Beginnings

With permission from Kate, the drabble that came of us talking about Kurt's introduction to religion. Set shortly after Gemile was taken away.

Originally posted to x-project.

There was a creak as the heavy church door opened a crack. Not so much, just wide enough to admit a skinny, blue-skinned boy. It was raining outside, and cold, and his teeth were chattering. Water dripped from his clothes, worn but clean and well-mended, and his bare feet left small puddles as he glanced around, making sure the room was empty.

There was no plan, only a hurt and miserable boy looking for a place to shelter.

There was a sudden noise, a door opening and footsteps echoing through the little church. The boy looked around wildly and spotted a small cupboard-like structure and dove into it with a sudden flurry of movement. Just in time – even as he pulled the door mostly-closed behind him, an older man dressed in black came into the church proper.

Father Michael hummed a little under his breath as he went about his duties, his voice a slightly cracked but still pleasant tenor. Certainly he had one of the village women to keep things tidy, but he liked to tend to the church himself on quieter days. Just him and God. Or at least mostly just him and God – he frowned a little at the wet marks on the floor near the door. Footprints, but strangely shaped. A small movement caught his eye and he looked over to the confessional; protruding from the door, twitching slightly, was the pointed end of what looked suspiciously like a tail. A blue tail.

The door to the space next to him creaked open and Kurt sucked in a breath, body stiffening despite the shivering. The small box-like space stank of wet fur and wasn't really much warmer than outside, and now he was about to be caught. What would the man do? Alert the police? Hurt him? Have him taken away the same as Gemile? At that thought, a strangled noise escaped him, not quite a sob and he clapped his hands over his mouth. Then there came a voice, quiet and calm:

"Do not be afraid, my child. You are in God's house, and he will not see you harmed."

He blinked, confused. Why was the man speaking to him? "It… it was raining," he stuttered, feeling the need to justify his presence, to reassure the man he'd meant no harm. "I only meant to shelter here."

"That is what a church is for, to provide shelter." The man's voice was unruffled, soothing.

"To anyone?" The question popped out before he could stop it, driven by curiosity and his desperate need to belong somewhere. "No matter what they look like?"

"God sees only your soul, the good inside you," Father Michael replied gently. "He makes no judgements."

No judgements? Kurt frowned. It sounded like a trick. "I do not think you would be saying that if you could see me," he said, a little bitterly. He'd heard the whispers from the other clans, saw the shocked expressions on the faces of the townsfolk they performed for. Demon. Monster. Only his family accepted him fully, and now they'd betrayed him, letting that man take his little sister away. His arms still hurt from where Stefan and his father had held him back.

"There is talk, in the village, of a demon acrobat who travels with the Rom," came the soft response. "I tell them there are no demons but what is inside of us. You are safe here, my son, from whatever it is you are fleeing."

"I'm not fleeing…" Kurt began, his pride stung a little. "I'm just… I just needed some time," he continued, a little lamely. "To think."

"This is a good place for that," Father Michael. He paused, and then added. "If a little cold. There is a fire in the vestry, and I was about to have some coffee, if you would like to join me."

Warmth would be good. Coffee even better. But it was easy to say such things without seeing the person you were speaking to and this man had no reason to be kind to a dirty gypsy. But his refusal was interrupted by a sudden sneeze. "Perhaps just a little while…"

"A little while is fine." There was a creak of wood as the man rose and left the little box-like room. Then his voice came from outside Kurt's door. "My name is Father Michael."

Kurt took a deep breath and pushed the door open, standing as tall as he could. "I am Kurt," he said, fully conscious of the man's eyes on him. "Kurt Wagner. In the circus, they call me the Amazing Nightcrawler."

Father Michael's eyes crinkled at the corners. "The Amazing Nightcrawler, is it? Very well, let us fetch a towel for the Amazing Nightcrawler to dry himself off, and then there shall be coffee. And cake, if Frau Schmidt has been baking today, which is entirely likely."

A small smile appeared, and Kurt nodded. "Cake would be good, yes."