~Okay. . . I was almost compelled to write this. . . I have a splitting headache, and I was just thinking how Kurt might've felt the first time he teleported. . .Also, I was listening to my 'Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron' CD, so this fic is partially inspired by the song 'You Can't Take Me' (A very good song. . . A very good CD) I know that there are a few 'demon-burnt-at-the-stake' fics out there, so. . . Here's another one to add to the list. ^^ I hope you see it as semi-original. ^^ Oh, and this is from Kurt's POV (though it is in third person), so there is no accent, and, as this is in Germany, all spoken words are. . .German. Duh. Oh, and I think I stole the name Winzeldorf from Internutter, I believe. . . Sorry 'bout that.~

~Disclaimer: . . .Would you be reading this if I owned it? No. Because if I owned it, you'd be watching it on TV. :P ~

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'. . .Why is it always me?' The person known as Kurt Wagner thought wearily as he was roughly man-handled through the streets of the small mountain village of Winzeldorf.

'I mean, you'd never see this happen to Jimaine, or Stephan, when he was alive. . .' A more sinister part of his mind whispered, 'That's because they don't look like a demon. . .'

That sinister part of his mind was right; he did look like a demon. He had blue fur, pale-gold eyes that tended to glow in low light, pointed ears, three-fingered hands, cat-like feet, and, most discriminating, a tail.

With a spaded tip.

His adoptive sister, Jimaine, always said that he was an elf; because of his pointed ears, and that the fur was an adaptation against the cold snow of the mountains. But even she couldn't explain away the spaded tail.

Kurt hadn't been able to sleep that night, so he'd taken a short walk through the nearby town, away from the trailers that had been his home, figuring that nobody would be awake in the small mountain village.

He'd been wrong.

He'd forgotten about midnight mass*.

The entire village of Winzeldorf was highly religious, and prone to blame the devil for the slightest thing gone wrong in their lives.**

He'd just been walking by the church, when the doors opened, and a bunch of chattering people immerged.

Now, he would have been okay; he had a way of fading into the shadows. But, when the doors opened, the light from the church spilled out onto the street, framing him like the lights of the circus had just last week.

But, last week, he'd been flying up in the air, and his demonic features were just a costume to the crowd.

This wasn't a crowd.

It was never a costume.

The sound of speaking people stopped.

Then the screams started.

"Devil!"

"Demon!"

"It'll kill the children!"

Many crossed themselves.

And Kurt had just stood there, shocked.

The proverbial deer-in-headlights.

Somebody threw an ewer*** full of holy water at him. That woke him up from his shock.

Sort of.

The several men coming strait at him, baring their fists really woke him from his shock.

What else could he do? Kurt ran.

But, the odds were against him. He was a young, fourteen-year old boy; sure, he was relatively strong from working on the trapeze for most of his life, but the men from Winzeldorf were hunters, farmers. . . used to carrying heavy loads quickly, up and down hills.

It was a fairly short-lived chase. One of the younger men of the mini-mob had a sling; one well placed stone, and the demonic-looking boy was down on the ground, senseless, just waiting for the rest of the town to catch up.

Now, Winzeldorf was a small town, most of it's citizen's were farmers. It'd been a particularly bad year for crops; hardly any rain.
Now, they had an scape-goat.

Well, they didn't call it a scape-goat.

They called it a demon.

A real, live demon.

Well, not live for long, if they could help it.

Kurt was barely conscious as he was rudely tied to a stake in the middle of the town-square. If it hadn't been him, and so serious, he would have joked that 'Flames couldn't possibly kill a creature of Hell.'

But, Kurt wasn't thinking very well at the moment. He was covered in bruises, where many of the men and boys had kicked him, while he was unconscious.

He wouldn't be surprised if he had a cracked rib or two.

"Demon!"

"Beast!"

"Go back to Hell!"

"You belong there!"

'. . .Do I really belong there?' He thought woozily to himself.

The boy knew he should do something, but his body wouldn't work. He couldn't even open his eyes.

One thought made it through to his brain, as wood was piled at his feet.

'I'm going to die. . .'

Kurt was saddened by this thought.

He'd never see Jimaine again. . . Or his adoptive mother. . . He hadn't even found out who his real parents where. . . He'd never fly on the trapeze again, or tease the bearded ladies that they had more fur than he. . . never pull pranks on the ringmaster, never play with the trained lions again. . .

He didn't even have the simple comfort of his rosary; it was still in the trailer.

Tears filled his eyes as the shouts continued. Oh, how he longed he was back, safe, in the trailer he shared with his adoptive family. . .

Smoke was rising from below him, now.

'Is that what Hell looks like?'

"Demon!"

"Hell-spawn!"

"Go back from whence you came!"

Fire was licking his ankles, now.

It hurt.

More tears filled his eyes, wetting his cheek-fur.

"Devil!"

He didn't want to die. . .Why had he come to Winzeldorf in the first place?

"Demon!"

He found his voice.

"I'm not a demon." He croaked slowly.

Oh, how he wished he was in his trailer. . .

{BAMF!}

And Kurt Wagner was gone in a puff of brimstone-smelling smoke, which quickly faded into the smoke of the bon-fire.

Far away, in a town called Bayville, a computer beeped in the early morning.

New Mutant Detected

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*I'm sorry if I have something wrong, there. . . I have no idea what goes on in midnight mass; I'm not religious. All I know it that it takes place late at night, and that it's called 'Midnight Mass'.

**The cat's off it's feed, "DEVIL!" Oh, wait, they don't have any cats. If one did show up, "DEMON FAMILIAR!"

***Is that the correct word? I really have no idea. . .