Sins. He had commited so many. The pain, the torture, the terror he had caused, the fear he had struck in hearts. The people he had, whether intentionally or not, killed...was this really the life for him?

Kurt pondered this and more as he sat upon the rooftop of the mansion, watching the sun come up with glazed-over eyes. Scott had told him, "Think of it this way: for every bad person hurt, a good one is saved." But was that enough, the isupposed/i saving of a good person, to fix the sin he had commited by knowingly harming another, bad or not? The violent lifestyle made him sick and his pillow was regularly stained with tears.

But Kurt couldn't tell anyone. He couldn't tell anyone that he blamed himself for Jean Grey's death. He couldn't tell anyone that he cried himself to sleep at night. He couldn't tell anyone that he felt like a monster. He needed them to think he was strong. He needed iOroro/i to think he was strong; and he was going to be strong, after he had paid for his sins. He wanted to be pure and right to even look at her; just because Kurt looked like a monster didn't mean he had to act like one.

The wind ruffled his coat tails as Kurt huddled upon the tiles of the roof, and withdrew the thin blade from it's sheath. The rising sun reflected off the knife and gleamed in Kurt's eyes as he placed it carefully on the warming tiles. It remained there only for a second as he shrugged off his jacket quickly, exposing his naked upper body to the harsh early morning wind. It was bracing and he gave a soft sigh as he picked the knife up again.
Kurt pressed the blade against his arm until there was firm pressure and carefully, so as to make no mistake, drew it across his arm, cutting deep into his skin until bright red blood began to well up at the puncture wounds. He sliced deeper, making circles entwine together up to his shoulder until his arm was red and raw. The pain of each slice was intense and Kurt had to grit his teeth, the cold wind stinging his wounds as if he had put salt in them, and tears began to flow down his cheeks as he mercilessly continued to hack away at his own flesh.

When he could hardly feel his left arm Kurt dropped the knife again with a cry of pain, hunched over and huddling his arm to his chest. The blood smeared his fur and plastered it together as he groped for his jacket and pressed it against his arm, another swell of pain throbbing in the limb.

Kurt sucked in a lungful of air, biting his lip and grabbed the knife again, this time forcing it against his chest with trembling hands as the jacket fell away from his arm and the blood pit-pattered onto the roof, sliding down the tiles into the gutter. Needless to say, the majority of the blood was coming from his jacket as it dispelled the horrible liquid that had been wiped on it.

The blade cut into his chest this time, tearing Kurt's fur as he drew patterns into his skin. The blood from his wounds dribbled over his fur, sliding down his chest until it stained his slacks and the roof. Kurt gave another cry of pain and bit down onto his tongue, teeth digging in, as he pulled the knife down quickly, cutting a new mark that left his hand slack as he blinked rapidly.

Kurt dropped the knife again as the world swayed before him and he stared down mutely at the horror he had caused. He was bleeding all over the roof of the mansion, the dark liquid slithering down through the grooves of the tiles, catching in the rain gutter as a tiny puddle formed. Just looking at it made Kurt feel faint as the sickening, painful feeling continued to pulse through his body...he huddled up against his jacket, searching for some sort of warmth after what he had done. Never had Kurt cut himself so much in one sitting, and it made him feel like he wanted to puke and, strangely enough, sleep.

The sun was completely up and shining upon Kurt like a beckon of hope as his tail flapped uselessly. He laid upon the warm tiles like a lizard on a flat rock, he was so cold...and that urge to sleep wouldn't go away, but he had to get off the roof...teleport to his room...take a shower...bath...and clean off the blood before anyone noticed. But the mansion was probably awake...they were like ants, running around, going about their day, beating each other up...he would just wait until night, that's what Kurt would do. He would simply lie there until night...when everyone had gone to bed...the cover of night would help him so much...

"Kurt? Are you out here? Breakfast's gunna be ready in a few minutes."

Kurt's eyes shot open at the sound of Ororo's voice. He struggled to sit up, but flopped back to the ground uselessly when he realized his arms felt like noodles. He couldn't let her see him like this...he needed to hide...he grabbed at the tiles in front of him, higher up toward the roof, and tried to pull with all his might, his legs kicking uselessly and slipping in his own blood.

"Kurt? Where are you hiding?" The voice, faint as it was, became closer and he knew she was getting closer. He thrashed and gave a squeal of pain as he went sliding down a few feet along the roof. "Kurt? Are you on the iroof?/i"

iNo./i

He felt a gush of wind as Ororo lifted herself up to discover Kurt's hiding place. "Hey, Elf, if you keep hanging out on the roof you're going to fa-..." Her voice trailed off.

Kurt remembered nothing after that.

He woke up with a massive headache, whether later in the day or days later, he did not know. Kurt's chest was bandaged thickly, as was his left arm. The room he was in was a blur of colors and a swarm of lights until he felt a cool hand against his forehead.
"You're safe now."
The room came into focus and he realized he was lying in a cold bed, in some sort of medical lab. He had never seen it before.
Kurt looked up at Ororo through squinted eyes, breathing heavily. She was looking at him with concern, that sharp stare of hers looking directly into his eyes. Kurt swallowed and looked around the room, afraid to get up, to even sit up, afraid that, now that he had been found out, something bad would happen.
"How do you feel?" Ororo asked, brushing hair out of Kurt's face. He felt a flush of color rise in his cheeks.
"A little woozy." He admitted, finally noticing the man in the wheelchair in the corner of the room. Xavier fixed him with a cold stare, but did not move.
"Yes, our little blue friend seems to have been the victim of a strange series of events." Xavier said, his expression softening. Ororo turned to face him.
"Brotherhood?"
Xavier responded, "Most likely." He wheeled closer to Kurt's bed and Ororo stepped aside. "Probably just an attempt to scare Kurt off...it didn't work, did it?"
Kurt shook his head, instantly regretting it as the room swam before his eyes.
Xavier carefully lifted up Kurt's left arm and appeared to be examining it. In Kurt's head, however, he heard the Professor's stern voice.
iOroro does not know what happened. You were taken here before she had a chance to examine your wounds./i
Kurt stared at Xavier wide-eyed.
iOnly Scott Summers and myself know what happened. Kurt...I understand that your religion means much to you, but you are no martyr. What you are doing as part of the X-Men is for the good of the public, and I see no way God could frown upon that. I should think He would forgive whatever sins you may have, for helping people that hate you./i
Kurt did not respond.
iI'll leave you in Ororo's care, but please Kurt, this is not healthy...if this continues, it's either you, or your religion...and your life. Your choice./i