Hi, fanfiction. This is the first story I've ever felt confident enough about to upload here, though I've long perused this site. I hope I'll be uploading more stories, in this fandom or potentially in Harry Potter, in the near future.
So, requsite disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Kurt Hummel or Blaine Anderson, nor any of the world of Glee. They are the collaborative intellectual property of Ryan Murphy, Ian Brennan, Brad Falchuck, the writers of Glee, and in part of Chris Colfer and Darren Criss; furthermore, the television show Glee and all of its characters are the legal property of Fox Broadcasting, a subdivision of NewsCorp. I am merely borrowing these characters and their universe for my own creative diversions, with the hope that my writing will be found entertaining by others. I have no intentions of making any profit from this work of fiction.
Oh, and the title comes from the song "Kids" by MGMT.
It is white.
It was white.
The space is warm, soft, and glowing.
The space was harsh, pained, and fading fast.
It feels beautiful and fulfilling.
It felt twisted and draining.
It feels like eternity.
It felt like mortality.
In the place he finds himself in, Blaine looks around. Never in his existence has he encountered anything so pure or inviting, though losing himself in Kurt's embrace might have been comparable. Kurt. The thought and all its connotations stick to the forefront of his consciousness, pushing insistently, like something misplaced. Where is Kurt?
"I'm right here, Blaine, if you can hear me. Honey, please, please don't leave me, just wake up, come back…"
"Come here, Blaine. Sweetie, I know you can hear me, open your eyes…"
In the space that he could see, that wasn't torn at by blackness, Blaine struggled to look about. His neck movement was restricted, but even with his limited vision, he knew that he had never found somewhere more repulsive in his life – like the very energy of the place wished to push him away. He felt rejected and alone, as a pale glow rose in his mind and dragged him slowly backwards. What was this?
Blaine looks up to see a figure drifting close to him. She has long tresses of auburn hair, with a bright pink flower tucked behind her left ear. She wears a simple lavender sundress, her feet bare. She kneels in front of Blaine, her eyes were glowing and bright, the lush yellows and rich greens of a sea of grass in summer.
The seafoam of his eyes stared unwaveringly into the listless depths of Blaine's honey-hazel own. He was poorly dressed: loose-fitting, too-short jeans that likely belonged to Blaine, a knitted sweater in a color he hated, half-tied Converse. His unkempt, almond-brown hair fell across his sweat-damped forehead, his brows knitted together. "Blaine, honey, it's me."
"Blaine, sweetheart, it's me," the woman whispers. "Elizabeth Angela Hummel, Kurt's mom."
"…Kurt Christopher Elizabeth Hummel, his fiancé," he said brokenly to the doctor. "How…how bad is it?"
"You're torn up pretty badly back there," Elizabeth says, helping Blaine to his feet. "Quite the nasty crash. A few fractured ribs, a completely shattered wrist…
"He might not have much motor control in that hand," the doctor said. "There's tendon damage, as well…"
"oh, a cracked sternum, broken jaw…"
"certainly would need to be wired, though considering the damage done to the trachea with the neck impact, he'll have trouble speaking regardless…"
"potential spinal damage, a punctured lung, and a broken leg," she says, looking sidelong at Blaine. "That's a lot to deal with, if you go back."
"and a good deal of internal bleeding. Of course, these treatments are all provided that we can be certain he will regain consciousness." Kurt looked up, stricken, at this. 'Provided that'? Meaning…if?
"If?" Blaine asks, turning to face the ethereal woman. "You mean I'm not necessarily going back down there?" Elizabeth turns to him, smiling sadly.
The doctor smiled grimly. "You must understand, Mr. Hummel, your…fiancé's injuries are life-threatening, and there is a good chance they could become fatal." Kurt choked back a sob.
"It's your decision to make," she says, "but it's hardly that simple. You see, Heaven – or whatever you will call this place – has a certain pull about it, that is difficult to escape. It is especially difficult when what's awaiting you back there is such agonizing pain."
"In truth, Mr. Hummel, the likelihood of his recovery is slim," the doctor said after a brief silence. "We'll go through multiple surgeries, of course, then keep him going on machines, but there's no guarantee that he would survive. At any time, there is the possibility of taking him off of support, should you believe it to be ineffective or too costly, and terminating his life. It's your decision to make."
"But there isn't just pain waiting for me back there," Blaine says, firmly. "I have my family, my friends, my older brother…" He trails off, twisting the cold silver band around his left ring finger. "I have Kurt."
Kurt fingered the slim silver band on the ring finger of his left hand. "I need Blaine," he whispered, more to himself than to the doctor. He grasped Blaine's cool, slightly stiff palm. "I've got you, baby. I'm never letting go."
Elizabeth smiles sadly again. "Yes, and I had him too. Burt, as well. It wasn't enough, for me." And then, the beautiful woman is gone, replaced by a skinny figure with a bare head lying twisted in drab hospital sheets. She is pale, more so than her bedding, and her eyes are the shade of champagne and a little too bright. The patterned fabric of the hospital gown clings to her sweat-drenched skin. On either side of her are recognizable figures – on her left, the familiar form of Burt Hummel, though a bit more broken than Blaine has ever seen him; on her right, the young, sharply dressed form of Kurt that Blaine has come to know through old photo albums that Burt, Carole, and Finn have all taken a turn through at Kurt's expense. They both grasp tightly to Elizabeth's hands, but Blaine can see, can feel her slipping away because these are her memories that are being bared before him. He watches as her awareness stutters and the world around her slinks away as the space they occupy shrinks, from just the hospital room to the bed and the machines, to just the bed and Burt and Kurt, to just their hands and the firm mattress, to just the material of the hospital gown, to a hazy white oblivion. Then Elizabeth returns. "How do I know if it's enough for me?" Blaine pleads, wanting to know just how much of a chance he has.
"He still has a chance," Kurt thought fervently as he clung desperately to Blaine's hand. They had just wheeled him out of his fifth surgery. Kurt thought of every time he and Blaine had ever entwined their hands like this: dashing through the halls of Dalton when they'd first met, just after their first two kisses when Blaine had officially asked to be his boyfriend, in the early chill of a November evening when they'd first delved deep into each other and learned what it meant to love with body and soul, leading Blaine proudly through the halls of McKinley even as slushies dripped down their faces because what mattered was that they were together, every single day in glee club, during college when one of them dragged the other to a newly discovered treasure in New York, each and every dizzyingly beautiful time they'd made love since their first, when Blaine had dropped to one knee and Kurt could barely choke out a "Yes". And he thought about the future he and Blaine had only barely dreamed together: the wedding plans Kurt had only half-finished, the joy and exhaustion of the actual day, the Parisian honeymoon they'd both wanted since seeing Moulin Rouge, Blaine teaching music as Kurt continued his fashion career, the children they'd eventually raise (a daughter named Lizzie, for his mother, and a younger son, Ricky, after Blaine's grandfather) and watch grow into adulthood, the new memories they'd make with old friends, aging together. He reflected silently, hot tears slipping down his cheeks, realizing that a lifetime would barely be enough for the two of them. Now most certainly wasn't enough time.
"You're running out of time," Elizabeth says, avoiding his question. Blaine looks back at her, confusion apparent in his hazel depths. "This place, I told you, has a pull. If you concentrate, you'll feel it."
The light was brighter, warmer, now, and seemed to be focused between and just behind his eyes like a strange, comforting and pleasant migraine.
"But there's another pull there, as well," she says, and Blaine feels his engagement band growing warmer.
Kurt tugs affectionately at the ring on Blaine's finger, holding his own up next to it. He remembers Mercedes telling him, after, how long Blaine had spent agonizing over the perfect pair of rings and the proper proposal.
"On its own, that earthbound pull isn't enough. No matter how profound the emotion, no matter how many people feel it, it isn't enough once you've been here, and this pull will always win in time," Elizabeth says, looking back at Blaine. "I know. I didn't fight hard enough," she says, eyes downcast. "I would never have won, the cancer was pushing me far too hard towards this place, but I might've had a few more days."
"I would give anything to have even one more day with him," Kurt thought as he gripped Blaine's hand even more tightly, the tears spilling over his eyes once more.
"Is that all I'd have? A few more days?" Blaine asks, a twinge of anger in his voice. Elizabeth looks back at him, defiance and a hint of rage shining in her eyes and shaking her slight frame, and Blaine realizes just why Kurt can be so intimidating when angered. "Is that not enough?" she says, the distinct lyrical quality of her voice taking on a discordant, aggressive tone. "Do you know what I would give," she says, her voice dangerously level as she begins to cry, "to have one more day on Earth, with them? With my former husband? My sister? My baby boy?"
Kurt's thoughts drifted to the other two hospital bedsides he'd sat at, willing the people he loved back from oblivion. With his father, it had worked. With his mother, however…the tears began to fall more forcefully.
Blaine looks away, defeated and a little ashamed. "I just don't know how one day could ever be enough."
"Just one day. It wouldn't be enough, but at least we'd say our farewells," Kurt thought, mind filled with hope and bitterness. "And I could tell him that I'd love him for as long as I live, and almost certainly longer. That, no matter what lives our two souls were living, I'd always find him. That, in every lifetime, we've been looking for each other forever."
"Forever wouldn't be enough, a single day certainly isn't, Blaine," she concedes. "But it might be all you have. And the longer you wait, the less likely even one day is." She stretches her hand out, holding Blaine's engagement ring between her right thumb and forefinger. "And should you ever find yourself dying again" – at this they both laugh, just a little, even though it's high-pitched and hollow – "you probably won't make it back there. If you go now, you may have a chance: perhaps on a day, perhaps on a lifetime. I can't say."
Kurt wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting in this plastic chair, holding Blaine's limp hand – it might have been a few hours, it might have been months. But Kurt felt he'd aged a lifetime: his joints stiff, his emotions hollow, his life and happy memories distant and foreign.
"It will feel like a long journey, going back," Elizabeth says. "And the pull from here is strongest when you start. You'll need to concentrate on it…"
It was a definite pulsating sensation now, flowing from behind his eyes and spilling down the column of his spine.
"…and do everything you can to repress it," she says forcefully. "Concentrate here," she says, holding up his left hand and squeezing the ring a little harder.
And Kurt can't help but think that his own ring won't look half so beautiful without its other half, which of course Blaine would be buried wearing. No, he couldn't be thinking of Blaine being buried, because his burial meant a cemetery, which meant a funeral, which meant that he'd be – that Blaine could – no, no he COULDN'T…
"Focus as much as you can on the sensation of this ring, and on every memory you've made together with Kurt," she instructs. "It's clear that you have many. The most intimate are the most effective, by the way," she says, smiling a little, and Blaine blushes so suddenly he wonders if he's a brighter shade of red than Kurt is whenever he's (hopelessly turned on or) embarrassed.
Kurt's head was hanging down, his hand was still entwined with Blaine's. He didn't notice the distinct flush that suddenly graced his fiancé's skin, returning it to an almost healthy glow.
"The sensation of this ring and intimate memories," Blaine thinks, breathing slowly. "I can do this." Just as he feels the white, the sinuous tempting white, start to fade away, he feels a hand on his arm. When he turns, he's faced again with Elizabeth Hummel, though she's now much younger – perhaps his age. She wears a delicate cream-colored dress, a thin veil in front of her face, her auburn tresses done up in an elaborate bun. This is an Elizabeth he recognizes, from those same old photo albums he's become well-acquainted with at the Hummel-Hudson household, though one thing is off: her flowers. Her hands are empty of the lily and red tulip bouquet he'd known, and instead of the crown of daisies he's accustomed to, there's the single six-petal pink flower from before resting above her left ear. She reaches up, and holds it out to him. "Tell Kurt I want an August wedding," she says. Blaine looks back at her, clearly missing the connection. "It's a belladonna lily," Elizabeth explains, handing him the flower. "They're my absolute favorite, and they only bloom at the end of summer." He brings the flower up to his face, and inhales the heady scent. When he tries to give it back, she's already gone, and Blaine is surrounded by the white void. With the strong scent of the lily still lingering against his senses, Blaine concentrates again on the ring, and on each and every time he's lost himself in Kurt's glasz eyes and on the hours he's spent mapping out every dip and curve of Kurt's beautiful body. Concentrates on each and every thing that he can find beautiful and tempting and perfect about life on Earth.
The pale light faded from between his eyes, and he could feel each and every broken bone in his body. His consciousness came snapping back into place all at once, no gradual ease which might abate the blaze. He could feel the chemical anesthetic moving through his bloodstream, but his nerves still felt like they had hot coals embedded in them. Most of his left side felt entirely wrecked, and his head ached horribly. But there he was, alive, and Blaine had never been more grateful for the harsh sensation of pain because at least pain meant presence. When he opened his eyes, he saw Kurt, who looked even more broken than he felt. He wanted to get Kurt's attention, say anything, except his jaw was wired shut. He settled for a soft moan, which was more than enough to draw the attention of the man who had sat at his side throughout his recovery, who had been his ever since they'd met on that staircase. Then Kurt's face broke into a grateful, joyous smile, and Blaine was certain no drug would ever relieve his pain like Kurt's happiness could, and he knew that the pull from the light couldn't take him. Not yet, not as long as Kurt's there, watching him.
She watches him, waiting, hoping to not see him here again for a long while, and hoping that he remembers enough of their encounter to tell Kurt what she'd wanted him to hear.
A few weeks later, while Blaine was still in the hospital, they took the wiring off of his jaw. The doctors admonished him against any chewing, and greatly discouraged him from speaking. As soon as they'd left the room, Blaine pulled Kurt close, and whispered, "belladonna lilies." Kurt drew back, confused. Blaine coughed a few times, his throat raw and his jaw aching as his chest convulsed, and waited patiently as Kurt fetched him a glass of water. "They bloom in August, right?" he asked once he felt he could speak again. Kurt nodded, still entirely puzzled. Blaine leaned back a bit. "We should get married in August," he said, and Kurt seemed further nonplussed by this development. "For your mother," Blaine added. "She told me she loves those flowers. She wears one, did you know?" he said, shifting further back. "Said she misses her baby boy terribly, thinks an August wedding would be lovely…" Blaine trailed off as he drifted into a light sleep. Not for the first time, Kurt was shocked by how far gone Blaine had been. But if it was true, if his mother was still watching him, even now…"Hi, mom," he breathed to the empty room.
"Hi, baby," she says from within the serene, pearly oblivion.
And for the first time since Blaine had woken up, Kurt felt a rush of pure joy.
A/N: I'm obsessed with belladonna lilies, by the way. That's what I get for writing while there are fifty of them blooming in my backyard. :P But, like I said, this is my first (published) fanfiction. If you like it, let me know! See that little blue link about 100 pixels south of this text? Yeah, click on that. Even a few words are so incredibly encouraging. Thanks.