Warnings: Later in the story I'll be definitely toeing the horror genre a bit. The story on LJ and Tumblr is rated an R (and Mature on AO3) so I'm starting BIW out on a T but eventually I will change the rating to M but that M will not reflect smut. You read that right, no smut, but there are some thinky thoughts and some heavy making out later in the story. There'll be semi-graphic violence in Book 3, hints at psychological/emotional manipulation in Books 2 and 3, and I get into Kurt's head about the bullying. There'll be warnings on individual chapters for more details and if you're unsure about anything, feel free to send me a PM and I'll answer. :)

Notes: There will be three Books in this story, and all three will be under the 'Before I Wake' title, since everything is part of the same story but each Book has its own arc.

Feel free to ask questions and share your theories – either here, on LJ, or on Tumblr (links in my profile; BIW is also published on all three platforms so pick your favourite to read from) – but I obviously won't be able to answer everything. You'll just have to trust me. (Also, you should go follow me on Tumblr. There's extra things and teasers and talking about all sorts of things. And on Tumblr you can ask me anythingand there's a 99% chance I'll answer. Just sayin'. I'll stop pimping myself out now.)

BEFORE I WAKE

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

BOOK ONE
SOMEWHERE ONLY WE KNOW

chapter i

The journal had been a lucky find, half hidden behind a mechanical clock and a dancing ballerina ornament in an antique store in Dayton. It was covered with battered brown leather, with an intricate gold pattern embossed around the edges, a worn gold-plated lock and key, and rough, cream-coloured pages; and Kurt had fallen in love with it instantly. It had been difficult to deflect Mercedes and Tina's questions – he'd never been the diary-keeping type – but well worth it, and he'd since used it every morning without fail.

He locked it now with a rueful expression; the dream was over and already starting to blur, and it was time to get ready for school.

"Kurt! You up, buddy?"

He smoothed the cover one last time before hiding the journal at the back of his desk drawer. "Yeah, Dad."

"I'm heading to the garage early today – John screwed up some inventory that I gotta sort out before we open. You alright having breakfast by yourself?"

"I'll be fine. See you after school."

"Knock 'em dead, kid."

There was the almost inaudible sound of footsteps moving away from Kurt's door, and then silence. Kurt flicked on his music – he'd had Toxic on repeat since Mr Schue agreed to let them perform it at the homecoming assembly – and sang and danced along as he moisturised and got dressed.

He was, perhaps foolishly, optimistic about the homecoming assembly. Even though Mr Schue had barged in on their performance, even though the New Directions were still at the bottom of the social heap, even though their previous school performances had ended with varying degrees of humiliation, this was Britney Spears – who didn't love the Pop Princess?

The good mood left over from his dream, as usual, started to fade as he ate breakfast, and gave away almost completely to dread by the time he pulled into a parking space at school. He pushed on his sunglasses with a silent sigh, shouldered his satchel, and was greeted on the way to his locker by a particularly vicious shove by Karofsky.

"You alright, Kurt?" Mercedes asked, helping him off the floor. (Where had she been thirty seconds ago, huh? But no, that was unfair. All the glee kids were bullied. Even if Kurt had sacrificed himself for them, he shouldn't expect protection in return; he would have been bullied no matter what.)

"I'm fine," he said, switching his bag to his other shoulder so he wouldn't aggravate the bruise that would already be forming. He turned the conversation to last night's episode of America's Next Top Model and they chattered excitedly until they reached the choir room. Tina and Quinn joined in (Quinn had very harsh opinions against one bratty contestant) until it was time to change into their costumes and squeeze in a last minute practice.

Kurt didn't often have baths (frequent and extended soaking was bad for his skin) but he'd been in desperate need of one all day – hot enough to turn his skin pink, a lavender-scented bath bomb, a sandalwood candle, gentle violin music from the speakers balanced on top of the cistern.

The assembly had, predictably, ended in disaster, and he'd been locker checked three more times for his troubles so his back and shoulders were aching. His body was probably dotted with bruises but Kurt didn't want to look to confirm.

By the time his dad got home, Kurt had washed away the (mostly imaginary) dirt of McKinley and started on dinner (tonight was chicken korma, naan bread and a salad – it was a constant battle but the Hummels would have a healthy diet if it was the last thing Kurt did). As they ate, Kurt told his dad the edited-for-parental-consumption version of the assembly and bemoaned Mr Schue ending the assignment a day early because he'd had a Britney number ready to go for three weeks.

"You need me to go see the principal again?" Burt asked. "I know the whole Flying Gravity—"

"Defying Gravity."

"—didn't work out but I've seen that Facebook campaign you've got."

After the initial knee jerk panic of his dad on his Facebook account passed – after all, there was never anything incriminating on there – he sighed and poked at his rice.

"It's fine, Dad. I think Mr Schue's ruined Britney for me now, anyway." He pulled an overly dramatic grimace but Burt looked unconvinced.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Burt sighed in resignation and matched Kurt's small smile, and they ate for a few more minutes in silence until Burt cleared his throat awkwardly.

"If you, you know, still wanna perform your song – or any song, really – you've always got a willing audience."

A smile stretched across Kurt's face unbidden, and his heart swelled.

"Thanks, Dad." He took a thoughtful bite and then continued, "I left my costume in my locker, and we'll have to do with the light show and the girls backing me up, but how about tomorrow?"

"Sorry, kid, I've got a date." Kurt hid a smile in his next bite. He was so glad his dad and Carole had decided to continue dating after the failed moving in attempt. "But I'm all yours Saturday. We could go all out, let me see all those songs I hear you practising all hours, have a proper concert. Hell, I think we've still got those disco lights up in the attic."

"Aside from the fact that disco sucks and disco lights are tacky and awful, Saturday doesn't work for me. I've finally convinced Tina to let me give her a full makeover so we're driving up to Columbus and we're having a sleepover."

"Columbus? Christ, Kurt, it would've been nice to have a bit of warning before you go gallivanting across the state."

"Columbus is, like, two hours away."

"Fine, long distance, whatever. Point is, you just decided this on your own and I'm only hearing about this now."

Kurt sighed irritably. "I'm sorry, it must have just slipped my mind."

"Don't take that tone with me, Kurt." He levelled his gaze at Kurt in the way that made his stomach twist guiltily. "Columbus isn't exactly easy to get to if you get in trouble, you know? And there was that pile-up on Route 33 at the beginning of summer—" Kurt flinched. "—and you're not even seventeen yet – you've still gotta tell me when you make plans like staying out for the night. Were you even gonna remember to tell me?"

With great effort, Kurt stayed still in his seat and remained dry-eyed. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said in a quieter voice. I didn't mean . . ."

"I know."

They ate the rest of the meal in heavy silence. Burt mumbled a compliment as they transferred their plates to the kitchen, which Kurt accepted with a nod as he handed over the washing up gloves.

"Would you mind cleaning up on your own tonight?" he asked hesitantly. "I've got a lot of homework."

"Kurt."

"Please, Dad? I don't wanna end up stuck inside over the weekend." He widened his eyes imploringly as Burt hesitated.

"Wipe the table and then you can go," he relented, turning to the sink. Kurt felt his stomach tighten from his father's disappointment so he hurried to his room in an attempt to escape.

And, aside from a ''Night, Kurt' called down at half ten, that was it.

Kurt had always loved his moisturising routine (or, he had for the two years he'd been doing it). He loved the rhythm of slow circles, the calming, soothing rub of his fingers, the unchanging regularity at the end of his day. Recently – just over two months, to be exact – he also loved the anticipation coiling in his stomach, slowly building up so that by the time he went to bed, his body was practically vibrating.

Over the weeks, he's become very good at forcing himself to sleep: slow down his breathing, keep his eyes closed, tense then relax his limbs until they were too heavy to move.

And then he opened his eyes to a clear, bright blue, sunless sky and a gorgeously lush pine forest.

He was currently sitting against one of the trees (it was a good tree, purposefully chosen because the roots made it possible for him to curl up just so) so stood, brushing down his pyjamas out of habit rather than necessity. He looked around to get his bearings and then set off to what had been unimaginatively dubbed 'the Waiting Lake'.

The Lake was beautiful, an irregular oval at least two hundred feet at its longest. The water was warm, and clear enough to see the bottom shimmering several feet below; at its shallowest point Kurt couldn't touch the bottom yet it looked like it would barely reach his chest. There was almost no gap between the edge of the lake and the encompassing forest. Roots breached the walls of the lake and Kurt frequently wrapped his legs around them, and one of the trees which had fallen over made for an excellent diving board. From where the forest was thickest there reached for a couple of feet a pile of rocks, some of which made surprisingly comfortable seats.

When Kurt drew close enough to see the water shimmering through the trees, he started to look for the rocks. As always, there was a curly-haired boy sitting on Kurt's favourite. Today, his shoes and socks had been abandoned, cast away to join his blazer and tie by the edge of the lake in favour of dipping his feet into the water.

Kurt called out to him, and Blaine turned around, his smile wide and eyes shining.

When Kurt told Blaine about the assembly, he didn't leave anything out (Blaine always doubled over with laughter whenever Kurt admitted to the New Directions causing sex riots, so Kurt pushed away his mortification and found himself laughing at them as well), although he did soften the cruelty of his peers. There was no point in lying to Blaine, just as there was no point in Blaine lying to him: they could read each other too well.

"Let me see your back?" Blaine asked, pushing himself from lying down up onto his knees.

"What?" Kurt blinked up at him. "Why?"

"I just want to make sure you're okay."

Kurt sighed exasperatedly, ignoring the thrill in his stomach. "Again, why? I don't hurt here."

The concern in Blaine's eyes stopped Kurt's breath for a second.

"I know whatever we do here won't affect you in the Real World," he said. "I'm just worried."

How could Kurt say no to that? With another sigh, he pushed himself off the ground and waited until he had his back to Blaine before taking off his pyjama top. As it dropped off his shoulders, Blaine breathed a soft 'oh, Kurt' which made him close his eyes. His back must be worse than he thought.

Then his eyes snapped open again when he felt light touches on his back. Blaine's fingers danced lightly over his skin in a pattern Kurt couldn't figure out. The rough edge of the callouses (supposedly from the guitar, which Blaine was supposedly not very good at) left Kurt's skin tingling, and a barely-there press of something much softer than fingers raised goosebumps all over his body.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and then flushed at how strangled his voice sounded. Blaine's voice, by contrast, was unfairly steady when he replied, "Tracing your bruises. This one—" he ran a finger in a vaguely circular shape just below his shoulder "—is quite bad."

"Karofsky," Kurt sighed. "This morning. I hadn't even got to my locker yet."

Blaine's fingers stilled, and then his hand moved to grip Kurt's uninjured shoulder comfortingly.

"I wish I could help you," he said, sorrowful and resigned and just a little bit frustrated.

"You do." Kurt turned his head to exchange small smiles with Blaine, and then put his top back on. After a few moments of silence during which they repositioned themselves to lie on their stomachs facing the Lake, he said, "You know, one of my favourite things about this place is that I feel awake, but my body doesn't hurt, and when I wake up in the Real World I feel completely rested."

"And here I thought I was one of your favourite things," Blaine teased, knocking Kurt's shoulder. Kurt looked at him mirthfully.

"I don't think the song mentioned anything about Blaines."

"Sure it did! No sudden downpours or bodily pain – uh – Curly-haired, charming, oh so dapper Blaine – see?"

Kurt tried to keep playing along – he wanted to hear me more Blaine stumbling over his rewording of My Favourite Things – but it was so bad that he couldn't help bursting into laughter. His shoulders shook with the force of it and he hid his face in his hands because he surely looked ridiculous right now. After a beat, Blaine joined in, and when finally laughter faded to giggles faded to happy silence, Kurt looked at Blaine out of the corner of his eye and saw the other boy looking pleased with himself.

"You're such a dork," he said fondly.

"Wouldn't love me otherwise," Blaine replied. Kurt's heart stuttered and he felt his cheeks and ears heat up, and then he felt foolish.

"I dunno. It's a bit unsettling how much you know about Harry Potter." His voice sounded strange to his own ears – a bit forced and higher and breathier than his usual voice – but he hoped Blaine couldn't tell.

"How dare you! You can never know too much about Harry Potter!" Blaine whispered in feigned shock. Then he knocked against Kurt's shoulder again and smiled, and Kurt looked back out over the water again, a smile lingering on his own lips.

"Like I said. Such a dork."

After a while, Kurt told Blaine about the rest of his day. He whispered his guilt about disappointing his dad. He complained about his homework, which had been piling up the entire week as Kurt had put most of his focus into ways he could persuade Mr Schue to do Britney. His mention of his bath triggered a conversation about aromatherapy and different scents and Blaine telling Kurt about the time he'd been dragged to a spa by his mother when he was seven because his nanny was sick (and then Kurt teased Blaine about having a nanny).

Too soon – it always happened too soon – Kurt could feel his body getting lighter and sighed sadly.

"Are you waking up?" Blaine asked. He reached out and took Kurt's hand, and even though they did this every night, Blaine's warmth never failed to make his heart race.

"Yeah." He squeezed Blaine's hand before letting go, and then forced himself to stand up, to find somewhere Blaine wouldn't be able to see him dis- or reappear. "See you later."

"'Bye, Kurt," Blaine called. Kurt looked over his shoulder to smile at him and then found a cosy-looking root out of Blaine's line of sight which he could curl up in. With a soft sigh, Kurt closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was back in his bedroom, alarm blaring. He turned it off, rolled out of bed, and then padded over to his desk. He took out the journal and wrote about Blaine.