A/N: This is my first post-film X-Men fic. I have a few things I want to clarify.

OCs: Sting/Elyon Ryder and Cognitia/Bella Robertson are my characters. You cannot use them without my permission.

Nightcrawler's appearance: Yes, I do take much of his appearance from the comics. This is because I just like comic-book Nightcrawler. Also, while Alan Cumming is perfectly adorable, comic-book Nightcrawler is just…wow. He's pretty hot. And yes, I'm aware that I'm a freak.

Genres: This is like supernatural/action/adventure/spiritual/suspense/f riendship/romance sort of thing. If you get confused, don't say I didn't warn you.

Disclaimer: The X-Men and all related characters and names are owned by Marvel Comics and partner companies. All copyrights associated with the X-Men belong to them. Only the ideas contained within this story are the property of the author. No profit is being earned by the writer of this story.

That being said…enjoy!

Adaptation. Without it, mankind could not survive. It allows us to be resourceful and prepared for a majority of obstacles. However, on occasion, survival is the responsibility of the individual.

1. CONDEMNED

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS — THE NOT TOO DISTANT FUTURE

The first thing I noticed when I entered was the smell. The scent of melted cheese, cooked vegetables and assorted meats assaulted my senses and stunned me for a brief moment. I wasn't stopping at the pizzeria to eat, though. I just needed a place to sit down and recollect myself.

I'd been traveling for two and a half weeks now. After graduating from East Tennessee State University with a bachelor's degree in psychology and a BFA in theatre arts, I'd decided to leave my home of Johnson City and start over. I hadn't managed to settle anywhere yet. I was so vastly different from anyone else, and I hadn't found a community that felt like home.

The dim lighting and incessant chatter of the customers were beginning to make me uneasy, and I leaned over my table, hunching my shoulders in an attempt to block the noise. However, one set of voices succeeded in capturing my attention.

"Please leave me alone," said a female voice. It was soft and mousy, without much authority.

"Aw, come on. Don't be like that." That was a male voice, smooth and serpentine.

There was a brief pause. Then a deeper male voice urgently exclaimed, "Hey, man—she's a mutant!"

That made me turn around. A few booths behind me sat a woman who looked to be a few years older than I. Her heart-shaped face had innocent-looking features, and her dark auburn hair fell down past her shoulders in gentle waves. Her pale ivory face was flushed with anger and annoyance as she looked up at the dark-haired man and his blonde friend with steely chocolate brown eyes.

The blonde man slid into the seat beside her. "Well, she's my kind of mutant." He was the one who sounded like a snake.

The dark one looked wary. "I'd be careful if I was you, Paul," he cautioned.

The woman glowered at Paul. "I told you to leave me be." Paul just laughed.

I glanced around. No one else was doing anything, nor did they seem to notice; if they did, they were good actors. I decided to take the initiative, and I stood. I walked up to them, anger putting a spring in my step. Rude low-lives…

"Hey." My high, slightly husky voice made them turn around. "I thought she told you to leave her alone." Unfortunately, my accent betrayed me. I didn't really think it was much, mostly just the way I pronounced my I sounds, and the hard emphasis I placed on R's. It was enough for them, though.

Paul chortled again. "You hearing this, Billy? The little country girl's telling us what to do." He stalked up to me. "You'd better leave. Now." A few people turned to watch. I didn't care.

I lifted my head to meet his glare with a blank face, channeling the power coursing in my veins. When he saw my flat black eyes, he started backing away.

"Pain," I said tonelessly.

He froze instantly, his face contorting as the fire moved through him. After a few seconds, he let out a sickening shriek and crumpled into a convulsing heap on the floor. Billy knelt by him. Even after I doused the hallucinatory flames, Paul continued writhing, his wide eyes seeing nothing.

The woman was staring at me. "Damn," she breathed in awe.

All of the customers were staring too, as well as the pizzeria's owner. "Get out of my restaurant, freak," he ordered shakily.

"Gladly." With that, I left, feeling freer than I had in weeks.

As I made my way down the street, I heard a familiar voice behind me. "Hey! Wait up!" I stopped and patiently waited for the auburn-haired woman to catch up to me.

"Yes?" I raised an eyebrow.

She was panting a little. "Thanks for that. What you did back there."

I shrugged. "Don't mention it." Across the street was an old cathedral that looked abandoned. Maybe I could turn in there for the night.

When I heard her voice next, it sounded as though it was inside my head. 'What's your name?' I turned to her, and she smirked. 'You're not the only one with gifts…' Her mouth never moved.

I hesitated before answering her question. "I'm Elyon," I said. "Elyon Ryder. People call me Sting."

"Sting." She nodded thoughtfully. "I'm Bella Robertson." She added, 'I call myself Cognitia.'

"Impressive." The wind was starting to blow my waist-length light brown hair around, so I dug into my pocket and pulled out a white band. I tied my hair into a low ponytail at the nape of my neck. "Wait…how do I know you're not just messing with my head to get me to like you?"

She shuffled her feet. "I don't know how to make people feel things yet," she confessed. Then she studied me intently. "You're twenty-two years old. You're a college graduate, but you still don't know what to do with your life. You've always been considered to be inferior because you're only four-foot-eleven. You feel like you'll never belong anywhere. And you were going to take refuge in the cathedral across the street. Do you mind if I join you?"

I was stunned. "No, not at all."

As we walked over, I could sense her staring at my arms. I rubbed them self-consciously. My hands hovered over the bumpy scars that covered my limbs.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Oh, you know how it is," I answered tensely. "People who know you find out what you are, they try to kill you, the police pretend it didn't happen…"

"Hmm." She was quiet.

There was a graffiti-covered wall in front of the church. One "artwork" read "Nature Laughs Last." Another said in all-capital letters, "DESTROY THE MUTANT THREAT!" Bella inclined her head toward the words and they disintegrated. She was telekinetic too, like me.

There was a sign on one of the double-doors. Condemned. Bella turned to me. "Do you think this is such a good idea?"

"You're the telepath. You tell me."

I heard a very faint sound coming from inside. Someone was playing the pipe organ. Overwhelming curiosity led me to reach out with my mind. My psi hands pushed the doors open. Bella and I quickly stepped inside, and she closed the doors behind us. As soon as the door swung to, the music stopped.

Naturally, this frustrated me. "Hello?" I shouted. "Who's in here?"

The place was kind of like what you imagine to be in old-world France and Germany—very gothic, with beautiful stained glass windows, stone floors and the most amazing altar at the far end. It appeared as though it had been in the process of renovation, for some equipment was still lying around. But it was unfinished, as if something had scared them off…

"Elyon!" As Bella wheeled around she hit me with her elbow. "Where'd you go?"

Huh? I looked down at myself. Outlining me was a soft white light, the same light that told me I was invisible. I realized that Bella's hitting me had startled me, causing me to phase into the state. It was relatively easy to go through my brain and make myself visible again, like flipping a light switch in a dark room. "Sorry about that," I apologized.

"Hey, it happens." She shrugged. "But I wanted to tell you that the mental signature of whomever's in here just moved from the organ to the rafters instantaneously."

"Is it good or bad?" I glanced around in a bout of instinctive paranoia.

She frowned. "Dunno. He's multilingual, but right now he's thinking in his first language—German, I think. I don't understand him, but I'm not feeling any malicious vibes. I'm pretty sure we can trust him."

"I know a little German," I offered. "I mean, I can't carry on a conversation or anything, but I know enough to give you a rough interpretation if he talks to us—not in English, of course. Where are you from, anyway?"

"Indiana." Abruptly, she turned to a small archway. "Over there. He's a teleporter. That's how he moves so fast." She started walking over to the archway, and I followed her.

"Laßt mich in Ruhe." The voice was soft and gentle, with that slight musical intonation common in Europeans.

Normally, this would mean "Leave me alone," but given his tone, I figured that this was not the case. I looked up at Bella; her face was seven inches higher than my own. He says, "Leave me in peace," I thought.

'Ask him if he speaks English,' she said. 'I don't want him to know I've probed his mind.'

"Sprechen Sie Englisch?" I asked as I turned back to the little arch.

The quiet male voice spoke again, low and timid. "Yes."

Bella peered further into the darkness. "Who are you? What's your name?"

There was movement in the shadows. The figure took a few more steps before we actually saw him. He was a young man, probably around my age, and about ten inches taller than I. However, his appearance was far from normal. His black hair stuck up in tousled, curly tufts, and his face was covered in strange, symmetrical scars. His ears were pointed, and his yellow eyes contrasted greatly with his blue skin. His hands had two fingers if one didn't count his thumbs, and a look down revealed that his feet only had two toes. From beneath his black paint-splattered trench coat, a spaded prehensile tail was visible. When he opened his mouth to speak, I saw that he had gleaming white teeth, and that his canines resembled fangs. "My name is Kurt Wagner."

I glanced at Bella. "I'm Bella Robertson," she told him.

Well, she was a telepath, as I'd pointed out earlier. I didn't know her very well, but if she trusted him, then so would I. "I'm Elyon Ryder."

"We need help," Bella went on. "Neither of us is from around here, and we need a place stay where we can be safe."

It appeared as though he'd heard something like that before. "Safe from what?" he asked cautiously.

"Everyone else," I answered with firm conviction.

That seemed to ring a bell with him. Unfortunately, the music of that bell apparently told him to turn and vanish into the room beyond the archway.

"Wait!" Bella started after him. I went with her.

The room was small, with a warm color scheme. A many-ringed candleholder with a few wicks lit stood in front of a crucifix, whose statue of Christ was wonderfully painted. This was at the foot of a little bed that was built into the wall. Adorning the other walls were circus posters bearing words written in both English and German, along with the likeness of the demonic-looking man, Kurt Wagner. Opposite the crucifix was a statue of the Virgin Mary.

Kurt stood near the crucifix, his back to us. "I am sorry." His voice was almost a whisper. "It's just…this reminds me of something that happened last spring. There were two women, and they found me. One of them had red hair, and she was a telepath…I'm sorry." His tail flicked uneasily.

Hesitantly, Bella said, "I…I'm a telepath." When he heard this, he turned to look at us.

"Please, just listen," I implored. "We need you. We're far from our homes, and we need someone like us who can take us somewhere safe. Will you help us?" I hated sounding desperate, but it was the only thing I could do.

His eyes bored into me. The sheer force of them made me flinch. Finally, he said, "I know a place."

I beamed. Bella sighed in relief, "Thank you."

"I must warn you, though," Kurt cut in. "We have to leave quickly, before—"

"Come out with your hands in the air!" This came from outside, and sounded amplified by a bullhorn. Behind it were sirens. Police. Stupid Billy.

I grabbed Bella's shoulders frantically. "Can't you do something? Wipe their minds, change their memories, anything?"

She nodded, albeit unsurely. "O-okay. I'll try." She closed her eyes, and her brow furrowed in concentration. It must have taken a lot of effort, for soon, beads of sweat began to dew up on her forehead. Then her eyes opened, and she stumbled back a few feet. "We're safe. They think they were after an armed robber, and that he ran out the doors and down the street."

With that, Bella and I started for the doors. I turned to see Kurt still standing in one place, looking uncertain. "Well, whatcha waiting for, boy?" I said. "Christmas? Come on; let's get this show on the road!"

He grinned a little and came up to us. "I have to tell you," he said sheepishly. "I've never teleported more than one other person before. Also, the farthest I can go is two miles. And I have to be able to see where I'm going."

"That's okay," Bella reassured him. "The important thing is that we'll get there."

He nodded. Then he put his arms around our shoulders and took a deep breath.

If I tried to describe what teleporting was like, I would fail miserably. One moment, we were in the cathedral. The next, we were on the outskirts of town.

I blinked. "Wow. Nifty." The odor of burning brimstone lingered. I coughed.

He laughed jovially. It was actually quite a nice sound. "Okay, Damen. Do you have the hang of it?" We both nodded. "All right, then." And then we were off again.

By the time the thin crescent moon was high in the sky, an exhausted Kurt had teleported us to an abandoned alleyway in Manhattan. There was a manhole, so Bella lifted the plate with her powers while Kurt took a breather.

Bella confirmed that there were, indeed, no rats or strange hobos, and we made our way down to rest. We agreed to sleep in shifts. Bella would keep watch first, followed by me and then our unusual companion.

When my turn came around, I managed to stay awake the whole time and then some, so I was a bit surprised when I felt someone's hand on my shoulder. I jumped and swiveled to find a pair of yellow, glowing eyes meeting mine.

"Sorry," Kurt whispered. "Er…you can sleep now, if you want."

I didn't even consider that option. I was far too keyed up. "I think I'll stay awake."

"Okay. That's fine." He was silent for a moment. "You seem tense," he noted. "Is there something wrong?"

I shook my head. "No."

He moved on to another subject. "Are you and Bella good friends, or…?"

"No," I said again. "I only just met her today. I saved her from a couple of jerks down at that little pizza parlor near your cathedral, and she decided to tag along with me. I don't know much about her. One of the guys who attacked her was the dickhead who turned us in."

He appeared to be caught off guard by my use of language.

There was just enough light to throw his scars into definition. I had to ask about them. "Your scars…what…" My voice trailed off.

He'd probably had to explain this before. "They are symbols that were given to mortals by Gabriel, the archangel of humanity. They match in number my sins."

So he'd done them himself, then. I smiled, though it pained me. "I wish the people who gave me mine had been as considerate." I touched the marks on my arms.

His gaze followed my gesture. "Are you angry with the world?"

"For what?"

"For taking such a long time to learn tolerance," he said. "I know that upsets me sometimes."

I smirked. "Angry? Nah, not at all. Impatient? Hell, yeah."

He seemed bewildered. "You know, for someone who looks so little and sweet, you're awfully—"

"Crude?" I finished. "I get that a lot."

I could just barely see him frown. "I was going to say 'honest.' You don't care what people say. You don't care what they think of you. As long as you can be yourself, you're happy. That's a rare quality. I consider it admirable."

"Really? Thanks." I yawned, suddenly sleepy. "I'm going to hit the hay." I laid down on my side, my back to Bella. "G'night, Kurt."

"Gute Nacht, meine kleine Freundin." He'd called me his friend. I had a friend.

With that reassuring thought, I let myself drift.

The next morning, Bella went to McDonald's to get breakfast for the three of us. For starters, she blended in better than Kurt did. Secondly, she was less susceptible than I to lose her temper and give someone whiplash or arthritis or severe lifelong mental and emotional trauma. I'd offered to give her some of the money my parents had entrusted me with before I left, as I had well over two hundred dollars, but then she showed me her wallet. I wasn't sure how much was in there, but I was shocked into silence.

We sat on the ground in the alley while we waited. Kurt leaned against the back wall with his knees curled against his chest. He was almost fully recuperated. Now he just needed food.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I saw the tip of his tail hovering over it. "Excuse me for asking, Miss Ryder," he said. "But…what are your powers?" His tone held an innocent curiosity, out of place for a grown man.

"Trust me," I said, "you don't want to know. And call me Elyon."

"Elyon," he repeated. "'God most high.' Why would I not want to know?"

I hesitated. "Do you know…hellfire?" I queried reluctantly.

"Yes," he answered. "The hottest flame, reserved for the punishment of the damned."

"I…I can make people feel that," I said, my voice nearly silent from guilt and self-distaste. "I make them feel hellfire, except in their bloodstream. Or, at least, I can make them think they're feeling it. I give the illusion of any kind of pain, really. You name it—if it hurts, I make you believe you're experiencing it." Suddenly aware that I was holding my breath, I exhaled. "I take away feeling, too. Feeling, smell, taste, hearing, sight. All the senses. I don't know which is worse. Being in total agony and knowing you're alive, or knowing nothing and being scared to death." I closed my eyes. "I'm also telekinetic. And—"

Just then, I heard something.

Footsteps.

Instinctively, I grabbed Kurt's wrist and phased into invisibility.

A man wandered into the alley a little ways before looking frustrated. He left, muttering something about how he could have sworn he'd heard someone talking.

Relieved, I released the hold I had on my concealment and Kurt's wrist.

"You can turn invisible without shadows?" he inquired in a tone full of awe.

"Mm-hmm." I wondered what was so special about that.

"Phantastisch," he murmured. It wasn't a big deal to me, but it must have been to him. "I can only do that in the dark."

Imagine that. "So, let me have a framework. You can teleport, turn invisible in shadow, and I assume that you see in the dark." That would explain the luminescence of his eyes last night.

"Yes." He smiled beatifically. "I can climb on walls, too. And your dominant ability is inducing pain, so what do they call you?"

I decided that now I trusted him, even without Bella's guarantee. "My family used to call me Sting."

"Hmm…'Sting.' It suits you." He looked thoughtful. "And Miss Robertson?"

"Bella's Cognitia." But I still didn't know what he was called. "What about you?"

He straightened up with an air of Errol Flynn-like confidence. "I'm Nightcrawler."

"Nice," I commended. "So, Nightcrawler, where exactly are you taking us?"

"A mansion in New York's countryside," Bella said, coming down the alley with the take-out bags. "Westchester County, to be precise. Here you go." She handed us the bags. The smell of fast food wafted up to me, and I had to work hard to not gorge myself.

"Is it a nice place?" I asked Kurt.

The corner of his mouth tugged upward a bit, like he was having a fond memory of a friend. "It is very nice. I think you will like it there." He finished his McGriddle and moved on to the potato rounds.

"Do you plan on staying there with us?" Bella was halfway through her own bag. I had three potato rounds left.

Kurt glanced up as he considered that. "I don't know. I might. But the people there live a rather violent life, and the telepath I told you about…died back in the spring. But I do miss them, and the way things are right now, it wouldn't be a bad idea to go back. So, maybe."

We were quiet for the rest of breakfast.

That afternoon we were in Bedford. Bella went to get lunch, leaving me and Nightcrawler alone again.

"Hey, Kurt," I said, turning to him. He was perched on the wall, flaunting his ability and looking happy as a clam. He craned his neck to look at me. "What part of Germany are you from, anyway?"

"Bavaria," he said. "Near Munich. And where are you from?"

"East Tennessee." I knew the next topic was probably sensitive, but I shifted to it anyway. "How did you end up here?"

He waited a few seconds before replying. "I was in the circus in Munich. But there were a few…complications, so I quit. After that, some…eh…serious issues came up, and I snuck onto a cargo ship that was headed for Boston. What about you?"

"I was in college," I told him. "Some people found out…what I am, and these happened." I gestured to my arms. "My parents have been helping to fund my little escapades. So, nothing exciting like your story."

He was silent for a moment. Then he took something out of his pocket. A Rosary. He didn't pray with it, though. He just held it, like it was a comfort blanket.

Suddenly, he disappeared in a contracting cloud of navy blue smoke, and where the air rushed together where his body had been, it made a kind of clapping sound which, if spelled phonetically, could only be described as bamf. He was sitting on the ground next to me in less than a second.

"Show-off," I muttered. He chuckled blithely.

"You have great faith in others," he observed. "But not much in yourself."

"What?" Confusion colored my tone.

He turned his face down, abashed. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to pry. It's not my place to make that assumption."

"No, it's fine," I consoled him. "And now that I think about it, you're right. Due to my…past experiences, I probably trust people like us too easily. But I don't trust myself." I felt slightly defensive. "There's a good reason for that. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little bit unstable."

He frowned. "I think you can be trusted."

"Thanks," I murmured. "Still, I'd be careful if I were you." I watched as he turned his Rosary over in his hands, and I sighed. "You know, Kurt…" My voice trailed off as I thought of the best way to word this.

"Ja?" He turned back to me. Even though we were sitting, I had to look up at him.

"I wish I could be like you," I confided. "No matter what it is that's happened to you, you still believe. I always wonder if God would have let those people hurt me." I rubbed my arms. "And yet…I can't help but feel like there is something out there."

His expression was solemn. "I know it can be hard, but do you know how I keep faith?"

I shook my head.

He half-smiled. "No matter what it is that's happened—whether someone close has turned on me, or if I'm being chased by an angry mob with torches and pitchforks—I remind myself that I'm still here."

Bella came down the alley with lunch then. She tripped over her own feet, and it was in this way that Kurt and I learned that she was very clumsy. What was even more laughable was that Kurt was very graceful, and according to Bella I moved with a lithe, light-footed air (as she put it, I "ghosted along"). The comparison was hilarious.

By that evening, we were on the driveway of a large mansion in Salem Center, Westchester. Though Kurt had promised that we'd like it here, I couldn't help but wonder if it was entirely safe.

'It's fine,' Bella said. 'Perfectly safe. Come on.' She started forward. Kurt and I walked behind her.

I had a wager in mind. "Do you know a lot about psychology, Kurt?"

"Nein." He appeared as if he hadn't the faintest idea where I was going with this. I didn't blame him.

"I'll teach you about that if you teach me faith," I offered.

He furrowed his brow. "Alright…but one cannot teach faith. That is something you must find yourself."

I scowled. How unfair.

"I could teach you to dance," he suggested.

I deliberated upon that for just a moment. I'd always wanted to learn to dance, but due to my "problems," I'd never been able to. "Okay," I agreed. "Deal."

We came upon a closed gate, with two pillars serving as vanguard.

"I'll go inside and let them know I'm here," Kurt said. With that, he teleported away.

Bella closed her eyes, probably using her telepathy to see what was happening.

Something on the pillar to my right caught my eye. Turning my attention to it, I saw that it was a plaque with a stylized X in the center, and words circling it.

XAVIER'S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED YOUNGSTERS.

A/N: So, there's your first taste of what's to come. There isn't much to say about this. I just hope that you're unable to guess the rest of the plot. If you can't, then I'm doing my job right.

German translations are as follows:

"Laßt mich in Ruhe." — "Leave me alone." In context, however, Kurt means "Leave me in peace."

"Damen" — "ladies"

"Gute Nacht, meine kleine Freundin." — "Good night, my little friend." Die Freundinis the feminine form of "friend," which is der Freund.

"phantastisch" — "fantastic"

"ja/nein" — "yes/no" (if you didn't already know that, then shame on you)

Rezensiert, bitte! (Review, please!)

(note: chapter has been updated since initial publication)