Title: Second Star To The Right, And Straight On Til Morning
Media: Fic
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine slight onesidedJeramiah/Blaine, slight Rachel/Blaine
Rating: PG
Warnings: From 1x12 to 2x16, slight Peter Pan!AU
Summary: It's just as Blaine sang to him, all those weeks ago. To run away, to take a chance, to never look back. He's dreamed of these things, before and after he met Blaine. But only when he dreams of Blaine can Kurt fly away.
It sounds absolutely ridiculous, but Kurt has pyjamas for dreaming. Or maybe it's not ridiculous, seeing as Kurt has an outfit for almost every occasion or mood. But whenever Kurt wears these pyjamas, he seems to have the most vibrant, wonderful dreams.
He doesn't wear them often. In fact, he hardly wears them at all, half afraid that the good dreams will stop if he wears them too much, or he'll wake from a horrible nightmare and have nothing but bad associations afterwards. And those good dreams are something he's reluctant to part with, so he only brings them out when he really, truly needs a good dream.
The pyjamas were from the mattress commercial. Simple flannel, baby blue and white stripes, generic brand. Comfortable, but nothing special. At least, not physically.
The first night he wears them is on a week when Kurt and his father are behind on laundry. The slushies and baby fiasco, the threatening phone calls and flubbed solos, all took a toll on the Hummel morale. Kurt justifies their use as a one time event, and settles in for the night without much thought.
He dreams of his mother.
They are on a grassy knoll, somewhere where the sky is an endless blue and the rolling slopes of green blend seamlessly into a background of snowcapped mountains. His mother is dressed differently each time, sometimes in peasant dresses similar to Maria Von Trapp's, and other times in her favorite housecoat or summer dress. They sing, sing to each other and talk, rolling around on the soft grass laughing as if she'd never left him behind.
It happens several times after that initial night, after a particularly bad day of bullying, after they lose Regionals, in the aftermath of Finn's confrontation. Kurt finally figures out their power over him that night.
The dream that night was particularly vivid, his mother weaving daisy chains around his neck, fragrant with her favorite perfume. He woke up that morning with the phantom flowers still around him, the briefest whiff of Chanel No. 5 still permeating his nostrils.
He wears them every night his father is in a coma.
They're in Chicago. They are both dressed to the nines, his father young again, just as strong and larger than life as he remembered him. They enter some lackadaisy club, surefooted and gunning for the dancefloor. It's a smoky, jazzy affair of a place, women with bobbed hair and flapper dresses, twirling entrancingly with every dance step and flutter of hip.
Kurt's in a navy suit with gunmetal pinstripes, spinning dance partners, boys and girls alike, on and off the dancefloor. His father is never far from sight, laughing and ablebodied, dancing with many pretty women who all look like Carole or his mother. The night always ends with the club closing, Kurt and his father and the other straggling patrons being pushed out in the too loud night. Among the streetlights and crowded sidewalks, his father grasps Kurt by his shoulder, and they walk down the street in a one armed embrace, laughing. His father may be smiling, but all Kurt can hear is, I love you, kid. I love you, I love you and I'm not going anywhere.
He gets his father involved with a dance class as part of his rehabilitation.
After his confrontation with Karofsky, after that assault of a kiss, Kurt couldn't help but crawl under his covers early, hoping for a little comfort that night. It was such a relief to slip away, blissful in the darkness, without the replay assaulting him, terrifying Kurt.
He's laying on a beach.
It's warm, and Kurt's on his back. His hand brushes against the white sand-smooth and baby powder soft-as he sits up. He's sitting at the edge of an inlet, everything around him bright and cheery vegetation, fine grained sand and somber stone. Kurt stands up, and sees some figures out in the middle of the cerulean water, splashing and laying on rocks that are jutting up out of the ocean. Kurt doesn't hesitate to join them.
He swims, half puppy dog paddle, half freestyle, to the group. Kurt could make out several heads-two blondes, several brunettes, and the shimmering colors of their bathing suits. Kurt is still dressed in his pyjamas, but they don't weigh him down. In fact, he feels light, lighter than ever before. As he swims closer to the group, a faint tick tock, tick tock buzzes in his ears, but Kurt ignores it. He paddles onward, watching the rocks and the figures-girls, his girls, come into view.
Mercedes is the first to swim over, and it is then Kurt realizes that the glimmers of bright color aren't bathing suits at all, but tails. Mermaid tails. Mercedes circles him once, her tail a hot pink that complements her coloring so well, showing off her thousand shimmering scales. They embrace, and she pulls Kurt to one of the bigger rocks. From there, she tells him to go higher, in that strange way where her lips aren't moving, but Kurt can hear her say it perfectly behind her wide smile.
Kurt goes higher. He can see Quinn and Santana sunbathing on a lower, flatter rock, a couple yards from him. They both look serene, Quinn's off white fins flapping against Santana's cranberry body lazily. Further in the water, Brittany's head pops up, laughing as Tina appears next to her. They're saying something, agreeing with one another, before diving down again, a flash of periwinkle and navy fins splashing water towards the sun. Kurt wants to join them. He jumps down from the rock, splashing into the water clumsily. He opens his eyes and looks around to find them, but no one is there. Kurt kicks, and swims deeper, intent on finding his friends. The tick tock, tick tock is back, and Kurt looks around for the source. He spots a slow moving figure in the distance, and starts swimming towards it.
Hello, he calls, the words bubbling from his mouth.
The figure stops. Tick tock, tick tock, it says.
Kurt calls out again, moving closer.
A hand reaches out for him, and he is spun away from the figure.
It's Rachel. She is looking at him concernedly, her goldenrod body fidgeting in anticipation. Go, she is frowning, go up now.
Tick tock ,tick, tick tock, comes from the distance.
Kurt shakes his head, smiling. I want to go play, he says. Let's go play. Rachel is pushing him up towards the surface.
Tick tock, it grows louder, tick, tick, tick tock. It's ringing in Kurt's ears.
What is that? he asks, but it drowns him out. Rachel is still pushing upward, so he asks again. What is that noise? It's almost too loud to tolerate, but the sun is filtering and everything is bright so Kurt turns back to look at the thing-
Someone pulls him straight out of the water.
He is flying, literally flying out of the water, a soft smooth warm callused hand, a familiar hand pulling his. Kurt looks up to meet Blaine's hazel eyes. He's grinning unabashedly, they both are. And up, up they go, Kurt looking down at the rapidly shrinking inlet, his friends waving, and they are taking off across the endless expanse of ocean. Kurt's hand is tingling with contact from Blaine's, and Kurt studies the other boy's profile as they fly. Blaine has his hair shaggy and curling in perfect coils, a throwback to all the online photos of years past Kurt found on social networking sites. Blaine is barefooted, but clothed in acid washed skinny jeans and a green apple v-neck. He looks casual and mischievous, assertive and daring.
He looks like everything Kurt wants to be.
They fly higher, taking off towards the stars, and underneath their feet the world is carpeted by clouds. The tingling is getting stronger, and Kurt feels happy enough to burst, being under the moonlight with Blaine.
Kurt wakes up with pins and needles in his arm, and something warm in his heart.
He wears the pyjamas on his first night at Dalton, after his first Warbler meeting, the night before Sectionals, a particularly stressful night during winter exam week.
Each dream there on is a little different. Kurt wakes up on the beach each time, but he goes out to play in the water less and less. Instead, Blaine entices him farther inland, farther into the heavy and exotic vegetation. Sometimes Kurt walks underneath Blaine, who's floating above him as they head to a nameless destination. Sometimes Blaine takes his hand and they go up and around, buzzing past tree trunks and twirling around thick vines. Pavarotti follows the, chirps and swoops and spreads sparkles when he preens, spreading glitter where he perches among Blaine's curls. The boys laughed goodnaturedly.
Sometimes other Warbler boys come to join them on their exploration.
Nick and Jeff scuffle and laugh a lot, ducking behind Kurt and pulling him into their playfighting. Trent grouses and pouts and gets teased for his stubbornness. He gets into arguments with Flint, who in turn rotates from their verbal sparring to gently tease Bailey, tagging along behind them with a sweet smile and wide, innocent eyes. Blaine watches them all, hovering above, interjecting here and there with smiles and quips. They wander and explore ancient ruins, cross dangerous terrain and discover hidden treasure.
One night they chance upon a clearing, a half circle of tepees with the largest bonfire Kurt has ever seen. Thad and David are sitting by the fire, kneeling and waving as the boys approached. There are other Warblers sitting about, or coming out of their tepees, but Kurt hasn't had the chance to put faces to names yet. They are all barechested with loose tan pants, simple headbands adorning their heads with single blue feathers. Nick and Jeff are tripping over themselves to talk to the other boys, the gold from Nick's leopard pelt catching brightly in the fire. Trent sulks over to Thad's side and adjusts his bear fur, and immediately starts a conversation with the other boy. Flint is pulling Bailey by his silvery rabbit ears, and Bailey gives Kurt an embarrassed smile before the two start dancing around the fire, other boys joining in. Kurt waves them off with a laugh. He looks up, and Blaine is looking back at him with an appreciative smile. Kurt reaches up with both hands, asking in a silent plea to fly with him. Blaine just laughs and wags a finger at him. Not yet, he laughs, eyes delighted and two shots of amber, soon, but not now.
The sound of drums catch everyone's attention. They all stop what they're doing and turn towards the closest tepee. There is only silence and the soft pops and crackles from the fire. A figure emerges.
Wes comes out, with the most surliest expression and voluminous headdress Kurt has seen in his life. The plumage is of red, gold, blue, white-a combination Wes pulls off absurdly well. He motions for Kurt to come come closer, and the other boys watch intently.
But Kurt is unafraid. This is something important, a challenge to be accepted, and Kurt doesn't hesitate to prove he is one of them. He opens his mouth, and song pours out. It's haunting and strong, angry and vibrant. He sings and sings and sings, and the only movement in the campfire comes from his mouth.
There is a moment where Kurt catches his breath, and another voice joins in. And another, and another, until the entire group is singing. Kurt raises his voice high, outshining the others, just lets his head tip back and pours his soul out into the air.
Something flits past his ear, a feather soft touch to his shoulders.
When he opens his eyes, he is floating far above the campsite. Blaine is next to him, beaming. Below them, the other boys have started up another song, dancing with one another. Kurt can barely make out Pavarotti, a golden blur as the little bird sweeps from under Flint's fox tail to perch precariously on Jeff's swinging skunk pelt. But here, up above the boys, Blaine and Kurt are alone but together, separate but joined. It's a moment he never wants to end.
The next Warbler practice Kurt has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing, trying his best to avoid looking at Wes entirely.
The middle of February is the next time Kurt brings out the pyjamas.
Jeremiah, the store clerk, makes an appearance. Kurt feels nothing but amusement, watching the comical sight of Blaine trying to serenade him overhead, the other Warblers rambunctious and fussing underneath him. Jeremiah looks suitably ridiculous, dressed in fringed suede, his unadorned headband making an awkward dent in his unruly hair. Jeremiah ignores the whole performance, and when he finishes folding several pairs of suede pants, he stalks off into a tepee, leaving Blaine and the others in midsong.
Blaine laughs it off with a shrug of his shoulders. He then turns and slowly flies over to Kurt. He's only floating a couple feet off the ground, so when he grasps Kurt's hands, Kurt is lined directly with Blaine's navel, so Kurt tilts his head to look at Blaine. Blaine finishes his song, pulling faces and looking absolutely ridiculous, as if to mock himself. Kurt couldn't not jump and start a tickle fight afterwards, couldn't not prolong Blaine's good humor. When they take their end of the night flight, they go lower than before, their feet hitting the tree tops as they harmonize together.
Rachel, however, looks less ridiculous in her beige, suede dress.
She and Blaine spend the night dancing around the bonfire. Blaine is low, inches off the ground, gliding and twisting Rachel in a fast paced waltz. Her face is delighted, the fringe of her dress swaying with the movement. The other boys are too immersed in each other to notice Kurt slowly back away from the fire, from the warmth of the circle. Pavarotti is the only one who follows him out, out towards the darkened jungle. The bird nuzzles against Kurt's shoulder giving a sympathetic trill, and Kurt rises slowly off the ground. It's the first time his flying has felt slow and sluggish, strangely lopsided.
Kurt flies back to the inlet. He wants to talk to his girls. He wants to lay his head on Mercedes' shoulder, have Brittany run gentle fingers through his hair, hear soft words of understanding from the others. He reaches the inlet and settles out on the crop of rocks in the middle of the water. Nobody is around, but Kurt is content to wait. The water around him is pitch black and still, dim stars reflecting with only a ripple of an occasional breeze to reveal that they are just watery copies. It's then when the dark figure approaches him.
Kurt can hear it before he can see it.
Tick tock, it greets him, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
Kurt stands, trying to peer out in the water to find the source. It's like peering into the endless abyss of the universe.
I know you're out there, he calls.
The ticking answers him.
I am not afraid, Kurt says, standing rigidly, defiant, come out where I can see you.
In a long, dreadful moment, the figure, the beast, appears. Kurt wishes he never asked.
It's long and broad, scales like ebony and a texture like coal. It has a gruesome face, with a jagged snout and jaundiced eyes. It whips its tail as if it's another entity, and its webbed claws scraping against the rock, nails gleaming dully in the starlight. The creature looks up at Kurt, and it opens its mouth; a cavern of stink and nail-like teeth, a violent gesture and sudden lunge, an outpouring of tick tick tick tock tick tick tick tock TICK TOCK TICK TOCK-it sends Kurt reeling backwards, heart in his throat and for once terrified.
There is someone there to catch him.
Kurt gets pulled, jerked back roughly, and before he knows it, is flying along the coast at break neck speed. Kurt breaks out of his shock, and jerks away from his captor. He can still fly, so he breaks away and starts to fly upward, wanting to put some distance between himself and this person, who is surely Blaine.
Kurt is right, because when he looks down to yell at the other to let go of his foot, he meets Blaine's eyes, both desperate and angry and searching for something. Kurt stops trying to get away, but Blaine keeps his hand gripped around Kurt's ankle tightly. They don't say anything, and Blaine tugs Kurt down gently, until they are floating eye-to-eye. Neither boy says a word, as they slowly start to fly together. They keep low, lower than they've ever flown before, dragging the tips of their toes or the crook of their fingers in the saltwater below. It seems like forever that they do this, close together but not touching, drawing nonsense patterns that come close but never collide. It's not until Blaine takes his fingers out of the water and flicks droplets at him, startling Kurt into a surprised laughter, that he realizes that they'll get through this, that the silence isn't a way of saying goodbye.
The night after Pavarotti's death is an exciting one.
Kurt enters in the middle of an attack. He's on board a ship, and everything around him is red and blue. There is so much fighting and confusion, loud noises and people. Kurt can barely make out who they all are, before recognizing them as jocks and cheerleaders from McKinley, and Dalton boys in various states of uniform.
It only takes the sight of Thad and Becky in an intense swordfight to realize who was the captain of this vessel.
Kurt ducks and jumps, maneuvering through the fighting. There are swords and sticks clashing, jutting in and out of his way. Cannons are going off, whizzing overhead, setting off smoke. As Kurt moves towards the side of the ship, he watches a cheerleader get pelted with urchins and driftwood. Kurt peeks over to see his girlfriends shouting and throwing, splashing angrily with their tails.
He needs a weapon. He needs to fight. He needs to find Blaine. Kurt looks for something, anything he can get his hands on, any sign of Blaine.
He instead gets half tackled, the breeze of something remarkably fast and dark flying where is head had been seconds before. The figure, Finn, looks simultaneously bewildered and concerned, taking off his letterman jacket as he speaks. Here, he offers Kurt a key and a dagger.
You need to find it, and hurry. Go now! We'll wait as long as we can. Finn's voice softens. Good luck, bro.
Finn pushes Kurt towards a set of stairs, before he runs off to towards the mast. Kurt knows what to do without fully understanding. As he reaches the top of the stairs, he looks back. He catches a glimpse of Blaine divebombing Azimo, brandishing a saber, and Finn who has climbed halfway up the mast and was waving his jacket wildly at the horizon. Looking at Blaine makes Kurt want to run towards him in aid, but something in Finn's gesture strengthens his resolve to go below deck.
It's dark and musty, eerily silent despite the wild commotion that is going on above Kurt. He sneaks past dark rooms, filled with secrets. His feet know their path, and Kurt's heart is racing as he reaches his destination. He jiggles the doorhandle. It's locked. Kurt uses the key Finn gave him, the deadbolt echoing as he unlocks the door. Inside, the room is filled with trophies, a dazzling display of gold figurines matched with inlay of precious stone. Kurt gingerly steps around them, looking for a sign, for something that had been stolen, that was rightfully theirs. It was time to take it back.
He catches it out of the corner of his eye. It's a dusty box made of rough wood, with angry letters and obscenities scratched over it. This is it. He grabs it and runs, runs as fast as he can up the stairs uncaring about stealth. It was time to go.
Kurt bursts out onto the deck, the sun blinding his eyes. As he squints he adjusts his grip on the box. An angry roar from above causes him to jump.
Coach Sylvester is at the foot of the wheel, but she angrily stalks towards him, hitting an unsuspecting cheerleader with her megaphone. She leans against the ship's railing and screams, GET. HIM. DON'T LET HIM ESCAPE.
Kurt makes a run for it, wildly, as hands reach and grab at him. Kurt runs toward an opening on the side of the ship. He freezes. It's a gangplank. It's a gangplank, and that thing, that creature is lurking underneath, all horrible grins and patiently floating underneath. Tick tock, floats up, a terrible reminder.
Kurt turns to run, go anywhere else, but a large shadow and the sinking of the planks suggest there's someone large, blocking his path.
It's Karofsky.
He is in his letterman jacket, no weapon in his hands, just two angry fists clenching and unclenching at his side. His face is scowling, sad.
Kurt looks around for help, but everyone around him is caught up with their own problems. He can see Blaine, briefly, engaged with an enraged Sue Sylvester. They are dueling ferociously, Sue taking sporadic swipes at Blaine's head with the megaphone.
He looks back at Karofsky, who is looming over him without trepidation.
Give it to me, lady, he growls. His eyes dart over to the box, before coming up to Kurt. Kurt clutches the box to his chest, pulling out his dagger. Karofsky smirks, and knocks it out of Kurt's hands effortlessly. He grabs onto Kurt, who's now wild with fear and anger and the bitter edge of defenselessness. Panicked, Kurt brings his other arm up, and smashes the chest against his head.
It shatters into splinters, and Karofsky's grip lessens as he falls. Something white and brilliant goes careening to the floor. Kurt is on his knees in a second, capturing what looks to be the largest pearl in existence, right before it rolls off the deck. It's beautiful, and oddly enough, a familiar weight to him. It warms him slowly, fills him with an emotion he hadn't experienced in a long time.
Kurt gets pulled out of his reverie by someone, no, many people shouting his name. He looks over to see a smaller vessel, filled with all his New Directions friends calling out to him. He sees Mike and Artie, a damp haired Finn, a waving Sam. Puck is helping the girls clamber aboard, their tails shifting and unraveling into sarongs. Then he hears Finn, shouting to look out, look out Kurt!
Kurt doesn't give a second thought to what he does next.
With all his strength, he throws the pearl to Finn, just as Karofsky's enraged shout reaches his ears, where his too forceful hands send Kurt plummeting off the deck and down, down, down.
He can hear the girls screaming, and hell, he's probably screaming too.
His eyes are screwed shut, but not out of fear, not anymore. He wasn't going to be afraid anymore, of that creature, or Karofsky, no one, no one would get the best of him anymore-!
Kurt sucks in a breath and opens his eyes.
He's arcing high above the ships, flying.
It's incredible feeling, flying solo, his friends cheering for him. He looks down, the vessels seem so small and insignificant underneath him, the creature sinking into the depths of the ocean, disappearing from sight. Kurt can see the decks of Coach Sylvester's ship, now covered mostly in Warblers. As he floats closer, he can see the Dalton boys shackling the remaining jocks, Blaine ordering for them to be put into the brig. Karofsky is one of the last to be brought away, his eyes never leaving Kurt's, until he is pushed down the stairs and out of sight.
And then Blaine is meeting him up halfway, spinning and clamping him into a hug. You did it, he breathes. You made it without me.
Kurt whispers back, his voice breathy from adrenaline. No, no. I couldn't have done it without you. Blaine nuzzles the crook of his neck, speaking into it.
I pushed you, he insists. Kurt pulls back enough to raised their entwined hands to his lips.
You gave me your hand when I needed it the most, he tells each knuckle, accentuating it with a kiss.
From under them, the Warblers break out into whoops and cheers, yelling their congratulations and catcalling to the couple. Kurt laughs, so giddy with affection. He wants to the world about him and Blaine, he wants the world to see him in love.
Kurt looks over to the other vessel, intent on showing Blaine off as his boyfriend, but with a jolt, he realizes they've already set sail without him. It sobers him, slightly, to see them off in the distance, to leave without saying goodbye.
Even Blaine and the celebration the Warblers throw afterward cannot quell the minute bout of homesickness.
The morning of Regionals, Kurt enters the warbler practice room a nervous ball of energy. Trent gives him a terse good morning, before going over his harmony again. Jeff is sitting next to Bailey, who is looking glassy eyed at his phone. Kurt sits next to Bailey, and asks what's wrong. Bailey gives a watery smile and shrugs.
"My parents had to cancel on me. No big deal-it's just." He stops, and gives a sad little smile. It works devastating well on him. "They weren't able to meet up with me for Christmas. That's all."
He looks back down at the darkened screen of his phone. Jeff gives a sympathetic sigh and rubs Bailey's shoulder, saying, "I know how you feel, man. My mom's got another conference and Crawford isn't letting my sister come out and watch."
Kurt knows that Jeff's parents are divorced, his brothers flung out to other private schools along the west coast. He turns to Trent, who is now looking down at his paper in disgust.
"I haven't asked my parents to come in years."
Kurt kept silent, nodding sadly. He felt that piping in, saying that both his father and stepmother were taking time off from work to watch him perform wasn't bragging, per se, but just another stinging reminder to the other boys. It made him appreciate his father's Friday night dinners, Carole's affectionate embraces, Finn's feet flopping over his when they sit down to argue over the TV. He knows after spending his lunch period holding Blaine's hand, relearning everything about his new boyfriend, that he didn't have high hopes of his parents coming to watch either. Afterwards, Kurt pressed a timid kiss to Blaine's lips, a tiny comfort to chase away the bitterness.
He kind of wanted to do the same thing now, to chase away the bitter loneliness of the boys he thinks of as family. They aren't New Directions, but they are people he's laughed with, complained to about homework, and movies, teased and argued against, slowly brought out of their formal shells and learned their secrets. They are people he accepts, and who accept him. They are people who matter. Not to be forgotten, not placed faraway behind iron gates and immaculate lawns, stone walls, aging traditions.
Kurt clears his throat, trying to clear the gloomy disposition that threatens to swallow them. It simply wouldn't do, to get into a funk right before Regionals.
"I don't suppose," he starts airily, trying to change the subject, trying to lift their spirits higher, "I ever told you boys about my dream of Wes dressed as an Indian Chieftain?"
"Native American." Trent corrected, but a small smile was starting to form on his face. Jeff and Bailey look at Kurt with curious eyes.
"No," said Bailey, his eyes widening, "tell us."
When Wes got on up from his seat to give a quick pep talk later that morning, Kurt could hear Bailey's giggling from the back of the bus.
After they lose Regionals, Kurt is half hoping for an adventure, something big and dangerous, with Blaine and the others. Another battle, another run in with pirates or discovering old ruins. Another cliff to traverse, another act of bravery from Blaine, maybe even a romantic duet.
It's not what he dreams.
It's nighttime, and Kurt and Blaine are sitting on a clocktower. Their hands are twisted together, and Kurt peers out, surveying the world around him. Wherever they are, there aren't a lot of lights, and all the buildings look to be one or two stories tall. Judging from where they are sitting on the hour hand, it's a little before three in the morning. But he's sitting here, with Blaine, looking out at the stars and it's beautiful-Kurt squints, something catching his eye. He can barely make it out, but the more he looks, the more familiar the area around him becomes. He can make out the blue scrawl of "Hummel's Tire and Lube", a half lit billboard for the Lima Bean, the empty parking lot of the public library.
"Why," Kurt asks, "are we back in Lima?" Blaine turns to him, giving Kurt a sad, soft smile. It's the first time he notices Blaine actually sitting on something solid, before Blaine is pressing close, his hands caressing Kurt's cheek.
Kurt could feel the wrought iron hour hand beneath him shift, and everything about Blaine became hyper-real, every mile long eyelash, the galaxy of stars reflecting in his irises, the maelstrom of breath as it hit against Kurt's lips, pulling them closer and closer together.
It's time, Blaine breathes, before their atoms collide, and it echoes with the clocking striking three, a resounding, earsplitting, irrefutable truth.
It's time.
It's time.
It's time to go back.