A Feeling I Can't Hide
A/N: This is another Lost!Blaine story, but this one has a historical twist and a Time!Slip. Love those stormy blue eyes. Definitely AU
They couldn't help falling in love, with even the cosmos agreeing they were a perfect match for each other. Blaine had been mysteriously transported back to Kurt, more than a hundred years earlier, with the power of a bolt from the heavens. The smoldering glow of their attraction quickly bloomed to a flare that was too obvious to keep a secret for very long. And discovery could be a death sentence.
June 1876
There was little to indicate that this day would change Kurt's life forever. Kurt Hummel was returning from a long overdue visit to the home of Mrs. Jones, their housekeeper, one Sunday afternoon. The sky had admittedly looked rather ominous all day, but he hadn't seen his closest friend, Miss Mercy Jones, her daughter, for much too long. She had left the Negro's school at the end of the previous year to help her mother in making ends meet by taking in washing and sewing clothing for people, in addition to looking after their home, since her mother was away from home six days a week 'doing' for Kurt and his widowed father.
The afternoon had flown while he and Mercy indulged in spirited commentary on the local events in Lima and beyond, with their immoderate laughter regularly punctuating their remarks. He finally forced himself to leave the Jones' warm and welcoming hearth for his own cold lonely kitchen, though he had been urged to stay a bit longer for supper. He decided he would be wise to leave for home immediately, before the heavens opened, since he was well-aware that mid-June in Ohio was the worst of the annual thunderstorm season. He didn't want to find himself returning home after dark, with the approaching storm reducing his prospects even more. There would be no slow, glowing early summer sunset tonight, it was quite plain to see, from the advancing dark blanket of cloud covering the sky.
Burt Hummel, Kurt's father, had also gone out for the afternoon, courting the Widow Hudson. He had murmured to Kurt self-consciously, with a hint of a blush when he left, that he might possibly be late, because he hoped to be invited to stay for dinner. Kurt had merely smiled at him, pleased that his father's wooing seemed to be going so well. It was gratifying that his introduction of his father and Mrs. Hudson had led to them enjoying each other's company, after both of them being widowed for many years now. Burt, since Kurt's mother died when he was merely a lad of 8 and Carole Hudson since shortly after her husband had gone marching off with his regiment fifteen years ago, wearing the Union blue, determined to free the south from tyranny in the war of the North against the South. His son had been merely a babe in his mother's arms when they got word of his death.
It was unfortunate that Mrs. Hudson's only son retained no memory of his heroic father, because Kurt still treasured numerous memories of his beloved and very beautiful mother, whom he was said to favour greatly. His most precious possession was a painted miniature of her, though his father said fondly that he could see his mother's eyes whenever he wanted, when he looked into his own mirror. He had also inherited many of her elegant and refined mannerisms, her willowy frame...and her lovely singing voice.
Burt, in turn, was rather relieved that Kurt seemed to prefer to spend most of his free time socializing with their housekeeper's daughter, instead of more tempting eligible ladies. Kurt was seventeen now and quite old enough to start noticing pretty ladies, though still much too young to give any thought to marrying.
Burt judged Mercy unsuitable for Kurt simply because she and his son were too close, more like brother and sister, than a courting couple. The fact that she was a Negro mattered much more to socially conscious people in town, than it did to Burt or his son, since they had ceased to notice the complexion of the Jones family long ago. They were quite unusual in that respect, here in Ohio in 1876. It was an unfortunate fact that Anita Jones was regularly reminded that she was born a slave, by those who sought to keep her in her proper place, when they felt she'd forgotten it.
Mrs. Jones was supposed to be their housekeeper, having been employed by Kurt's father since the unfortunate passing of Kurt's mother, but she seemed more like part of their family now. Burt was completely hopeless when it came to domestic tasks, so Mrs. Jones efficiently ensured they were well fed, and their home was clean and welcoming for them. Kurt was far less hopeless domestically than his father, thanks to her tutelage, but his father reminded him daily that his first priority should be acquiring an excellent education, not baking treats for him or tailoring a new coat.
Kurt's father had recently been elected county reeve, in a surprise rout of the ludicrously incapable incumbent. Up until then, he'd been merely a local merchant, with a busy repair shop behind a small general store, where Kurt was also employed during the summers and on Saturdays. Now that he would have a more reliable source of income, his father told Kurt he hoped to inquire at the new Dalton Academy for Boys in Westerville, to enroll him for the next and last year of his education, before he attended university in one of the great cities of New York, Boston or Chicago.
He insisted that if Kurt associated with a more lofty level of society, it could do nothing but improve his future prospects and that a diploma from such a school would ensure he achieved entry to the best Universities to become a lawyer or a doctor. Kurt told his father he was reluctant to move so far away to attend university, which was a prevarication, since secretly he yearned to see far more of the world, beyond the small town in Ohio he'd been born in. He was lately becoming more receptive to the idea, now that he suspected he wouldn't be leaving his father alone and lonely, which was the real reason for his hesitancy.
Unless his father proposed to Mrs. Hudson in the next few months, Kurt intended to resist transferring to Dalton Academy. It was located so far away that he would have to board there, and make the arduous four hour trek home by hired coach on the occasional weekend to see his father and Mercy. Kurt sighed, knowing he would do whatever he must to please his father, even if he insisted he change schools.
Kurt suspected that some of Burt's enthusiasm for him attending the new school was because he had recently become aware from Mrs. Hudson that Kurt was often the unfortunate target of maltreatment from many of the brutish boys at his local school. They accused Kurt of being a fop and feeling himself socially superior, when in truth, he simply appreciated fine clothing, good etiquette and beautiful music. Should any of his school mates suddenly acquire an interest in nice clothing, good music, and proper manners, he would enthusiastically seek out their company. As it was, he only allowed himself to truly relax and be himself in the privacy of his home where only Mercy and Mrs. Jones were privy to his real character, instead of when he tried to fit in better by behaving more like the majority of other young men he knew.
Kurt hiked his collar up, clutched his coat tighter and hurried his steps as he leaned into the wind, wishing there was some way to foretell that the weather was going to become this foul before he'd left the Jones' home. He'd originally ventured out today into the lowering clouds with a frisson of excitement, to be truthful. Over the last year, he'd had many strangely powerful dreams of exultantly standing out in the rain and wind, feeling their elemental force circulate through him.
He was exceedingly disturbed that he was usually naked in those dreams, standing on a hillside with his arms raised in supplication for….what? He wasn't sure, but it somehow felt as if the storm was able to give it to him. In any case, he very much enjoyed the rain and wind of a summer storm, though appreciating a storm from indoors was surely more pleasurable than his current wet and cold condition.
Perhaps in his dream, the storm was a metaphor for God, who he sincerely hoped might one day grant him someone to love as adoring and sensitive as his mother had been. Similarity of personality certainly didn't seem to be a prerequisite to happiness though, since his father and mother had been nearly polar opposites, and still been deeply devoted to each other. Kurt looked upward to the blustery heavens, from where his mother undoubtedly still watched over him lovingly and hoped that whoever that turned out to be, that his mother approved.
He pulled his flat cap farther down on his head in a futile effort to shield his eyes from the increasing downpour, whipped sideways like the tree branches tossed by the swirling wind. He was only ten minutes' walk away from the Jones' home, but he was already chillingly drenched to the skin. The constant ominous rumble in the distance portended even worse weather about to arrive. He decided to distract himself from his discomfort by imagining the person he might marry one day. Sparkling eyes, hair…perhaps dark, in contrast to his…
Suddenly he was felled to the ground by a tremendous explosion, with his ears ringing like he'd just suffered a blow to the head. The rotten egg smell of sulphur in the air felt like a malodorous blanket holding him to the ground. The rain pooled on his face and the wet seeped into his jacket and the back of his trousers, as he lay helpless on the side of the roadway, unable to make his muscles obey him at all. He felt like a marionette with his strings disconnected, all voluntary command of his body completely lost. Would he be met by an angel who would soon appear to escort him to paradise to be reunited with his mother? He didn't feel he deserved the alternative. Gracious, he'd scarcely had an opportunity to sin yet, with his dull and mundane life.
A remote part of his mind noticed the wind was now picking up even more speed to a gale, and the sky was becoming the colour of the fresh bruise on his shoulder from one of the louts at school. He felt distant tingling beginning in his hands and feet, and turned his head to watch his fingers curl slowly into his palm. Ohgood, apparently he hadn't yet left his father alone and departed from this life!
He heard a strange sound penetrate his foggy brain, and swung his head toward it stiffly, mystified by what could be causing it. It sounded like the wind rubbing a tree branch on another, making it groan in protest. There were two large trees nearby but the sound seemed to come from the opposite direction. He rolled slowly to his side, determined to get out of this storm before he was felled unequivocally dead by the next bolt of lightning. The sky had become dark as night now, though the afternoon was barely over.
He rose to one knee and then was toppled again buy a sudden gust of wind. "Well, damn it to perdition, my coat and trousers will be completely ruined by the mud." He grumbled the complaint, as he once again rolled to his hands and knees to regain his feet, feeling wickedly daring when he swore, though there was no one there to offend.
"Hey…is somebody there? Ohhh man! What the hell hit me?" A faint voice reached Kurt's ears over the wind and rain, sounding weak and helpless. Someone else must have been approaching from the other direction and been felled by the same bolt that hit him! He had to find him and see if he had been more seriously damaged.
Kurt finally regained his footing and peered through the wildly whipping wind and rain as he stood swaying precariously, with leaves blowing past him. He saw nothing and no one, at first glance. Wait…something was slowly moving twenty feet away on the grassy roadside verge.
He wobbled toward the movement, his joints still feeling only loosely connected, and saw someone lying on the ground. A young man was splayed on his back, looking as helpless as Kurt had felt when he was down there. Kurt leaned over and peered at the man, as he slowly drew one foot toward his body.
Kurt blinked in surprise as their eyes met. "Um…hello…are you all right?" He spoke uncertainly. The boy was a complete stranger. Kurt knew most people around Lima from working in his father's store, at least by sight, since Lima numbered no more than 500 souls, but he'd never seen this face before. He would definitely have remembered that curly hair and handsome face.
"Oooohhhh! Fuck, I feel like I got hit by a bus!" The boy said, with an excess of feeling, as he closed his eyes again and flung one arm over them, evidently in hopes of mitigating the pain.
Oh my! Kurt blinked at his new acquaintance's salty language. He must be in extreme discomfort to speak to a stranger in that manner. Kurt had only indulged himself because he was sure there was no one nearby to hear him.
"I too was laid low by our shared blast from the heavens, but I seem to have recovered somewhat more quickly. Perhaps you have suffered more grievous damage? Do you need some assistance to help you regain your footing, or do you think I should seek a conveyance?" Kurt knelt down to shield the boy from the wind, noticing now that he wore only a light undershirt and a pair of dungarees folded up several inches to reveal his bare ankles. How had he gotten all the way out here, while only half-dressed?
"Huh?" The boy looked at him blankly as he made an inquiring noise. Oh dear, Kurt hoped he hadn't suffered a mental impairment in addition to his physical injuries.
"DO YOU THINK YOU CAN STAND UP, WITH MY HELP?" Kurt spoke loudly and quite slowly to allow the other boy to comprehend his question.
The boy quirked his mouth at him in a bemused smile and snorted. "Yeah, I guess so, if you don't mind giving me a hand." He raised his hand toward Kurt who grasped it and pulled on it...much too vigorously, apparently. The boy suddenly heaved to his feet and lurched forward into Kurt. He grasped Kurt's waist to steady himself, standing so close Kurt's eyes were only inches away from his.
"Woah" The stranger said softly and gazed into Kurt's eyes with an enthralled expression.
Kurt felt like he'd been hit with another bolt of lightning when those intense topaz eyes, with all the colours of woodland leaves, trees and grass, gazed into his. His heart gave a thump as it lurched in his chest and he immediately flushed, and cut his own eyes away, unable to bear their owner's fascinated scrutiny for one second longer. The boy backed up a step or two away from him then, but continued to look at him spellbound.
Blaine had found himself looking into eyes with all the colours of the sky and the sea mixed in a storm, deep blue and grey and green melded together, as deep and mysterious as the ocean. The intense stare returned to him had raised his hopes that he'd met a kindred soul. "Am I reading my gaydar completely wrong or do you maybe play on my team?" He asked the attractive stranger who had helped him up, with a hopeful smile.
"I…beg your pardon? Why would …? I'm afraid I'm not very interested in sports." Kurt was nonplussed by the odd question, assuming the stranger was confused, perhaps still suffering lasting ill effects from the strike.
"Forget it…my bad. I guess I was reading you wrong. We should probably get our asses out of the rain, dude, before we get totally refried." Blaine sighed with resignation. Damn, that would have been way too good to be true. All the cute ones were straight or taken, it seemed.
Kurt believed finding shelter would indeed be wise. The lightning was still blazing in the sky in every direction. The boy he'd helped up looked around himself, suddenly looking even more perplexed, and then felt his pockets in dismay. He started wandering around, checking the ground for something.
Kurt was beginning to believe the stranger was definitely not from Ohio. He spoke English without an obvious accent, but quite strangely. He'd never heard idiom such as his before. He seemed to have mistaken him for an acquaintance named 'Dude', a rather odd appellation. His partner in misfortune appeared to have decided that whatever he was looking for wasn't to be found, since he ceased casting around in search of whatever it was. Kurt suddenly remembered his manners, with a rush of guilt.
"Oh, of course. Pardon my rudeness. I should introduce myself. I'm Kurt Hummel, from Lima. Are you expected imminently somewhere else? If not, perhaps you would like to accompany me back to my friend's home to take shelter there until the storm abates. It's only five or ten minutes' walk that way, while Lima lies fifteen the other way. Shall I assist you in your search for whatever you've lost, before we go? I think we should both make haste out of the storm before we find ourselves less fortunate in the event of another strike."
Kurt hoped he might inspire a reciprocal introduction, then wondered what in heavens the boy was looking for. His shirt, perhaps? He couldn't help noticing that the undershirt he wore was nearly transparent from the rain, giving him the illusion of being in a state of dishabille, even greater than he actually was. His eyes were irresistibly drawn back to the dark circles of his nipples, quite clearly visible through his shirt, no matter how hard he tried to keep his gaze elsewhere.
"Um, no, don't bother. Uh, I'm Blaine Anderson, from Findlay. Pleased to meet you, Kurt Hummel, from Lima. I was headed to the mall, but I'm stumped as to how I ended up here. The strike must have blasted away a few memory cells, so I think I'll hang out with you for a bit, until I figure things out again. I must have lost my IPhone someplace along the way, so maybe I can call from your girlfriend's house for a ride. I don't see it anywhere around here."
Blaine smiled at him engagingly, and Kurt nodded to him vaguely, completely baffled by his speech again. All he'd gotten from that exchange was that he believed Blaine likely intended to accompany him to Mercy's house. They were both soaked to the skin now, so there was little point in worrying about getting wetter, but there was always the possibility of being struck again or having a branch land on them from the wind-tortured trees. Kurt was in no mind to tempt fate any farther.
He held out a hand toward their destination in an invitation which Blaine accepted. As they began to walk, Blaine seemed more and more disconcerted. "I have no idea where the hell I am, Kurt. Do you think I might have lost my memory or something? I mean, I know who I am, man. I don't have amnesia, but I don't recognize this road at all. How did I end up out here in the country? We must be miles away from where I was." Blaine was regarding Kurt in obvious confusion, but he could offer him no enlightenment at all, other than a reasoned approach to solving the mystery of his translocation.
"Where is the last place you recall being sure of your situation, Blaine? You say you were going to…the mall? Is that near where you were staying? Were you perhaps planning to go riding? I don't recall meeting or seeing you before, so I believe you're probably not from around here. Do you remember who you were visiting?" Normally, Kurt would never be so forward as to ask all those questions of a new connection, but Blaine was obviously at a loss to remember recent events himself.
"Uh, yeah. I'd just left my friend, Wes Kumar's house in Lima and I was headed to the mall to meet a couple of other friends there to go see a movie with them. It's about twenty minutes' walk, I think, from Wes' house, north to the mall. I'm not sure exactly, because I usually drive from there, but I didn't have my car today because my dad grounded me for mouthing off at him last week, so now I can only use it to drive to school in Westerville for two whole freaking weeks. I know there are houses and stores along the roads to the mall, though. Nothing in that area looks as rural as this place. I thought I knew all the roads around, but there's hardly a house or anything around here, and the road isn't even paved."
Blaine looked at Kurt expectantly, hoping for some insight. Kurt blinked in complete bafflement, mystified by Blaine's explanation. What ever could he be referring to? A movie? His car? His dad 'grounded' him? 'Mouthing off'? What in heaven's name language did they speak in Westerville? He was sure there was no family by the foreign sounding name of Kumar, living around here. He decided he would respond to the parts he presumed he did understand and hope for enlightenment to arrive regarding the rest of his statement.
"Lima is southwest from here. Oh! Do you attend Westerville's Dalton Academy for Boys, Blaine? I believe my father intends to enroll me there next fall, for my final year. I see I may have more trouble adjusting than I originally foresaw. There seems to be some sort of lingual code or special dialect I will have to learn. Pray, tell me, what is 'a movie'? Is a 'car' a conveyance of some sort? Does your father 'grounding you' refer to some sort of corporal punishment? I suspect I can guess what 'mouthing off" might mean. I have noticed you seem to lack decorum in your conversation, so I'm not surprised your father seeks to correct you. That is his duty, isn't it?" Kurt spoke as softly as he dared, not wanting to sound critical, but having to speak up over the wind and rain that continued to swirl around them. Blaine seemed to have a very casual attitude to making a new association.
Blaine glanced at Kurt, with a snort of amusement. "Geeze, you sound like a page out of "Little Women", Kurt. Are you in character for a role or something? This is not the time to rehearse, dude. I'm truly kinda lost here. And, yes I do go to Dalton. Do you know which way that is? I need to get myself oriented. My buddies are going to be worrying about me, if I don't show up soon. I'm cold and wet and I'd really like to get out of this weather."
Blaine sounded rather critical and annoyed at him, which Kurt felt was unjust, but at least this comment he understood...well, most of it, at least. He truly wasn't trying to be obstructive to Blaine's purposes. There was no need to insult him by telling him he sounded like a diminutive woman. He couldn't help that his voice tended to sound the way it did, especially when he was overwrought…though, admittedly, it wasn't considered masculine at any time, even by himself. He restrained his first impulse to snap at Blaine and took a breath to forestall his ire. They were nearing the Jones residence and soon would be able to converse more easily without having to shout to be heard over the wind. He hoped to soothe their ruffled tempers, with their arrival there, a haven of safety and warmth.
"We're nearing my friend's house now, and I most certainly wish to get out of the weather too. For your information, Westerville is southeast of here, that way, several hours ride by coach. I have no idea what you are referring to when you malign me for rehearsing a role. I'm not playing any role, other than as your would-be rescuer. I'm sorry if we misunderstand each other." Kurt was dismayed that he and Blaine had become irritated at each other. He had hoped they might become friends, after meeting in such a portentous manner.
Blaine craned into the distance in the direction Kurt pointed toward Westerville, but with the rain and wind he was unable to see anything familiar. They must be in a very rural area because there were no towers or hydro poles or anything around here. He decided to wait until he got to Kurt's girlfriend's house. Maybe he could call Jeff or Nick from there and they could come pick him up in Nick's car. He was relieved to see a small house come into view, situated to the side of the road, but was disappointed that he didn't recognize anything around there either.
He glanced at Kurt's pinched lips and could tell he'd probably pissed him off. Crap! He'd likely come across as a jerk, when he was just frustrated by not knowing what was going on. He was really grateful for Kurt's help and didn't want him to think he didn't appreciate him.
"Hey, I'm really sorry, Kurt. I didn't mean to sound so pissy. I'm not mad at you. I'm just trying to figure out what the hell is going on. "
Kurt nodded sheepishly, deciding he should probably forgive Blaine his repeated lapses in manners, because of his recent trauma. Their proposed refuge from the storm had providentially come into view. The Jones home was a story and a half wood-sided cabin, with a wide porch across the front. There was a golden welcoming lamp light glowing in the windows that warmed Blaine's heart even before they mounted the steps and approached the door. The siding could use a coat of paint and the yard could use a trim, but it was clean and tidy otherwise.
Kurt knocked on the door, and it shortly was answered by a young black girl of about their age. Blaine blinked at her outfit. What the bloody hell was with everybody? Kurt's girlfriend was wearing a long green dress. Like, long! Right to the floor! It was closely fitted on her upper torso, with a draped lacy collar that ran down to either side of her waist. Was everybody rehearsing for a play or something?
"Oh, Kurt! You did get caught out in the weather! I warned you that you might, but I'm glad you're back here safely now. Come in and get dry again. You brought a friend with you in these terrible conditions?" The girl smiled at Blaine in welcome, her very white teeth glowing in her dark complexion.
"I chanced upon Blaine on the roadway, Mercy… literally. This is my new acquaintance, Blaine Anderson, Mercy. Blaine, may I present Miss Mercy Jones, my most dear friend. You won't believe the occasion of our meeting, Mercy. We were both struck by the same bolt from the heavens and lived to tell the tale of it! We seem both to have suffered minimal damage, it appears, other than extreme detriment to our clothing, though Blaine appears to also have lost his way to the home of his friends. I hope you can give us shelter until we can return to Lima and locate their whereabouts."
Mercy tsked in sympathy, and hustled her visitors to come in to the fire, calling out to her mother to assist her in warming them. Mrs. Jones came into the front room from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.
"Kurt, my poor child, you and your friend are completely soaked. Come near to the fire and warm yourselves. I'll see if I can find something else for you both to wear, while your things dry and then we'll get some hot tea into you." Mrs. Jones opened a blanket box under the window, removed two colourfully woven blankets and distributed them to the sodden boys, as her first action to warm them, and hopefully stop their dripping on her clean floors.
"Anita, this is Blaine Anderson. Blaine, this is Mrs. Anita Jones, Mercy's mother." Kurt introduced the woman who was his proxy mother, and then gratefully submitted to her brisk flurry of attention in getting both boys dry and warm. Blaine had been very quiet since they arrived, saying very little other than to say he was pleased to meet both the women. He looked rather confused, as his eyes darted around the cabin searchingly.
Blaine felt like he'd stepped into a time machine. There was a fireplace warming the room, and a kerosene lamp lighting it. All the furnishings looked rustic and the extreme period detail was really freaking him out. He was starting to feel cold and clammy from the inside too, as his stomach dropped farther and farther.
Kurt informed Blaine that Mr. Jones had just left to go back to Sandusky on the coach, returning there with two other men, as was usual every Sunday evening, after the weekend. He was a salt miner and stayed at a relative's house all week, but he had left enough clothing there for both Blaine and Kurt to change into while their clothes dried. Mercy glanced at Kurt inquiringly, wondering if it was the fact they were Negroes that made Blaine seem so uncomfortable. Kurt returned her glance with a tiny almost imperceptible shrug. He had just met the boy himself. He had no idea of his personal biases.
There was some further awkwardness while they changed to dry clothing in Anita's bedroom. Blaine appeared to be just as fascinated with the accoutrements in the Jones' bedroom. He inspected the basin and ewer on the wash stand with its big cabbage roses, and the matching chamber pot in the corner of the room. He took note of the row of hooks on the wall that held Anita's Sunday dress and hat, and paid particular attention to the sturdy button-up shoes below, that she wore to church. He also seemed captivated by the handmade quilt in shades of green and yellow on their iron bedstead, in a pattern Kurt believed was called Log Cabin.
Kurt lost no time in pulling off his cold and muddy jacket, his soaked shirt and trousers, and then sat on the bed and peeled off his drenched stockings, leaving him in only his damp small clothes, which he decided to retain for modesty's sake. His skin was cold and stippled all over with goose bumps, as he hastily donned the plain blue collarless cotton shirt and rather roomy Sunday trousers belonging to Amos Jones.
His stealthy glance toward Blaine in the gloomy light of the bedroom showed him Blaine in the same state of undress, but his under-clothes were unusual, in that they seemed to fit very closely and had a wide black band around the top of the dark grey material. Kurt was intrigued. He had never seen unmentionables like them before.
Blaine caught him looking and smiled at him shyly, though he seemed to be staring in interest at his drawers too. Kurt's were the usual cross-over buttoned ones that most men wore, of plain soft white muslin cotton that was now nearly transparent with the wet. Their eyes met and they both blushed, realizing their staring was becoming inappropriate at the same time.
Blaine was distracted from his growing bewilderment by the glowing pale skin of the beautiful boy in the dim light, his cotton boxers … his shorts? Whatever they were, they were stuck to his body and giving Blaine a tantalizing hint of the hidden delights below. Who wore things like that? If he was wearing a costume, no one would know what he wore under it, so that meant…maybe it wasn't a costume? All the other period items in the house were giving him the appalling idea that maybe this wasn't staging for a play. Maybe…okay, it was totally nuts, but he had to ask.
"Kurt…I have a question to ask you. It might sound a little weird, but I'm serious. What is today's date?" Blaine spoke with a softly hesitant note to his voice that confused Kurt. Blaine wished to know the date? Whatever for? Oh my, he must still be suffering confusion from the strike.
"It's Sunday June 4th today. Do you think you might have lost the memory of some time, Blaine? I believe that wouldn't be beyond the realm of possibility, considering how close we both were to being blasted all the way past the rain clouds above us." Kurt answered in as light a tone as he could, trying to reassure Blaine that he wouldn't judge, if he had forgotten how and when he got to Lima. He fully intended to take care of the poor displaced young man. If all else failed, they could take the coach to Findlay tomorrow and find his home that way.
"What year is this?" Blaine asked even more softly, his troubled eyes telling Kurt this was no joke.
Oh…dear! Blaine's memory might be worse than he thought. "Its 1876" Kurt answered briefly, trying not to sound distressed by Blaine's question.
"Hooooly fuck! You're serious, aren't you?" Blaine's face had lost all its colour, his pallor obvious even in this poor light. Kurt decided to overlook Blaine's language again, though he really should try to curb his swearing. He seemed to be extremely perturbed by the information Kurt had given him.
"Is the year troubling to you? What date did you expect it might be?" Kurt asked, wondering why Blaine looked so shocked.
"I…Kurt… it was June 4 2011 when I left Wes' house." Blaine answered numbly.
WHAT! Kurt's eyes widened in dismay. Blaine must have suffered much worse damage to his mind than he suspected. He was looking like he might pass out soon, wavering on his feet, so Kurt decided to get him into a chair as soon as he might.
"Oh! … Well…we should probably return to the front room, Blaine. Anita will be worrying. You should sit down and rest for a while."
Kurt hoped Blaine wouldn't collapse before he got him to a chair. He was looking absolutely gob-smacked now, shocked beyond reason in a delayed reaction from his unfortunate accident. He still stood immobile, wearing only the half buttoned striped white shirt and his odd under clothes. Blaine's eyes were empty of anything but stunned dismay, and he wasn't making any move to finish dressing and don the black trousers waiting on the bed.
Kurt finished doing up the fly buttons on his own trousers, put the attached suspenders over his shoulders and approached Blaine warily to assist him. He looked pale as a ghost and his skin felt icy cold and clammy. He needed to get some clothes on him and get him warm before he fainted from shock.
Kurt slowly did up the rest of his shirt buttons for Blaine and then bent over and held out the trousers for Blaine to step into, a remote corner of his attention detecting a sweet odor of cologne emanating from his friend. The fact that he wore cologne implied that he too appreciated the finer things in life. Blaine distractedly put a hand on Kurt's shoulder and wordlessly stepped into the pants, looking like he was barely functioning. Kurt pulled the trousers up around Blaine's waist and did up the top button. Blaine still stood unmoving, paralyzed by the realization that time seemed to have slipped a century and some when he got hit by the lightning bolt.
Kurt knew he had to get Blaine to a chair as soon as he could, but incapable of making any progress himself, he decided to continue to assist him. Rather than have Blaine rejoin the ladies in the front room unbuttoned, he used as light a touch as possible to do up his fly buttons. He felt Blaine's prick underneath his fingers, seeking refuge from the cold and damp by drawing close to his body, just as Kurt's was. At least his had been in hiding. Kurt felt it stirring as he finished the last button, and felt a blush bloom on his face at the realization that it was the unaccustomed contact with Blaine's body causing it. How embarrassing if Blaine should realize it. He thanked the good Lord that the trousers he wore were several sizes too large for his small frame, as he put the suspenders in place over Blaine's shoulders.
He gathered up their discarded wet clothing from the rag rug they were standing on and led Blaine solicitously back to the warmth of the fire with a hand under his arm. Blaine accompanied him unresisting, and Kurt settled him into Anita's rocking chair, with a worried glance to Mercy as she tucked the blanket around him again, and wrapped him in a shawl. She tilted her head at Kurt in a questioning glance at his bewildered condition. He nodded toward the kitchen, and they left Blaine sitting gazing into the fire with every appearance of being in a stunned stupor, while they returned to the kitchen.
"Is Blaine suffering some cerebral disturbance, Kurt?" Mercy asked Kurt hesitantly, as she began to prepare tea. "He seems rather quiet, but my, oh my, he looks fine to me, honey. That is a very nice looking man." Anita gave her daughter a warning glance, but didn't say anything, since she knew Mercy was likely teasing to help relax Kurt. She was up to her eyebrows, cooking and baking on her day off from her employment at the Hummel's, and was happy to let Mercy offer hospitality to their guests, unless they needed her.
"Mercy," Kurt whispered to her quietly, so Anita wouldn't hear. "He told me he thought the year was 2011! That's a hundred and thirty five years from now! He's suffered some sort of terrible damage to his intellect and I don't know how to restore it! What should we do?" Kurt sounded distressed near to tears at Blaine's state.
Mercy patted her friend's arm to reassure him. "Kurt, please just down sit and rest for a bit. You both need a hot cup of tea, and some time to recover from the shock you've had. I'm sure he'll likely be right as rain by tomorrow, after a good night's sleep. We should try to discover how to contact his family though. He's in no condition to return to them today, but we could at least try to send them a message. You could take him back to your house tonight...or, I suppose…if he can't travel, he could stay here tonight." Anita sent another wary glance to her daughter, at that. Not unless he absolutely had too, she meant.
Kurt was comforted by Mercy's calm voice of reason and decided she was probably right. He couldn't assume simply because he seemed to be not quite himself right now, that Blaine wouldn't survive unscathed as well. They had both nearly died, he knew. He had heard of no one else who had survived being struck by lightning, so it made sense that at least one of them should suffer some lasting effect, though he certainly hoped Blaine's difficulties would not be permanent.
Kurt spent a moment envisioning becoming Blaine's caretaker, leading him through each day, if he never came to his senses. But that was ridiculous! Blaine was not so confused that he would never be able to function properly. He was merely slightly confused by the date. Well, perhaps more than slightly.
Mercy poured out three cups of tea from the big brown teapot and stirred in some honey, then put some sweet biscuits on a plate. She carried it all out to the front room on a tray laid with a napkin and set it on a side table beside Blaine. He gave her an absent glance, still looking distracted and befuddled. She passed his cup to him and he accepted it, but stared at it as if he hardly knew what to do with it.
"Now drink it down, Blaine. It'll make you feel better." Mercy said to him sternly. He nodded and obediently took a careful sip. He had hardly ever drunk tea, but found it comforting just now and wrapped his icy hands around the cup. He took another sip, pleasing Mercy with his cooperation. Kurt had followed her into the room, so she passed him his cup too. He usually drank it with milk, but today he decided to take it plain, needing its bracing comfort. Mercy took hers and settled beside Kurt on the settee.
"Blaine, can we send a telegraph message to your family to reassure them you're only delayed on your journey? I don't believe it's wise to attempt a long coach ride to Findlay just now. Perhaps you would like to go home tonight with Kurt and tomorrow, he'll help you get home?"
Blaine snorted in dismay. "I don't think we'll have any luck contacting my parents. They're …much too far away to reach them." He subsided into silence again, wondering if he would ever see his parents again. What if they never found out what happened to him? They would always wonder why he had disappeared. They had been bickering for months now, since he came out and told them he was gay. They said they would accept him, but suddenly, he could seldom please them. Or maybe, he was the one holding the grudge against the world for his lonely lot in life. When he'd come out, most of his many friends suddenly forgot who he was and he only had a few friends left now, all of them members of the Warblers and all of them straight.
"Could we contact the friends you were visiting? Are they nearby? Would they be able to pass on a message?" Blaine just shook his head numbly at Kurt's questions, knowing no one at all was going to know where and when he'd gone. What was he going to do stuck here in the past? How would he get home again? "They can't be reached either, until I figure out how to get back there." Mercy and Kurt glanced to each other, mutually deciding to let Blaine rest and recuperate for a while, without being disturbed. He was starting to sound more confused again.
They all sat silently drinking their tea together until the wan light faded completely to dimness. Mercy lit another lamp that spread a wider golden circle of light around them in the room. The sky outside was slowly clearing now, the storm over, giving them a fantastic show through the watery looking west window with the sun shining red and gold through the vestiges of the clouds. A few minutes later a few stars began to shine through a foggy haze that hovered thickly over the saturated ground. Blaine started to feel warm again, and his colour improved.
Mercy was grateful to see their guest's condition improve to nearly normal again, and reached a hand to his, noticing he was warm again. "Will you return to Lima with Kurt tonight, Blaine? If you don't feel well enough to return there, you could stay the night here, but..." Blaine could hear the hesitation in Mercy voice. She didn't want him to stay there?
Kurt knew exactly why Mercy and Anita were discomforted. If anyone was to find out a strange man stayed the night with just the two ladies, people would talk, inferring they were making extra money by entertaining gentlemen callers. It would not do to make his friend pay such a high cost to shelter them longer, unless it was absolutely necessary. Kurt had often curtailed his own evening visits to maintain their reputation as virtuous ladies.
"If Blaine is up to it, we'll go back to my house soon, Mercy. We won't impose any longer on your hospitality." Kurt stood, and folded the crocheted blanket he'd used and laid it over the back of the settee.
Blaine wasn't sure why, but he understood Kurt wanted him to go home with him. He was slowly starting to come out of the shock that had gripped him, with the care and concern he could feel from his new friends.
"I'll be fine, Mercy. I just…I'm a little…shaken up. We should probably let you get on with your supper. You've been very kind to a complete stranger landing on your doorstep." Their own clothes were still very wet, dripping steadily where they were draped near the fire, so Mercy suggested they wear their borrowed clothing home and Anita would return it later.
Kurt stood, evaluating whether his new friend was truly recovered enough to walk back to Lima. Blaine suddenly stood too, and surprised Mercy with a warm hug and some murmured words of thanks. Few white men would have dared to be so forward as to hug her, without her suspecting them of doubtful motives. Mercy didn't feel anything untoward in Blaine's quick embrace. He simply wanted to thank her. She smiled at him warmly, feeling an immediate connection to the unusual young man. She hoped he regained his full mental faculties soon.
Kurt and Blaine set off into the dusk, with Kurt keeping a close watch on his new friend, in case he demonstrated any distressing new symptoms.