Chapter 1: Vision
The unmistakable mixture of warm rain and sweat trickling down the boy's face was ironically sweet and comforting for the type of situation he found himself in. Squinting hard, he could distinguish a few figures sitting multiple yards away. One figure with dark, unruly hair was pacing around a perimeter that was emitting a dark yellow glow.
Groaning faintly, he managed to lift his hand to his head, feeling blood encrusted in his chestnut hair. He flinched. The sitting figures looked over for a split second before discussing quietly, the pacing figure joining them.
He blinked multiple times, managing to make his surroundings swim into view slowly. The first thing he noticed was a brick wall and a chain link fence surrounding a cracked concrete floor. He wrinkled his nose in disgust when he noticed everything was coated in dirt. He looked down at himself to notice he was wearing some sort of uniform, the strangers all clad in the same. After gathering enough information, he realized he was in an unrecognizable alley, trapped in some sort of force field with a few strangers.
His conscience was whispering about murder or something equally unappealing.
Soon, the hushed conversation lulled and the pacing figure began to walk towards him, face still concealed by the darkness and the smattering of rain drops now gathering on the boy's thick lashes. The figure was a couple of steps away, almost out of the dark, approaching-
"Kurt," the teacher prompted. "Quoi rêvez-vous maintenant?"
"Désolé, madame. Ça ne se reproduira plus", Kurt replied easily, secretly thankful to whatever higher power that he was in French class and not one such as Advanced Chemistry.
When Madame Cooke began speaking rapid French to her confused students once again, Kurt zoned out for a while, drawing designs in his notebook. He began to think about what he saw and what it could possibly mean. His thoughts were interrupted when a small note landed on his notebook. He glanced around the room, spotting his friends Mercedes and Tina giving him urgent, pointed looks. Sighing as he opened it gently, he began to decipher the extremely cliché, girly handwriting.
Was it another vision, Kurt? –M
You were out for a while –T
Kurt Hummel knew since a very young age that he was different. He was constantly being bullied for preferring Disney movies over football and tea parties over cars. Being able to see the future didn't make him any less different, either. One would think seeing the future could actually help him beat the bullies, but Kurt could never tell when the vision would come true. Because of these things, Kurt didn't really have friends growing up. He only had his father and mother until she died when he was eight. He was an outcast until he found the Glee Club.
Scowling, he scrawled a sarcastic reply in neat handwriting, silently cursing as his head begins to throb, signaling the ever-present headache that came with these 'visions'.
No, I was just staring at the back of Brett's head for thirty minutes because his hair looks soft –K
When the teacher turned to face the board, Kurt quickly dropped the note into Tina's waiting hand. She looked genuinely concerned for him. After a few seconds, he heard two identical scoffs that just so happened to occur during one of Madame Cooke's rare pauses in speech.
"Something you'd like to share ladies?" she asked, hands on her hips.
"No, Madame," they replied in unison, Kurt smirking next to them. They scowled at him as the bell rang.
"Seriously Kurt, was it another vision? Or were you day dreaming about a prince charming that I should know about?" Mercedes teased with a grin, surprising Kurt at his locker a couple classes later.
"Believe me, 'Cedes, you would be the first to know if I had a prince charming. And yes, it was another vision," he sighed, heart rate settling after the jolt. "This one hasto be wrong, though."
"Kurt, none of your visions have been wrong yet. How are you so sure? What was it even about?"
"I don't know if even I can figure it out yet. I was just…sitting in this abandoned alley with these strangers. I felt like I had some sort of… concussion, too. There was this force field of energy surrounding us and I could barely move as it was. I was about to see one of the strangers when I …snapped out of it." he replied, snapping his fingers for emphasis. He shouldered his bag and began to walk, Mercedes struggling to keep up with his brisk pace.
"That is odd. I hope you get out of it okay…when it happens, that is. I know you don't know when these things will happen, but do you have any vague idea about this one?" she inquired, walking steadily with him towards their shared Glee Club practice.
"Not really, it was sort of hazy, so I-"
Complete chaos cut him short once they reached the door. Rachel, the short brunette, looked like she wanted to physically castratePuck, who was holding a six-inch shrunken struggling Sam by his shirt over the open flame his palm was emitting. Quinn was off to the side, growling and looking ready to murder as well, although lions always pretty much look ready to murder.
"I know what you're thinking, Noah! You can't just kill him because he's dating Quinn now!" Rachel shouted in a nasally, almost annoying voice.
"How would you know?" Puck shouted back in askance, holding Sam just a smidgen closer, missing the practically lethal snarl from Quinn.
"I can read your mind, nitwit!" she screamed in annoyance.
"Oh yeah."
Off on the opposite side of the choir room sat Artie, rambling off digits of Pi to Mike, who sat looking bored, arm literally stretched around Tina, who was absently healing a paper cut. Standing in front of a mirror beside Tina's chair stood Sugar, changing her outfit with the blink of an eye. Soon enough she decided on a pink ensemble that made Kurt physically cringe.
Joe, who was, like everyone else, immune to her advances, was sitting at the piano, Santana suspended above him from the ceiling by Joe's trademark weapon: thick green vines.
"Come on dreadlocks, just one night," she purred, still struggling to reach him. "I'll make it worth it, I promise."
Across the piano, Brittany was in a deep one-sided conversation with Rory; Rory was no doubt trying to figure out why Lord Tubbington, Brittany's cat, would even consider smoking in the first place.
Just when Kurt was about to do something, Mr. Schuester, their choir teacher, entered; He looked displeased and stressed after seeing what greeted him.
"Brittany," he said, the blonde perking up immediately. "You know what to do."
Before Kurt could react, an ear-splitting scream erupted, echoing throughout the choir room. As the frequency and pitch grew louder, so did the moans of pain coming from various parts of the room, everyone but Brittany covering their ears. Just as fast as it started, it stopped. Kurt was used to all of this by now, considering it happened almost every day. He simply strutted to his seat and plopped down, raising an eyebrow at Mercedes where she stood stock-still in the doorway.
"Sit down, everyone. I have an important announcement!" Mr. Schuester exclaimed cheerily.
Soon, everyone was stopping what they were doing in favor of sitting, physically unable to resist the demand. Joe snapped his fingers and the vines retracted, dropping Santana unceremoniously on the floor with a loud thump. In place of the lion that was once growling at Puck, Quinn stood in a petite dress. Sam grew back to normal size, breathing in relief when Puck extinguished the flame easily. Just as Mr. Schuester was counting heads, Finn materialized in the seat next to Rachel, making her jump.
"Geez Finn!" she shouted, clutching at her chest.
"Now that everyone's here," he looked pointedly at Finn, who shrunk in his seat sheepishly, avoiding his gaze. "I would like to announce our competition for Regionals in three weeks!" Everyone groaned at his enthusiasm except Rachel, who sat up straighter with an interested expression.
"Drum roll please!" Finn jumped up, making his way to the drums to effectively create a drum roll. "Thank you, Finn! The competition this year is a group from a nursing home called The Hipsters…and the a cappella group from an all boys private school called the Dalton Academy Warblers." Everyone scoffed and snickered, believing they had easy competition.
"Now who has some ideas for song choices?" Mr. Schuester continued, visibly too ecstatic. Before he even finished his question, Rachel was squirming eagerly in her plastic chair, hand raised high. Everyone groaned again. It was going to be a long day.