Son.

She is words muttered by the fire, she is the scent of herbs, warm milk and sweet honey. She is dark eyes that looks at him with love and devotion. "One day", she says as she watches him whirl and twirl from one branch to another, somersaulting through the air with such ease. "One day the sunshine will be your playground."

He lets go of the branch and lands in front of her, smiling happily, knowing that what she says is true. One day he will play with other children; the children that lives in the towns and villages that they visit. One day he will be like everyone else. In pure joy he dances around her like a butterfly, a dark indigo coloured math, almost invisible in the night.

She laughs at him and runs her fingers through his tousled curls, she gives him a kiss on his forehead. "Now run along and help Stefan with the tent."

"Yes mama."

Brother.

He runs through the streets, the cobblestones are slippery under his feet but he wont trip, he never trips. Graceful as a cat he is, and just as quite. Behind him is a scene taken from a nightmare - a room drenched in blood, a small body thrown on the bed like a discarded rag-doll; innocent eyes staring blindly at a cracked ceiling, lips parted in a scream, soft cheeks still wet from tears.

In front of him awaits a new nightmare.

"Stefan!" he calls the name as he turns around a corner and catches a glimpse of a pale face distorted by insanity; eyes burning with madness, lips parted in something between a laugh and a scream, cheeks spattered with blood.

"Stefan, please!"

Please what? He doesn't know. He prays to a God that has forsaken him as he follows his mad brother through a narrow alley and across a empty market place. He catches up with him just outside the graveyard. Such a fitting place don't you think?

He launches himself at the much bigger man; a crow that attacks an eagle. "Why?" he cries as he holds his brother down. Stefan grins at him. "Because I can." The man's eyes closes and tears start running down his cheeks, mixing with the red. "Because nobody stopped me."

"Oh, Stefan..." His voice is soft and filled with love. The monster lying beneath him is still his brother and his heart breaks for him.

"Why didn't you stop me?!" Stefan is suddenly angry. "I tried", he starts, but Stefan isn't listening, all he hears now is the voices in his head. Powered by his madness Stefan rolls them both over, pinning the much smaller man beneath his bodyweight.

Eager hands sneaks around his throat and starts to squeeze. "Stefan, please..." he begs with his last breath. All he can see is the insanity shining out of his brother's oh so familiar eyes. He closes his own and with a booming rush of imploding air he teleports himself away from Stefan's lethal grip, that same struck-match reek, and he lies on the grass a few feet away, breathing in deep gasps.

Stefan screams in rage. And as he nimbly flips back on his feet to meet him he knows that this will be a fight to the death.

Friend.

"Shh, kid. It's just a nightmare."

He forces his eyes open, his breath coming short and hard. Soft, cool fingers brushes against his forehead. Even though he never asks any questions Logan seems to know so much about him. Why is that? It is as if he can read all of his own secrets in the man's dark eyes. It is frightening and thrilling at the same time.

He sits, suddenly shivering in the cold morning air. The blankets have, as usual been kicked off the couch and are lying on the floor. Logan, beautiful even in the ugly, grey morning light, picks them up and gently pushes him back against the pillow. The man wraps the blankets around his spare, taut body, a dancer's body. Making sure to tuck him in properly as if the teleporther were a child and not a grown man.

It is a secret between the two of them, how gentle Logan can be, how little Kurt sleeps.

"Sleep", Logan whispers. "I'll keep the nightmares away."

Obediently he closes his eyes. In the dim light that long sweep of dark lashes looks damp, as if with tears... Logan runs his fingers soothingly through soft, black tousled hair.

Lover.

Lean fingers tugs at his hair, pulling him close for a kiss. He nips at a full lip with his sharp teeth and is rewarded with a sigh and the sense of her smiling against his mouth.

Her.

The fair maiden, ever young, eternally old.

He embrace her, unashamedly aroused. Her skin is honey gold beneath his indigo dark fingers and she is beautiful, oh so beautiful... Like moonlight on a serene lake, like the play of fire in a forest clearing, like...

All thoughts disappear from his head when he feels her opening up to him. A wild, wet flower. She pulls him close once more, her lips finds his mouth and he cant hold back a throaty growl when she guides him inside of her. The feeling of her fingers digging into his shoulders as she urges him on, the delicious sense of her warmth and tightness, it can only be a dream...

But dreams are all he has. He keeps his eyes closed and moves, moves until his breath is jagged and he is balancing on the brink and gazing down. Praying to fall. With a final thrust he loses himself in her, in the dream of her. Muscles tightening almost painfully, rapid shivers crackling across the surface of his skin like static electricity; all the months of tension unravelling, ebbing away as he his shuddering and sobbing, his body wracking with shivers long after he is spent.

The play is over. His eyelids flutter but he keeps them closed, not wanting to leave the warm, beautiful woman in his dreams. He sighs when he takes in her beautiful features; her full lips, her dark eyes that look at him with love and devotion.

This, with her, he thinks as he reaches out and brushes a strand of dark hair away from her soft cheek, it cannot be anything but a dream...

The End