"I still can't believe that Dalton didn't cancel classes today." Burt Hummel fell heavily into one of the kitchen chairs, wrapping his callused palms around a fresh cup of coffee. He normally woke up for work around seven o'clock, but the sounds of his son getting ready had roused him that morning well before six. "There's got to be over a foot of snow out there already. And there's no sign of it stopping anytime soon."
Kurt shrugged, checking his reflection again in the hall mirror. "Don't forget, Dalton's an hour and a half away. According to the Weather Channel, Westerville hasn't gotten more than a dusting." He nudged a wayward hair back into place, and hit it with more hairspray.
Burt grunted, sipping his coffee. "Well, you were smart to get up and out early. It'll be a tough commute. You're sure you don't want to stay home today?"
"I'm sure. This is a really important day for me." Kurt nodded once at his reflection, finally satisfied. He opened the door to the coat closet and pulled out his taupe wool pea coat and a coordinating herringbone scarf.
"Oh? What do you have, a test?"
"No, today is the day when I debut..." Kurt paused for effect. "My Bijan for Men."
Burt choked on his coffee. "Your bij– Is that a gay thing?"
"It's only one of the finest colognes on the market, Dad. And today is the first day I've used it." At his father's blank stare, he explained, "Cologne isn't like wine. It doesn't get better with age. The first spritz is just..." He waved his arm dramatically. "It's the highlight of the entire bottle. And I've already applied it. So no, I'm not wasting this day sitting at home. This scent deserves to be shared with the world."
"Well, as long as you feel comfortable driving, I guess it's okay." Burt scratched his belly absently. "But if you feel like the roads are getting too bad at any point, just promise me you'll pull over and wait out the storm."
"I promise."
"And call me when you get there. I don't want to have to worry."
"I will."
Kurt grabbed his satchel and an apple, waved to his father, and headed out to the garage. He was no stranger to the art of driving in the snow, and while this winter had been the worst in recent memory, he harbored no worries about the commute. His sturdy SUV could handle anything. Turning the key in the ignition and throwing the gear stick into reverse, he headed out of the driveway and made his way toward Route 117.
The roads were bad. Really, really bad. Even the major highways were caked with compacted snow. Kurt counted more than a dozen vehicles on the side of the highway in the first half-hour alone, and hoped fervently that they had pulled over by choice and not necessity. He felt his Escalade's tires start to slide a few times, and his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel only got tighter. Despite the state of the weather when he'd left home, the situation didn't seem to ease up at all as he drew nearer to Westerville. If anything, the snowfall grew heavier.
He was nearing his exit off of 270 when he heard his cell phone ring. He glanced at the caller ID before answering with his hands-free device. "Hey, Blaine."
"Is this awesome or what?" came the whooping reply. "I really thought all this snow was gonna miss us completely."
"Yeah, awesome," Kurt said drily. "Guess I brought it with me."
"Brought it where?"
"To Westerville."
"Oh, when you transferred from McKinley?" Blaine gave a polite, if puzzled, laugh. "I guess it's possible! So... any fun plans today?"
Kurt flicked on his turn signal and took the exit for Cleveland Avenue. "I think the highlight will, much like every Friday, be Warblers' practice." Blaine didn't respond, so Kurt went on. "I mean, not that Dalton classes aren't... good. They are. But singing is–"
"Kurt," Blaine interrupted. "Tell me you got a call from Winston this morning."
"Winston Graves? No, haven't heard from him. Good Gaga, this town needs better snowplows."
"I'm going to kill him."
"Winston was supposed to plow?"
"No, Winston was supposed to call you as part of the Dalton phone chain. To say that school was canceled today."
Kurt's jaw dropped open. "To say what?"
"Yeah."
"Please tell me you're joking."
"I wish I were."
"I.." He swore under his breath as he signaled to make the right turn onto the main street in town. "This is just great. I've been driving for over two hours. I'm like... a mile away from campus. What the hell am I–" Suddenly, as he turned, the back wheels of the Escalade began to skid. "Oh, shit."
"Kurt?"
"Shit shit shit." He'd been going too fast, and taken the turn too sharply. The SUV drifted across the opposite lane of traffic, and a car was heading right for him. "Shit!"
"Kurt!"
There was a loud noise. Strangely, his first thought was that snow had somehow come through the roof of the car, because everything was white. He looked down at his trembling hands, which were covered with a fine white powder. The air was thick with it. The car horn was blaring, and he wondered how he was supposed to turn it off, because the steering wheel panel was covered with a now-deflated airbag. He blinked in confusion, trying to get his bearings.
"Are you okay?" Someone was knocking on his window. He looked over, too shaken to speak. "Kid, are you all right?" The man – who looked to be roughly his father's age, opened Kurt's door and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"
Kurt shook his head dumbly.
The man let out a harsh sigh of relief. "Me neither. My wife told me not to drive today. Should have listened." He took a step back, surveying the damage to Kurt's Escalade. "Your car doesn't look good. Mine either."
Kurt tried to undo his seatbelt, but his hands were shaking too hard. The man took pity on him, and helped unbuckle him. He stumbled out of the seat and they stood together in the snow, staring at the damage. The front of the other car was crushed into his left backseat. The man pulled out his cell phone and called the police, who informed him that the governor had just declared a state of emergency. He and Kurt were given permission to leave their cars where they were, for the time being, because tow trucks had little chance of reaching them.
"Miracle we weren't hurt," the man said. "You live nearby? Want to use my cell to call your parents?"
"Lima," Kurt said finally. His voice sounded like a stranger's.
"You live in Lima? Good god. What are you doing all the way out in Westerville, on a day like today?" It was then that the man noticed Kurt's uniform trousers. His eyes brightened in understanding. "Ah. You're a Dalton boy."
Kurt nodded.
"Well, we can't stay out here, and both of our cars are too damaged to drive. I live about five minutes away. You're welcome to come wait out the storm at my house." The man held out his hand. "I'm Patrick Donnelly, by the way."
They shook hands. Kurt couldn't seem to get his mouth working again to introduce himself.
"What do you say? Would you like to come home with me? I have two sons around your age – Timothy and Andrew. I'm sure they'd be glad to have a new Call of Duty opponent. And my wife will want to mother you to death, no doubt."
Kurt breathed in and out, just staring at his beautiful, totaled car. If he had drifted just a few feet further, Mr. Donnelly would have hit the driver's side of his car head-on at 45 miles per hour. A mere second or two may have saved Kurt's life.
"Hey, you sure you're all right?"
Before he could answer, Kurt heard the thrum of an approaching vehicle. He and Mr. Donnelly both turned to see a familiar-looking silver Outback round the corner and head toward them. It slowed to a crawl as it approached, before stopping altogether. Immediately, the passenger side door opened, and Blaine jumped out, hitting the ground running. Behind him, Wes emerged from the driver's side, as David exited the back.
Mr. Donnelly managed to ask, "Friends of yours?" just before Blaine reached them.
"Kurt, are you okay?" His eyes were wide with panic. "Are you hurt?"
Kurt shook his head.
Blaine threw his arms around him, nearly knocking the wind out of him. "You scared the hell out of me!" It was then that Kurt finally remembered their conversation before the accident. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.
"Sorry," he whispered.
"Oh, god, don't apologize. I... just, don't. At least you're okay. You're okay, right?"
Kurt nodded. He noticed Wes and David talking quietly with Mr. Donnelly.
Blaine followed his line of vision. "After I heard your accident and you weren't responding to me, I started running out of the dorm to come find you, and they intercepted me. Wes said I was too upset to drive, and that we should take his Outback anyway, since it handles better than my car in the snow. And I think David just came along for moral support." Even as Blaine spoke, his eyes raked over Kurt, checking for any signs of injury. "You're really all right?"
Mr. Donnelly was looking over at him.
"Kurt?" Blaine pressed.
He didn't know what to do. His car was destroyed, his home was miles away, school was canceled, and the snow was only coming down harder as more time passed. He supposed that he should find shelter – he was shaking all over.
"Look, boys," Mr. Donnelly said, approaching them. "I think your friend here is in shock. Why don't you let me take him home, and–"
"Like hell," Blaine scowled, taking Kurt by the elbow. "He's coming to Dalton with us."
"Isn't school closed? Are there even adults on campus?"
"The headmaster is there," David said calmly. "And the resident nurse is in the infirmary. We can get Kurt checked out there."
Mr. Donnelly peered at Kurt. "What do you want to do? Would you rather go to Dalton, or–" He broke off as Kurt took a step closer to Blaine. "Okay, as long as there's someone looking after you. I've given my contact information and insurance provider to your friends here. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?"
Kurt nodded, not ungratefully.
"We should head back," Wes said, looking up at the sky. "This is starting to turn into a blizzard." The boys helped Kurt retrieve his bag and cell phone from his car, and then piled into the Outback. Wes and David sat in the front, while Kurt and Blaine climbed into the back. Mr. Donnelly politely declined their offer of a ride, and turned to walk down the street, buttoning up his overcoat against the cold, snowy wind.
Blaine kept one hand on Kurt's back during the ride, murmuring words of comfort. Out of deference to Kurt, Wes drove back slowly, glancing into the rear-view mirror from time to time to judge his friend's state.
When they pulled through the stately wrought-iron gates to Dalton, Blaine leaned over and said quietly, "I know this is probably the wrong time to mention this, but you smell fantastic."
For the first time that day, Kurt smiled.