(no subject)

[notannie]

It's not uncommon that Ani drops in on Darkholme--he's long since given up trying to make the man answer to his given name--without much or anything in the way of forewarning.

The ability to instantaneously be where you want to be rather precludes that, and the divine mandate to look after someone who doesn't want looking after means it's usually to the better if he gives as few clues as possible to a visit. This time isn't much different, and Ani folds his wings back tightly to make it through the doorway, eyes landing on the familiar face obscured by a bottle rim.

"You're going to kill more brain cells than you can really afford with that, you know," he says. "And gluttony is still a sin."

Comments

[ecclesiophobic]

Another tear, followed by another, and Kurt realizes he's begun to shake. "I can't," he whispers, switching thoughtlessly to his native tongue. The angel's never seemed to have difficulty parsing it before, and his second language feels too clunky for this conversation.

"I have to--I'm the last of us, last to remember. I can't fall apart, Aniel." Which means fighting the urge to lean into the angel and take comfort in the feeling of a warm body against his, of wings and arms that he knows offer peace and security. In his mind is all that's left of his world, and that's too precious to risk losing to madness.

[notannie]

Ani sighs, and breathes slowly, hoping to impart some measure of calm to the man nearly trembling in front of him. "You won't forget, Kurt. You'll always remember them, as terrible as it is. If you stumble I'll catch you."

[ecclesiophobic]

It's that promise which breaks him. Nightcrawler is a thing of darkness, vengeance and bloody justice. But he's never been alone, even in another dimension. The X-Men were there for each other even in their darkest hours. They Bobby held him together after the death of his wife, closing rank to let him grieve, to give purpose to the pain that would’ve consumed him.

Now they’re gone, and Aniel is making the same promise. As much as Kurt despises what he is and represents, the angel has never broken a promise.

Kurt abruptly leans forward, forehead thumping into Aniel’s chest. The sound that comes out isn’t weeping; it’s a pained whine, the sound of a wretched animal somehow clinging to life despite a fatal wound. One of his hands comes up to grasp at the angel’s arm; the other wrapping around himself as though supporting a gut wound.