, and be made out of the same materials, and they may function the exact same...but they are not his.

Peter looks on as the boy, Kurt (allegedly), stares at his hands like they're not his or something. Peter's not too sure, never been the best at reading people. Always kind of guessing. Well, he's getting bored. This kid in his tree keeps mentioning that weird Charles guy though. And a cat, apparently. Hey, he still has that card, doesn't he? He stole it and just kept it because nobody asked for it back. If he just-

Kurt glances up at the sudden whoosh of air next to him, trying to reset his hair as he watches there be a Peter there, then there not be a Peter there, then there be a Peter there again. Super speed. Be. Damned. And then there's also the card being shoved way too close to his face. It's...white. And certainly has writing on. If he focuses-
And it's being dragged back to Peter's face again as he reads it.

"You looking for the Gifted Youngsters place? Charles Xavier?" Peter asks, noting how Kurt's tail flickers in recognition, and his head perks up.

"Yes! Charles. And the Institute," Kurt pauses, "Or...what will be the Institute. Perhaps it already is? I'm not sure...Hank did not give me any advice on being in the past."

"Hank? You mean the nerd guy with the gadgets and stuff? And the plan? And the competency?"

"That...that does sound like Hank, yes."

"Mm. Thought so. I could get you there, you know. It's only Westchester. Not that far."

"You could?" Kurt perks up, and actually pulls himself into a comfortable perch on the branch. Peter can't help but compare him mentally to a bird, or a cat. No, definitely a cat.

"Suppose. I could run us there. Take a few days. Or..." Peter trails off, glancing around. His eyes land on the grand prize- the dirt bike his idiot neighbour's idiot kid got for Christmas. Sitting beautifully like a divine gift, a holy sign, in the sunlight, in their yard.

"Or?" Kurt begs an answer, trying to follow his gaze.

"I've been looking for an excuse to nick this beauty," Peter zips down from the tree after finishing his sentence, running his hands over the beast of a machine. Caressing gently. This was a golden oppor-

"Absolutely not." Kurt calls out from the tree.

"Buzzkill! You wanna get there or not?" Peter yells back.

And then the strangest thing happened.

The boy up in the trees closes his eyes, and his tail stills. And then there's a soft bamf sound, and a puff of brimstone smoke...and he's gone?
Gone?! Where?! God damn it. Peter had one excuse to steal the stupid bike (and, on second thought, a responsibility for the time traveller) and now he was-
And then there's a louder bamf from somewhere off to his left, and he turns to see the boy emerge in another puff of that blue sulphur-smelling smoke. The boy doesn't seem fazed in any part by this, and just walks over to Peter with a disapproving look.

"We are not stealing. Anything. I am not a thief, no matter how you feel about the matter." Kurt sighs.

"What? Why not? Kid's gonna crash out in a week anyway, I mean he's about as tall as the thing. And he's an idiot. And a jackass. And ginger." Peter retorts, perfectly reasonably.

"Because that's theft Peter, and it's wrong." Kurt argues back, reasonable too.

"But I deserve it."

"Why do you?"

"Because I'm rescuing you. Or something. Duh. I'm...I'm escorting you. I'm an escort. Like a guide. A knight?"

"We do not need to steal, surely, to-"

"Do you know the way to Xavier's?"

"Do you?"

Now, admittedly, this was a good counter-argument. Peter was kind of just going to wing it, he knew (sorta) where Westchester is. He was also going to ask his Mom. But Kurt didn't need to know that.

"Do you?" He manages to come up with.

"Well, no, but I am not fr-"

"Then it's settled. My route, my way. Get on the bike."

"Don't you want to inform your mother that you're leaving?" Kurt seems genuinely confused that he's not.

"Well," Peter pauses, "I was gonna..."

"Go do it. Now." Kurt manages to be assertive. He's rather proud of himself.

"Fine! Fine. I will." Peter huffs and darts off into the house. A brief and awkward discussion with his mother later, he's back at the bike, watching as Kurt inspects it.

"There aren't any helmets here."

"Would you feel safer with one?"

"Ja."

"Then we'll buy one on the way."

Kurt pauses, and his tail coils around his own ankle, before he huffs in frustration and reluctantly begins to climb onto the bike. Peter gets there first, having stolen the keys whilst the blue boy was huffing and puffing. He sits in front, forcing Kurt to be a backpack. The boy takes a moment before awkwardly hugging his arms around Peter's waist. They seem to slot in just right.

"Wooo! Fuck you, Hunter!" Peter calls out as he jams the keys into the slot, turns them, and revs the engine. A window opens up somewhere above them and there's a tiny gasp of shock, before Peter takes off, only saddened that he can't make the bike as fast as him.

Kurt squeezes him a little tighter.
He prays under his breath.

 

---

 

Notes:

Once again, pacing beleaguers my conscience. I think it's easier writing it with Peter, because I can kind of see how his brain would work in terms of speed, so it's less of an issue. But did this happen too quickly? I imagine Peter's just itching to get out of the house again, and Kurt is kind of trusting anyway. At least the movie version. I hope you all enjoyed it. To whenever I manage to post again.

Chapter 3: Watch Me

Notes:

sorry for literally abandoning y'all same way Erik left Peter, I'm back and will try not to do this again. no promises though, im a hectic writer

---

 

Peter's not the best with people.

 

He's spent a considerable portion of his life in his basement. It's not really some grand revelation. He gets on fine enough with the kids in his high school, is kind of popular in the type of way where everyone knows you and is friendly, but having a conversation deeper than party locations is a begotten dream. He supposes that his little thieving fingers might have something to do with it- but people should really guard themselves better, he reasons. It might be his hair- he was born like it, but most people are under the assumption that he dyed his hair to match some fad, and are repelled. Some girls were intrigued. But those were fleeting.

It might be because, on reflection, he's a bit of a dick. He only really thinks for himself, and that's selfish according to his mother. But she's overbearing and not sober enough to decide that anyway. He's fine.

 

But back to the point. Peter is not the best with people. With successfully engaging with others. It's why he'd been pleasantly surprised that this Kurt individual was easy to talk to- they just kind of easily clicked. Not that conversations are easy when he's speeding a dirt bike down a highway at way past legal speeds. But he gets by.

Back to his point yet again. Reading people, talking to them, he's not easy. Kurt's tail makes it easy to read him (although it is currently firmly tucked around Peter's waist). But others? Not so much. So he has to make do with base judgements. Reading books by their cover, entire libraries by the art on the front. And he's been building his little mental picture of Kurt the entire time he's been speeding.

 

He has come to the conclusion that Kurt is an icky wittle teacher's pet who really needs to be taught how to have some fun.

 

"Bitte, for the love of mein Gott, slow down!" Kurt yells out, into Peter's hair.

It ruffles his locks, and Peter scoffs and takes his hands entirely off of the handlebar to fix it. But only for the tiniest of microseconds. Peter's quick.

Kurt is not having the best time of his life, and he's had his lion's share of bad moments. But at least whilst the main fight with Apocalypse was happening, he was passed out. This was just pure madness. He didn't even know the speed limits, because Peter had sped past the signs. He just knew that they were on the highway, on a dirt bike, weaving between traffic at high speeds without helmets. This was not very agreeable, but Peter would not listen to basic reason. Too wrapped up in his own head.

 

Kurt is not having the best time of his life. By a long shot. Even adult Peter would have gotten a bicycle helmet.

"You are going to get us killed!" Kurt tries to reason with Peter, yet again.

"I am doing perfectly well!" Peter replies, taking his eyes entirely off of the road to look at Kurt.

Kurt grabs his head and yanks it back around the correct way.
Peter swerves just in time to dodge past a semi.
Peter has a smirk on his face.
Kurt does not.

"I am going to die." Kurt gives up, and just buries his head in Peter's shoulder, and begins praying.

 

 

-Meanwhile, somewhere in Westchester, some time from now...-

 

 

"Holy mother of- You killed Kurt!"

"I did not kill Kurt! Nobody here has killed Kurt! Kurt is-"

"Dead! Like, definitely dead!"

"Have either of you two loud-mouthed imbeciles even bothered checking his vitals? On Hank's monitor?"

Jean's voice manages to snap both Peter and Hank back into the present. Neither of them had thought of that yet.

Hank runs off to check all of Kurt's vitals, whilst Peter turns to Jean.

"Well sorry for assuming that that is a very dead boy." Peter points to where Kurt's motionless body is still strapped into the machine, but completely limp.

Not even an eyelid flickers. Kitty had also passed out in the aftermath of the explosion and the energy it was draining from her, but was already being tended to by Rogue and Bobby- Hank had insisted her hands stay in the machine to still feed it. Kurt...well the second Kurt-thing had disappeared. Hank was sure he was in the past.
What that meant for modern-day Kurt...was yet to be explained. At least to Peter. He wasn't stupid, but he wasn't smart enough to immediately know what was happening.

 

Jean sighs, a frustrated noise that makes everyone in the immediate vicinity flinch, "I know things look bad, I'm not blind! Scott, shut up!"

Everyone turns to Scott, who thus far had not said anything. He shrugs, an offended look on his face, but he's not able to defy Jean, so he clamps his mouth shut anyway.

"Things are just...we all need to calm-"

Jean is interrupted by Raven bursting into the room. There's an odd look on her face when she sees Kurt strapped into the machine, as limp as if he were lifeless. Her face forces itself into something impassive, and she tears her gaze off of the boy, onto Charles. With a white-hot fury. Charles raises his hands, but it doesn't stop the angry teacher.

"You! Explain to me what is going on, and what Erik told me! Why is he at the door, pounding on it, yelling about memories and being late? It's you again, isn't it? Meddling!"

"Raven, please, calm, explain to me step-by-st-"

And then, to add to the confusion, Erik bursts into the room. Peter freezes at the sight of his father. He shuffles a little behind Jean, out of instinct. Nobody notices.

"Charles!" Erik roars.

"Old friend, please-"

"No! I just remembered! You tried meddling with my brain, well listen here old friend," Erik steps forward, bracing his hands on the arms of Charles' wheelchair. Glaring at him. He grits his teeth, and points an arm at Peter, "You will not do so to my son."

 

 

-Meanwhile, at a city centre on the way to Westchester, some time ago...-

 

 

When Kurt finally pokes his head up from Peter's shoulder, he's driving at a reasonable speed, because he's trying to find a parking spot in the parking lot of some mall. He recognises it- kind of. It's different in the future. He doesn't remember Peter pulling off of the highway, or slowing down, or when he started humming to himself...he blacked out for all of it.

 

Peter can feel the pressure around his waist and on his shoulder loosen a little as the boy comes out of whatever paralysis he'd been in. Peter had gotten concerned, when he'd done a wheelie next to a cop car, the boy had remained static and motionless and gripping onto him rather than yelling to him about safety and the law. He was pretty sure people don't just turn off like that, so he'd decided to pull over somewhere and maybe actually buy some helmets. Well, buy was an...exaggeration. Peter's quick hands meant that he'd never spent a dime since he was about 12.

Life was good when you were as quick as him.

"You awake now furball?" The nickname slipped out of Peter's mouth on instinct, not any harmful desires.

The nickname stirs Kurt. It's what modern-day Peter often calls him.

"Hra?" Kurt murmurs, still trying to blink back into the world and all it's lights and sounds and smells and things.

"You like, blacked out on me. I did a wheelie next to a cop car, which was epic by the way, and you didn't react at all."

"...you did what?"

"Nevermind."

Peter finds a place to park the dirt bike, and gently kisses it goodbye as they get off of it.
"Another time, my love." He whispers.

Kurt looks on bemused, because they're going to come back. The whims of people were beyond him sometimes. But he doesn't think too hard on it. He's too worried, glancing down at the image inducer on his wrist. Hank had given it to him a few weeks before, as a gift that ended up feeling the slightest bit patronising, but the scientist hadn't meant harm. And it did mean that Kurt could go out in public without scaring people. People tended to run from him. Peter hadn't, but then that did sound like Peter. Not running from things he maybe should do, running head first into things he assuredly shouldn't.

He didn't know too much about the actual technology within the watch-like device. He wasn't confident it would work in...in whatever year he'd ended up in. He resolved to ask Peter later. He leaned down to fiddle with it, testing.

Peter turned to see a different boy standing in front of him.
 

Okay, not entirely different. The tail was still there, and the hair didn't change, nor did the clothes. And he's like, 70% sure the facial structure is the same. But...but that looked like a regular human boy. He whipped his head around, to make sure that both his Kurt didn't get whisked away in the seconds he spent kissing the bike goodbye, and also in an attempt to clear his head, in case he maybe gave himself whiplash and it was causing him vision problems.

"I'm going to guess it works then." The boy chuckles, and that's still Kurt's voice.
Peter has reasonable suspicion that this is still Kurt, but he narrows his eyes anyway.

"Ack. Hold on," Kurt holds up the image inducer on his wrist to Peter, "It is an image inducer that Hank made me. It conceals my...looks."

Peter has half a mind to comfort the boy because he looked forlorn in that moment, but he had slight concerns about being seen hugging and soothing another boy, so he just scratched the back of his head.
"Why do you need to do that?" Peter inquires.

Kurt looks at him suspiciously this time, as if he thinks Peter is joking. But this is one of the rare times Peter isn't! So Peter repeats himself.

"No really. Why?"

"...because I am blue."

"And?"

Kurt is happy and grateful for Peter's nonchalance in that moment, but is slightly concerned that he doesn't understand.

"...because I am blue? And people tend not to be blue? Nor have tails, or pointed ears, or yellow eyes?"

"Yeah, and?"

"I just have to."

"That sucks."

"...ja."

Kurt takes a deep breath, and tucks his tail into his pants, coiling it around his leg to hide it. He nods.

"We should...should go now. Ack, but erm...where are we going?"

Peter grins, something so mischievous that Kurt yet again feels like he should check his back pocket for his wallet.
"To get helmets."

 

---

 

Notes:

this isn't it for today's drop, but yet again, always feel free to drop some constructive criticism

Chapter 4: Pigs

Notes:

lmao we doin' two in one day because IVE BEEN FEELING BAD FOR LIKE A MONTH but ja, enjoy :3

TW// slurs. the f one. it's only once, but if you wanna skip it, just skip over once you see Peter start describing guards in detail

---

 

"So you literally haven't been born yet? That's sick!"
 

Peter lets Kurt know whilst he runs, the not-so-blue-anymore mutant in his arms, the not-quite-paid-for-helmets in the not-so-blue-anymore mutant's arms, and the mall security on their tail. Peter could pretend he was a track athlete, but he was reluctant to run at full speed when he couldn't secure Kurt's neck for whiplash alongside the helmets, and he'd much rather not make two journeys.
Two journeys is always riskier.

So he runs at a fast, but not breakneck pace, the other boy still yelling something about the law and rules or whatever. The kid's a spoilsport and tried to insist he paid for the helmets, which just drew attention. It was only a couple of cheap helmets! Not like, the Mona Lisa! He'd had half a mind to leave him here out of sheer frustration, but no. That was wrong, and he was trying to be better. Well that's multiple lies now. He just felt bad. Pity, really, for this little rule-following schmuck. He needed some excitement in his life! And Peter was right here in all his silver-haired glory, quick as could-

Peter rounds a corner, too wrapped up in his thoughts, and smacks right into another mall cop. What kinda mall is this, with more than one guard? Some kind rich people place? He quickly scrambles to his feet, and tries to haul the other boy with him, but he's dropped the helmets and is unresponsive. Now, of all times? This kid needs to really stop blacking out during the most fun parts of life.

"Come on!"
He tugs at the boy's arm, but he stays rooted to the floor. A hand on his shoulder makes Peter flinch. He doesn't like surprises, being shocked like that. It reminds him of kids shoving him into lockers when he was younger. Calling him some kind of sissy for growing up around only girls, not having his dad around. Kicking him down, stealing from him, ganging up on him, sneering and laughing and mocking him whenever things like Bring Your Dad To School Days happened and Peter would have to sit by himself. It used to make him mad enough to light on fire, if that had been his mutation. Instead, he'd normally shake and tremble and start hitting kids, fighting the other boys in his class until they learned to leave him alone. His mother had gotten tired of constantly bailing him out of class for getting into fights. Sometimes he wonders if that had contributed to her habit of drinking. But it wasn't at all his fault! He couldn't help it! Why couldn't his dad have been there to bail him out? Why couldn't his dad be here to bail him out? Oh yeah, because he was too busy being a convicted terrorist!

All of this anger boils up in less than an instant within Peter, and before he can stop himself, he turns around and decks the cop in the face. Hard. Hard enough that he stumbles back. Peter has enough time to read the nametag. Paul.

By this time, Kurt is in a ball on the floor, curled around himself and desperately murmuring prayers to himself, hands over his ears. It reminds him of some kids he's seen at school before- but those kids got taken away by teachers so Peter could ignore them. He couldn't ignore this.
It was incredibly frustrating. He scrambled to grab the helmets, and tried to hoist the boy into his arms, but without active support or shock on his side, the boy stays on the floor. Peter's strong, but not that strong, not when he's moving at normal speed. Peter's mind is now moving too fast for him to get a hold on it, and if he wasn't actively trying to evade authorities, he would have probably curled up in a ball too, like he sometimes does when nobody is in the house and he can be alone. But he has to be responsible. So he keeps tugging, and Kurt keeps resisting, and then other cops get there, and Paul with his broken nose stands up, and begins talking into his radio, and Peter is just about to beat up all the cops, all the bullies, everyone in his immediate sight when he's hit in the back of the head by a baton, and loses consciousness.

 

He wakes up on...on a cold, hard surface. It's got the tiniest bit of plushness to it, as if it's based on something like a mattress, but designed for some Soviet prison to torture prisoners out of sleep. If he creaks open his eyes, he sees...bars. Long, tall, iron bars that stretch from floor to ceiling, a door set into them.

He's in a cell.

It's dingy, and the room feels suffocating in it's...blandness. Like someone had $2 in their pocket and maybe half a tin of beige paint and was charged with making a cell to hold convicts in. It's demoralising, depressing, dehumanising. It makes him feel trapped, instantly. It puts him on edge.

And in the corner, is Kurt. Meditating softly, murmuring prayers under his breath. Blue Kurt again. And looking...worse for wear.

Peter has half a mind to walk over and hit him, but he's reeling from the hit to the back of his head.

He feels in the back of his hair, onto his scalp, and winces. When he retracts his hand, he can see blood, and he grimaces. He'd heard that police could be brutal in some areas, but maybe he'd gotten too complacent with the lazy pigs who were in his suburb. Because this shocked him, just a little bit. He did suppose he broke Paul's nose...but this seemed a little excessive. He just tries to focus on getting the blood out of his hair.

It's silent, besides for the soft murmuring of Kurt's prayers. The boy's voice carries through the air, and Peter catches wisps of the words he recognises, because they were drilled into him during kindergarten. But he'd long forgotten them. Not just because he's Jewish, and didn't believe in a Christian God. But because what kind of God would deprive people of essential things? Like, for a random and unbiased example, fathers? He just didn't like the concept. It stifled him too much as a kid. Even in here, it's kind of stifling. Unsettling. He didn't want to ponder faith right now. What he wanted to do was break out of this cell and get back to his bike, deliver this kid to his stupid mutant school, and then go home and resume his normal life. His normal life. His kind of normal life.

He swung his legs off the bed, and winced a little, the movement jostling his brain and upsetting his injury. Kurt peeks open an eye. Okay. So no running anytime soon until this cleared up. It was frustrating. It was like being deprived of one of his limbs. He might as well be deprived of his legs. What use was he if he couldn't run?

He groaned and stood up anyway, forcing himself to get up and pace around so he doesn't just slump away on the uncomfortable cell bed and be depressed. He can get lost in his head sometimes.

"Are you going to say anything?" Peter snaps at Kurt, who's been watching him.

"You're awake." The mutant replies, as if this entire situation isn't his fault, and Peter gets frustrated all over again.

"Yes! I know that! And my head hurts and I can't run and it's all your fault! You couldn't have just let me run?"

Kurt watches with those yellow eyes of his. They're these golden smears of swirling motion, all shades from rosy golds to sunny yellows, and they hold this kind of...wisdom in them. It's not easy for Peter to describe. Maybe somewhere behind those eyes was a life lived that was much longer than his years, the answers to the universe woven into their ochre depths. It's palpable, and it's with these eyes that Kurt watches him, and gently answers him.

"...no. Theft is wrong."

And it just makes his answer all the more frustrating. Because now Peter feels like he's the unreasonable one. He doesn't like feeling wrong. He doesn't like feeling wrong at all.

"And what about when you froze up on me and I got whacked in the head by some prick in a pig's uniform!?" He retaliates, with anger.

"I could not help that." Kurt says gently, trying to keep his own cool.

 

Peter couldn't possibly know, understand. Barely anyone of this era would, let alone an isolated teenage boy. He understand the frustration. He feels it every moment of his life. He carries the guilt on his shoulders. When he'd nearly blacked out trying to teleport everyone out of the Blackbird in Cairo...he'd only succeeded in staying conscious due to all the hands on him, whoever had been gripping onto his tail. And then the bamf, and the passing out. He'd needed a lot of time to recover from that.
And now...he'd only calmed down by forcing himself back to the present whenever the officers were taking his image inducer off of him. He'd needed to be conscious for that.

 

"You-" Peter paused, then sighed.

He gritted his teeth...then turned to punch a wall. He did it until he'd calmed down into his usual, cheerful, jovial self again, and then he sat down next to Kurt.
"Okay. So. We're here now. We gotta get out."

Kurt turns to see him.

"You mean a prison break?"

"Please don't tell me you're such a prude that you think we'd last more than a night in here."

"I'm just hesitant for more law officers to be wounded, or APB's to be put out on us."

"Nobody's gonna hunt us down. We're fine. Look, I'll get us out of here, go pay for some helmets, then we go back to the bike and we'll be fine. We'll get you to Westchester, to Xavier's place, and all will be well."

Kurt hesitates, before shuffling closer, and resting his head on Peter's shoulder. He's still not quite sure why he did it, but he did.

"I hope." The German says, softly.

It gives Peter pause. His stomach clenches a little. It's quite...affectionate of the boy. He almost shuffles away, but he grits his teeth and bares it. Kurt seems like he needs it.

"...you're blue again."

"I noticed, believe it or not."

"You don't need to snark me. I'm just saying...when did that happen?"

Kurt sighs, and glances down at his wrist, where the device used to be.

"When we got taken in. I was still...out of things, as were you. They took our personal effects...including the image inducer, thinking it was a watch. They were quite shocked to see the real me."
Kurt took a deep breath.
"They were not...happy."

Peter glances at the boy then. He had some bruising...he didn't remember it happening before he'd been knocked out. It painted a grim picture. Mutants were far from accepted. Peter was impartial to Kurt's looks, mostly because he was a mutant himself. But his mutation was invisible...he hadn't really ever considered what life would be like if it wasn't. Not until right then.

 

He feels sympathy, not pity, then.

 

It's a peaceful, silent moment between the two of them. Each understanding exactly what Kurt is implying without forcing him to say it. Forcing him to verbalise it would be cruel.

 

And then there's a banging at the bars.

Two guards stand there. One of them has a cigarette hanging out from between his lips, and momentarily, Peter is jealous. A smoke would clear his mind right now, calm him down. The feeling of it between his lips usually calmed him down, even before the nicotine hit him.
One of them, Cigarette-Pig (as Peter denotes him), is tall, has this pointy goatee that doesn't sit right with the wisps of sideburns he's clearly trying to hide. His skin is pale like he spends too much time indoors, and there's a really noticeable mole on his nose. He's lanky in the kind of way Peter is- there's strength there, but it's a body built for speed.
Except nobody is built for speed like Peter is.
Cigarette-Pig has these sunglasses on, that completely reflect all light. Peter can't see his eyes, can only see himself, Kurt resting against him. Peter inches away then. He's also leaning on the bars of the cage, arms crossed, cocky in the worst way. It reminds Peter of bullies at school.
There's the second guard too. This one is particularly ugly to Peter. Maybe it's the rush of acne that clearly never grew out of the greasy skin, or the fact that said grease is causing the man's hair to fall down against his head like someone ran coconut oil through it, or maybe it's the man's demeanour. Looking down at them. Grease-Pig. Grease-Pig is twirling his baton in his hand, smirking a devious smirk down at the two mutants, his other hand in his belt loops.

"Well, Stevens, looks likes we caughts us some muties. Fresh thievin' ones at that." Grease-Pig manages to push the words out of his thick mouth, like he has to push through peanut butter to speak.

"Well well, Smith. It does seem like we have ourselves a pair o' delinquent freaks. Y'see how hard the lanky one hit Paul? He's a quick one, he is. Not even talkin' about the meltdown that this elf was havin'." Cigarette-Pig's voice sounds like he's one of those boys who got castrated to sing opera. He works as a pretty effective anti-smoking campaign for Peter- he's considering giving up on the spot, just to not be associated with this slimeball.

Kurt seems...used to this. Peter has to hold back his trembling rage, his urge to retort and retaliate. He doesn't want to be hit again.

Grease-Pig raps the bars of the cell with his baton, "Oi! Circus freaks-"
Kurt flinches at that.
"-do something entertaining then! Go on. Kiss or something."

Cigarette-Pig chuckles, "Yeah. Reckon they're a couple o' faggots too, eh? All snuggly?"

Peter's skin bristles. He inches further away from Kurt, who just looks...despondent.

"Bet we could make 'em. Is uh, is Rhodie around? Big boss?" Grease-Pig snorts.

"Nah. He's in. We cain't hurt 'em. Not with his suck-up arse." Cigarette-Pig grumbles, disappointed.

"Y'know, I can't wait until 'e gets that DA job and gets off our asses."

"Same here. These...things belong in one of them facilities, not here. Takin' up valuable prisoner space."

Grease-Pig snorts at that, and raps the bars with his baton again.

"Come on. We're only havin' fun. We're just boys. We're all boys, ain't we?"

Peter bristles. He's heard that justification before. He's beaten up kids for that. He flares up, anger burning with a passion, same as when he hit Paul, and he-

 

Kurt's hand on his shoulder stops him. Kurt gently shakes his head. No.

Peter bristles again, enraged...but then calms down, and just goes despondent too.

"Yeah, listen to yer boyfriend. Freaks. Muties. No fun. If only Rhodie weren't in..." Cigarette-Pig mumbles, and stalks off.

Grease-Pig takes one last opportunity to spit on the floor in front of them, raps the bars again, and then leaves. He takes care to flick the lights off, so they're drenched in darkness.

 

It's a long time before either of them talk again.

"...why?" It's Peter's voice, murmuring ever so softly. Glancing at Kurt.

"...because anger is not the way to deal with people like them." Kurt responds, soft in turn, looking at Peter.

"It's been pretty damn effective so far in my life." Peter retorts.

"And it's been scarring for me, in my life." Kurt murmurs back.

Peter doesn't have a retaliation for that.

"We should...we should flee. Escape this place. In case that Rhodie guy leaves and the pigs come back." Peter starts looking around.

Kurt gently grabs his arms.
"Suck in your breath."

The sudden command in such a confident way actually gives Peter pause, and he obeys without thinking, sucking in his breath.

Kurt takes a deep breath of his own, and then-

Bamf!

 

---

 

Notes:

always unsure, as is every writer. worried i lost the touch of Peter's mind a lil, but hopefully the angst clears everything up here. comments welcomed and encouraged <3

Chapter 5: Sitting In a Tree

Summary:

idiots get lost

Notes:

:3
workin like a dog, feelin like I'm gettin nothing done dawg. hope this is okay. it's a shorter one, but i had a burst of creative writing energy that literally immediately died the moment i picked up my laptop and i spent 3 hours looking at nightcrawler stuff on pinterest. enjoy

---

 

"You could have done that the whole time?!"

Peter is very much about to be understandably upset, when he's interrupted by Kurt's gentle voice.

"Not...quite. I can't just bamf for free. It's tiring to do so, and if I do it too much, or I try and bamf too much or too far in one go...I'll pass out. Stress worsens the problem."

Peter is still upset, but he's working on being more reasonable, so he takes a deep breath, and looks around. They're back in the mall. Kurt looks...even more worse for wear, but still standing. This kid is like a living punching bag. Peter's about to comment on it, when he decides against it, just nodding his head, indicating that Kurt should follow. It might be disrespectful after he just got beaten up by corrupt cops.

Peter leads them, in fresh simmering silence, back towards where the dirt bike...was.
Was?
Was?!

"My bike!" Peter calls out in utter distress. He'd looked really cool riding the thing, and now it's gone! Disappeared!

Kurt looks on, tempted to call Peter a massive hypocrite, but decides that he'd better come to that conclusion on his own. For once.
"I imagine it's in impound. The police caught us stealing helmets, after all..."

 

"But how'd they know this one was mine? There are plenty of bikes here..."

"I imagine it was registered as stolen."

 

That gives Peter pause. He comes tantalisingly close to realising that he's a massive hypocrite in this instance, but ultimately decides against acknowledging the fact, for the sake of his own ego.
"Well...what now? Steal a car?"

"No more thieving! Haven't you seen it gets us into trouble enough?!" Kurt calls out, very quickly getting fed up. He can feel his tail lashing about behind him, swishing and thrashing. It does that when he's angry.

"Jesus...don't get that tail of yours in a twist...and stop yelling. We just broke out of prison. You'll draw the attention of more...cops." Peter stops himself from saying pigs, because Kurt seems to be having a plenty nice time sucking up to the big butt of the law.

"We'll...walk. Hitchhike. Just not thieving." Kurt determines.

Peter takes a deep breath, "You...need to have some fun. But fine! We'll walk. It can't be that far...and anyway, we can camp."
A smirk emerges on Peter's face.

"I was a Boy Scout."

 

 

-A very windy and in-the-wrong-direction trek later-

 

 

"I dropped out of the Boy Scouts, in all honesty."

Peter admits, glancing up at the approaching storm through the canopy of the forest. Damn blast the weather.

 

"Is it bad to say I was doubting you ever were one?" Kurt inquires, only kept somewhat warm by his fur- but if it got wet and soaked, he knew he'd be in for a bad time.

"Not really." Peter responds with a shrug, tucking his hands into his pockets, "We should make a shelter or something though."

Kurt nodded, looking out at the expanse of the woods from the hill they stood upon.

Now, one might question how these two boys ended up in the middle of the woods, actually further from the Institute than when they had began walking. Well, it involves a little bit of male ego, a lot of refusing to ask for directions, and an unfortunate incident with a herd of deer and a wasp nest that Peter was still recovering from, scratching his stings despite Kurt's warnings. So, in short, it was Peter's fault, but he was blaming Kurt for getting them arrested in the first place. Kurt was silently regretting ever being nice to Hank.

A gale was building, howling through distant trees and beginning to batter the ones closest to the pair. The blades of grass not crunched beneath their feet held fast with their roots as they were tossed and turned about, and both boys' hair began to be a hassle. The already darkening sky began to seem menacing in nature. Like there were things hiding in the darkness that surrounded them, faces in the vast expanses of bark and leaves, evil waiting to pounce whilst they were weakened.

"Do you know how to make a shelter?"

"Do you?"

"Nein."

"Me neither."

Both boys stood there, silence brewing. Peter might have invited Kurt closer, the boy beginning to shiver, but his pride prevented him from doing so. It would be a practical choice, for Peter's insane metabolism kept him warmer than a furnace. And Kurt needed it.
But he just stood there, looking around as the biting wind approached.

 

"Can you climb trees? We could...climb a tree. Each." Peter suggested, running out of real ideas. He had a few, but none of them sounded particularly appealing. If his stupid concussion would go away, he'd just grab Kurt and run. He wants to run.

"...Ja. I can climb." Kurt nods slowly, glancing up at the trees surrounding them. He wasn't new to living outdoors. When he'd had to flee from the circus, he'd been hiding in a place somewhat similar (except in Germany)...before he was caught by the stage hands and brought back, and then sold to the cage fights, a long story. He knows what to look for vaguely, is what's important.

He meanders his way over to a particularly sturdy oak, one whose twigs weren't threatening to snap in the gusts of the storm. He took a moment to mentally map out where he'd be climbing, before he begins to scale the trunk. Peter, watching on, yet again mentally compares the boy to a cat. An agile one. He finds himself watching on until the boy is settled on a branch, protected from the wind by the vast trunk of the tree. Kurt settles there, coiling his tail around the branch he's sat upon for stability's sake, and gentle closes his eyes.
Peter's gaze lingers before he's hit by a leaf, and reminded to find his own tree. He eventually does, and he has to actually climb it- which is harder than Kurt made it look. He fails a few times, but Kurt never mocks him. Odd. He would have mocked Kurt.
Once he's settled, he stares up at the approaching clouds, shaped like motorcycles...but maybe that's him still yearning for the lost part of his soul. He really liked that bike. Maybe their shapes are of squirrels and dragons and helmets and now he's back to bikes again. Maybe they're just shapes. Meaningless ones.
Peter's not really into that kind of thinking, so he goes back to finding lines between the stars, shapes in the clouds.

The rain, harsh and bitter and angry at the world, slams down against them with a hatred. With a conviction, trying to wash away their sins and wash them out whilst it's at it. It feels like knives digging into their skin, soaking them to the very bone, chilling them to their souls.
But Peter can see that Kurt is having the worst of it.
Kurt's shivering and shaking, and keeps shaking like a dog to try and get all the water out of his hair and fur, but all it does is come right back. His tail keeps slipping off of the tree, and he keeps having to coil it tighter and tighter to ensure he doesn't fall off. He wasn't quite planning on spending his time this way. But he endured, for he'd endured worse storms than this. His still-bruised body ached each time a raindrop the size of a chunk of hail smacked against a recovering sore spot, and his teeth were chattering, fangs dangerously close to biting into his own lip. Cowering. Despite all his bravado and refusal to say a word, the boy was cowering.
It was a bit of a pitiful sight. Peter, though wet, was still somewhat *warm* at least. Kurt didn't seem it.
The dampness of his fur locked the cold in, not allowing him to try and heat himself up without the cold seeping it's way back in quicker. His hair clung to his head, blurring his vision as he tried to blink it clear. He wasn't going to be sleeping, not anytime soon.
It was assuredly a pitiful sight. And Peter...he has an ego problem. But he's not a monster.

 

"Kurt." He calls over the storm. He notices the boy's tail flicker in acknowledgement, but not much more.
"Kurt...c'mere."

Kurt lifts his head, peering through rain-soaked vision at Peter. But the boy, in his own tree, seemed serious, and so Kurt gathered himself, and-

Bamf!

 

Kurt appeared in a puff of that brimstone smoke, crouched on the branch in front of Peter. His teeth were chattering too much for him to risk speaking, and he'd just end up with leaves or rain in his mouth anyway. Peter, somewhat reluctantly, opens up his arms, and beckons Kurt closer.
Kurt's hesitant to take him up on the offer. He'll just make Peter more cold and more wet and more miserable. But Peter narrows his eyes, and pouts, and Kurt sighs, and moves closer.
Peter doesn't let him snuggle up entirely, but does hold the boy in his arms. Kurt instantly feels the warmth radiating from the speedster, and he has to resist getting as close as he can. He relaxes a little, and his tail can settle, coiled around the branch they're sat on. This feels...nice. Being held.
Holding the boy. It feels...nice.

So they grit their teeth, and wait through the night for the storm to end. Once the rain stops pummelling them, they find themselves exhausted enough to slip into sleep.

 

---

 

Notes:

criticism + comments always welcome. these two are absolute idiots. peter is a little teensy weensy bit 70s boy homophobic rn, but he gets better i swear