First grade was as so: first grade. Insults consisted of the word 'girl' and physical harassment was shoving woodchips down your back at recess. Nothing really changed for a while except for Kurt's ever-changing favorite color. For a while after that dream about the strange man, it was gray, the dull gray you saw in clouds on a rainy day. But after he sucked up his disappointment, for almost two months (the longest he'd had one steady favorite color) was dark blue. A familiar color, in fact, the same color he saw in his front yard in that perfect dream.
Second grade was tolerable, after having plenty of practice with first grade. He drew doodles of The Raggedy Doctor in the margins of his school notebooks and made elaborate pictures and stories about the man. The teachers were fascinated by his depictions of the adventurous between The Raggedy Doctor and Delilah Bell in some sort of fairy tale land. It was his insensitive second grade teacher who'd spoken up first.
"Kurt, these stories are really amazing," Mrs. Jacobson complimented, almost breathing down his neck as she stood behind Kurt at his desk.
"Thank you, Mrs. Jacobson." Kurt said, smirking and turning around in his chair. "But they're not stories. I didn't make them up. See, I had a dream once about this guy. But, Mrs. Jacobson, I've been thinking about it a lot… I don't know if it was really a dream! I mean, he said he'd come back in five minutes, but maybe he's just running late. Or maybe he just meant five years and was in a hurry so he-"
"Kurt!" She interrupted, kneeling down to be at eye level with him. "The stories you write, Kurt, they're fantasies. And what does a fantasy mean? We've talked about it in class."
"Make-believe." Kurt whispered, looking sorrowfully at the picture he was drawing of The Raggedy Doctor, with his black-crayon bangs in front of his eyes and his torn-up sky-blue shirt. "But, Mrs. Jacobson, when I got back down to my room, all my stuff was messed up, just like how he'd left it! The dresser was on the other side of the room and-"
"Kurt, you know, you probably did that yourself when you were sleep-walking."
"I can't pick up a dresser!" Kurt defended.
"And Kurt, time-machines aren't real." She said, squeezing his shoulder with a tiny smile as she left Kurt and went to attend to another student.
Little did that teacher know, he spent that recess bawling his eyes out.
By third grade, things started taking a turn for the worse as children got crueler and their vocabulary increased, along with their physical outlets. Between his stubborn belief in The Raggedy Doctor and the fabulous fashion sense he was developing, kids seemed to have every reason to pick on him. When Kurt's teacher (no longer the evil Mrs. Jacobson) read Kurt's story aloud to the class, this story being yet another copy of The Fabulous Adventures of Delilah Bell and The Raggedy Doctor, kids began calling Kurt "Delilah." Kurt would have been excited if people had declared this new name. But instead, it was simply an insult, comparing him to a girl. He spent far too many recesses alone on the swings, crying silent tears.
In fourth grade, some blondie who thought he was all that and more called Kurt gay for the first time. He was still innocent and naïve and he'd honestly thought the word meant only good things being the only time he'd heard the word at Christmas time and they sang 'Deck The Halls' and one of the lines had 'gay apparel ' in it, and he knew what apparel was, and frankly, he loved it. He was almost flattered until he announced this to his father and the concept was introduced to him.
Fifth grade was living hell. He'd started completely innocent and naïve, and by the end of the first week he knew every swear word in alphabetical order, and more about male and female anatomy then he was near ready to know. Kurt had given up on The Raggedy Doctor, and desperately wished other people would too, after the bullying that had continued into fourth grade. But boys, now equipped with perverted mindsets, had efficiently turned "Delilah Bell" into "De-lack-ah Balls." Kurt, at first, just snorted and told them in was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard, but by the second time in sent him into tears. He'd had so many tears. So many. There was a rage building up in him, but he knew all it would lead to was a series of laughs at his pathetic attempts. When Kurt had just felt like dying, one day, after some idiot called him gay, again, he ended up stabbing that boy's palm with a mechanical pencil. It caused moderate pain, of course, he cringed, but the response to this was mainly cursing and more insults at Kurt's expense, and he didn't resort to this physical violence again, and stuck to ignoring them and the constant reminder he was better than all of them.
Middle school was rough: suddenly, everything went from kicking you in the knee intentionally with a soccer ball to being brutally shoved into lockers, and 'girly' turned into 'faggot.' But he survived, got decent grades, and met Mercedes Jones who was happy to lend a shoulder to cry on when he needed one. The beautiful thing, though, was that they'd almost allowed him to start with a clean slate. That or they'd just thought their own insults we're getting old so they moved on to bigger and better things.
In seventh grade, the dating game started. It was horrific. The world suddenly revolved around sex appeal and whatever jokes you could extract from Health class. All except for Kurt, and possibly a few others, who still had some sort of shape or form of sanity.
In fourth grade, Kurt had been declared gay by his classmates, before he even knew it himself. But in seventh grade, Kurt was sure of whom he was. If that meant those ignorant Neanderthals were right about something for once, so be it.
It felt like everyone had reasons to make fun of him. He came off as a superficial snob under all those designer clothes and perfected hair, but the truth was, he was just lonely, as horrifically clichéd as it all was. He was never mean to anyone, but that didn't mean he was going to treat the ninety-percent of the school that picked on him with respect. Everyone was surer of Kurt's sexuality then he was, and he hadn't even come out. Hell, he walked down the hallway with his arms linked with Mercedes and people still pointed at him and shouted, "Homo alert! Homo alert! Homo alert! Evacuate the guys before he jumps 'em!"
By high school, if anything, he should have been proud. He'd made it through all that and hadn't been pronounced clinically depressed once. He'd come out of the closet sophomore year, and his father accepted him and everything was simply peachy. But then he met Finn Hudson, fell head-over-heels for him, and he effectively ruined his life with yet another social suicide. But he had found glee club, got wrapped up in that, and next thing he knew, Finn Hudson was his stepbrother, and not to mention, absolutely, 101% straight.
But with a bully that threatened the life of him came Dalton Academy, and then Blaine Anderson, who more or less fixed everything, saved his life, and caught him every time he fell on his face. He was perfect, all except for his obsession with hair gel and Katy Perry, which he probably wouldn't be as fun without. Heated arguments about who were better, Lady Gaga or Katy Perry, were no doubt easily one of the most entertaining parts of this relationship.
Blaine was the first one Kurt ever told about the Raggedy Doctor since elementary school. He'd told Blaine about it in the perspective of it being strictly a dream he had when he was merely six. A fairy tale of sorts.
They sprawled out over Kurt's bed, staring at the ceiling as Kurt rambled on, knowing every single detail with crystal-clear memory. Blaine ran a finger over Kurt's knuckles and he held his hand, intently listening to Kurt's words.
"And the he left," Kurt continued, "And I waited. I was wearing a beautiful outfit, my father's tie and a too-big white button up shirt after I got rid of those ugly Spiderman pajamas. I was so excited, I thought we were going to live happily ever after in some fairy tale where I'd meet my Prince Charming…" Kurt stopped, grinning as he stopped to look at Blaine, Kurt's own blue eyes gleaming. "Of course, it was dream. I met my Prince Charming on Earth, didn't I?"
Blaine laughed, staring into Kurt's eyes. They'd always been whimsical, beautiful, but always behind a fog of protection. It was almost like now, that fog had disappeared. "Don't get it in your hair-spray covered skull that I'm letting you go for any fairy tale princes any time soon."
Kurt squeezed his hand, chuckling. "I don't need a prince. I already have one. But anyway, I waited for hours, until the sky started turning pink and clouds rolled in, and I fell asleep on the log when it started raining. My dad came out and scolded me when I woke up. So this isn't dream land anymore, but Blaine, this is that part that gives you the goose bumps. Ready?" Kurt asked.
"Ready." Blaine said, amused by Kurt's seriousness.
"Blaine! Don't laugh!" Kurt scolded, sitting up. "This part is, like, serious. I'm not kidding. You could even ask my dad, he'd tell you it's true. Of course, he thought I did it- but are you going to take my paranormal experience for real or what?"
"Okay. I promise I'll listen politely and not freak out." Blaine said, still smiling, but he meant it.
"So," Kurt said, leaning over Blaine, who was still lying down of the bed as though it might build dramatic effect, "I woke up from the dream and went inside and- poof!" Kurt shouted, flailing his arms as Blaine laughed. "The fish custard was still there, Blaine! Still! And so was the spat-out apple! And when I went to my room, the dresser was still moved and everything! I couldn't move a dresser when I was six! It's so weird, I don't know what to make of it!"
Blaine looked actually sort of shocked. "Wait- you're not kidding? You woke up and everything was still there?"
"Yeah!" Kurt exclaimed. "Isn't that, like, freaky? I mean… for a minute… you might even think it really happened…"
Blaine had been amazed by Kurt' story. He'd said something along the lines of "most creative thing I've ever heard." Kurt had showed him the stacks of pictures, badly drawn stick figures in crayon, all looking alike. Blaine had found the written stories before Kurt could snatch it away, and Blaine had grinned as he read proudly, pulling the old notebook paper away from Kurt's grabbing hands, "And then he spat the apple all over the floor! All over! What kind of rude person did that?"
Blaine did, though, put his mind to use after a while. It took heavy convincing, after all the trauma throughout elementary school. Blaine had sat behind him, breathing down his neck, until Kurt had written down every event that took place that night in his "big-boy words" as Blaine had called it. In the time of only a month afterwards, somehow, Kurt had found himself with a scholarship to New York University with that story and he didn't even know how it happened, but Blaine had made it known that he had something to do with it.
Currently, it was Kurt's senior year at McKinley High School, he was the countertenor King of Glee and Fashion, and he had a scholarship to NYC in his pocket and a lovely boyfriend who was bound to tag along, being he was practically melting talent and his parents had enough money to buy the moon. For once, everything seemed perfect.
Seemed perfect.
It was that tiny piece missing that Kurt needed in his life, the thing he longed for every waking moment, very possibly even more then the limelight.
He missed his Raggedy Doctor with a burning passion, and even though he didn't know it, he was still waiting for that blue box to appear in his front yard.
Kurt spun around in circles in the black office chair, leaning back and watching the world whiz by in a colorful blur. The typical Broadway music blared from his speakers, specifically Defying Gravity at the given moment, and his homework lay, half-finished and abandoned, on his desk. His brain felt like a plate of mush- he was in no condition for algebra, and spinning around in circles sounded much more appealing.
"Delilah!" Kurt heard behind his music. He paused his spinning abruptly, causing him to be a bit dizzy, and he muted his IPod for a moment to see if the thing he'd just thought he'd heard under the music was only his imagination. He didn't even make the connection at first, he simply wondered if there was a confused man shouting names in his yard.
"Delilah! I worked out what it was! I know what I was missing! You've got to get out of there!" Kurt heard dimly from downstairs. His brain froze, his breath stopped when he swore he recognized the voice. It was the kind of thing you just don't forget.
He stood up so he could see out the tiny window above his desk, and his heart literally stopped dead.
A blue box was standing neatly in his yard, upright, and even from the distance Kurt could make out the easy fact it was an old police box.
Kurt heard the door open, the door that was supposed to be locked. He held his breath, nearing the stairs as the house flooded with the shouts of, "Delilah! Are you alright? Are you there? You've got to get out, right now!"
Kurt could easily hear the running around the house, the shouting, like it was right next to him. He was extremely afraid, and if he didn't convince himself he was back, the only other option was that there was a strange, unknown man running about his house, most likely drunk or wanting blood of some sort. He grabbed a purple softball bat in a bin on the stairs, holding it behind his back.
Kurt, you're dreaming. Calm down. This is just some sort of night terror. You'll be awake any minute now.
Kurt's steps were slow, and he was just about hallway up the stairs when, amongst the sound of doors shaken and banged on, he heard a loud and annoying buzzing noise from a magic wand that was painfully familiar, he could hear the shouts, and the one that really stood out was, "Prisoner Zero! Prisoner Zero's here!"
Kurt froze for a moment. It's a night terror, Kurt. Just a night terror, Kurt. You're dreaming. This isn't real.
"Do you understand me? Prisoner Zero is here!" The shouts continued, and Kurt grew weary. He knew he was dreaming. Of course he was. But it just felt so… real. He could remember his entire day. He couldn't have dreamt all that.
It was only a dream, so why couldn't he just walk up those stairs... accept this silly dream for whatever clown would be up there and however twistedly big his shotgun would be.
He marched up the stairs, preparing himself to awake when the dream reached it's truly unrealistic proportions and his mind figured out that he was dreaming and that he could wake up now. He reached the top of the stairs, spinning around to see whatever was haunting his dreams this time.
His burst of courage fell like rocks when he saw the man he recognized so excruciatingly well. He was only two feet away from the man, only two feet away from a dream.
When he turned back around, panicking. He was the perfect resemblance of all those memories- memories or a make-believe story. It didn't make any sense.
But he was dreaming! Dreaming! That was all!
So he hit him in the forehead with a softball bat out of sheer confusion when he got too close, very effectively knocking him out. Kurt's eyes widened, darting back and forth between the bat he just hit a man in the forehead with, and the man lying on the floor, unconscious.
Should he call 9-1-1? What would he say? A mysterious man from my childhood dreams is back and trying to tell me to get the hell out of my house, so I hit him in the forehead with a bat? Of course not, but telling them he had no idea who he was, was an option. But he didn't want this man behind bars- illusion of not, he needed some answers.
Or- God- Kurt, your dreaming. Maybe if you go to sleep or something you'll wake up. Is that even possible?
Suddenly, he wished he watched Inception for a second time like everyone said he should. Then maybe he'd get this whole, strange dream phenomenon a tad more.
Despite losing the urge to be hostile, Kurt was still panicking and his thoughts rushed through his head so fast he didn't have time to comprehend them before they were lost.
Kurt didn't really know what he was doing when a dashed up the stairs and found himself in Finn's room until he found his bike lock. He honestly had no idea what he was doing- a bike lock? He knew the combination was 'finn' ever since last summer when Kurt had borrowed the thing, and when you have a combination as easy as that it's hard to forget. Something like that's also something good to use against a person. He grabbed the lock and sped down the stairs again.
It was a simple matter: tangle the bike lock until there was a hole that would fit around his wrist. It wasn't like Finn didn't handcuff Kurt to the staircase with the same bike lock on April Fool's- and his birthday- and by Halloween he knew what was coming and was able to escape the room the second he saw the dark purple coil in Finn's hands.
He successfully tangled the bike lock into some mess and slipped the man's hand it to it, hesitant to touch the same hand he so comfortably held twelve years ago, and slid it in the loop, knotting it over so his hand was trapped in the mess. The other end of the bike lock was on the end of the staircase, so he sat slumped over on the bottom stair. Kurt bit the end of his finger in his mouth out of nervous habit. If Kurt wasn't dreaming, this man had to be some prank. Maybe someone had remembered the nightmares of elementary school and did whatever. Or something. But he was so real, it had to be him.
Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, Kurt, wake up.
After he'd willed himself to wake up, his eyes closed shut, biting a bit harder on his finger, to no avail, he rushed into his room. Scouring his drawers was an instinct move, again. Either an instinct move or he was thinking through this stuff and not hearing the situation being plotted out in his head.
Once he found it, he stripped off his expensive cashmere sweater and tossed it in the corner of room regretfully. Never before had he been so thankful Blaine had forced the matter of Halloween upon him last year. It wasn't his costume; it was Blaine's, so it was a bit too big.
Maybe that would help hide the fact it was Playboy.
He gave up on the skinny pants at once- they just looked wrong on Kurt. Of course, last year when Blaine wore it, it fit him rather well. He sort of ruined the entire fun of it by wearing a tee-shirt under the shirt that was losing six top buttons (what kind of boyfriend wore a Playboy costume and then PG-ed it?). Kurt sort of ruined the entire point of going to the costume for help- he ended up ditching both the shirt and the pants, finding himself in black pants and a white shirt instead of navy blue. Well, he had to avoid that fashion abomination- dark blue on dark blue was just lazy if anything. Plus, something told Kurt that he'd somehow figure out that a majority of police do button up their shirts and more often than not stray away from loose-fitting skinny jeans.
Never before had he hated wearing something so much. Looking like a 'normal' person really just wasn't Kurt's thing. And he didn't even look normal- he looked like a confused police man who never got a uniform.
He put on the plastic accessories- the stupid clip on radio box and the belt and whatnot. It was terrible. He felt like an idiot. His brain constantly questioned him and his sanity, but he continued. This man hadn't come off as the brightest crayon in the box twelve years ago, so maybe Kurt would get lucky and this man wouldn't notice his idiotic moves.
All he needed was a caterpillar mustache, thicker eyebrows, and some black sunglasses and Kurt Hummel could pass for your friendly neighborhood creeper.
He bounced down the stairs, and paced back and forth in the hall, the too-big belt weighing down his pants and causing them to start falling. Kurt gave up on pulling them back up every five seconds and just put a hand on his hip to hold the waistband to his skin. He hated this- every moment of the pacing, the rushed and jumbled thoughts, the anxiety that this man might wake up.
Kurt had some pretty elusive dreams in his eighteen years. But this, after the never-forgotten adventure with The Raggedy Doctor when he was six, was certainty the most realistic one he'd ever had.
Blaine sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair, moving around constantly like it would make any difference. The random clangs of his metal pocket buttons scraping the seat was accompanied by the joyous and annoying steady beeps coming from the loads of equipment in the room, all overlapping each other. It was creepy. Well- the room full of people in comas was the creepy part, the many beeps just added to the madness.
He really hated hospitals. They were depressing and you can't play guitar and sing in hospital before people start shushing you. Blaine bit down on his lip when the last nurse left the room, their eyes on a clipboard, dismissing Blaine like he was another one of in the row of unconscious people. He wished his mom was back with those Subway sandwiches already. Blaine wished he'd come with her now, but a better deal altogether was just to have never come to this sterilized haven at all.
Three weeks ago Blaine had come to the hospital with his mom to support her, help her deal with the fact her best friend was on a hospital cot and hooked up to a machine. He had come again last week- and when he recognized the man on the cot next to him from a rundown strip mall he sort of mentally freaked out. Then he'd come again, after going to the same place, that man still there, he took the picture he'd taken and compared it. Sure enough, it was exactly the same. Blaine ended up at the hospital every day since then with his mom, visiting this woman he'd only spoken to once or twice, finding new people with every visit. Half the people in the tiny unit had already been spotted; curiously, all at about the same spot like they all had the same intentions. Blaine hadn't told anyone about it yet, but when he caught a picture on his phone of his mother's best friend- who was in a coma- walking about town, he considered telling his mom. It was almost like it was her business, now; if it had something to do with the woman she visited more than that woman's parents visited her.
"Doctor,"
Blaine jumped from the shift of sound in the room between beeping to the nice surprise of a voice. He swore it came from behind him, but it must be someone who walked in. He looked towards the door, and yet, no one was there. It wasn't a terribly large room…
When he turned around, sure enough, a man's mouth was moving, hoarsely whispering again, "Doctor."
Blaine was startled for a moment, before he realized this man must have woken up. He didn't know the slightest thing about comas or the brain or whatever he learned in school last week and already forgot, but he must have woken up and was calling for a doctor. Blaine saw people wake up from comas all the time: specifically on television, but this was a little different. His eyes didn't flutter open, and alertness didn't suddenly seep into him. But television lied sometimes, right?
"Doctor,"
That didn't come from the man that time, and instead, it came from another woman across the room. She spoke clearly, and her mouth moved, but her eyes remained closed and she stayed still. Blaine looked about frantically. Shouldn't someone already be in here? With all these annoying monitors, you'd think they'd be able to tell or something. Two people were just- awake! Already!
"Doctor,"
Blaine spun around his chair, and watched another man repeat the others, "Doctor."
Suddenly, people joined until all of the unconscious people in the unit, probably fifteen people at the least, were speaking the same word, none of them really awake. Even the woman only a foot away from him spoke, her eyes shut and her body unmoving aside from her mouth.
Blaine wasn't a doctor. But this wasn't normal.
He stood up from the chair and rushed out, running.
He darted through the hallway, not sure what he was looking for- a doctor, yes, of course. Even they unconscious people knew that.
Blaine felt a hand stop him short. He had to look up to see the woman only an inch taller than him, probably courtesy of some enormous heels of some sort. "Excuse me," She hissed. "No running, please."
"Are- are you a doctor?" Blaine shouted, distressed. A few more people in the hallway stopped to see what was going on, but most likely quickly dismissed it as an escapee from the clinically insane unit.
"Yes," She said calmly. "Can I help you?"
"It's the- the people! In the- the coma-place-thing! They're all shouting! All of them!" He said, pointing a finger behind him to the coma unit. He sounded like an idiot, but God knew he was just confused.
She raised an eyebrow at the breathless boy, his school uniform jacket tied around his waist and his gelled back hair in some funny lump from running his hand through it. She seemed doubtful, but looked her clipboard for a moment before agreeing to come silently, walking down the halls so white they looked sterilized, and smelled it, too.
Blaine followed her long but paced strides. She looked to be in no hurry, and Blaine's mind was shouting at a deafening tone- "Hurry up! Hurry up!"
They reached the unit, and she walked in, eyeing the patients that appeared silent. Blaine fell confused, more confused than he was when it started. He could only wait for one would come out of his mouth now.
"So, they all called at once, that's what you're saying. All of them- all the coma patients." She said, annoyed. Blaine bit his lip. Maybe he was just as insane as this woman was implying he was. "You appear to go to private school; at least I know it's not my taxes paying for your terrible education. You do understand that these people are all comatosed- don't you?"
"Yes, doctor," Blaine said. "That's why I-"
"Then why are you wasting my time?" She snapped.
"Because they called for you," Blaine explained.
"Me?" She asked, looking at him like he was only the king of idiocy and insanity and whatnot.
Blaine nodded. He began to open his mouth to say the word that had been repeated in this room so many times, but another man behind him finished the thought for him. He swallowed his unhealthy fear of whatever phenomenon was going on and let the woman look behind her, shocked.
The same thing was repeated, the same man starting it and the same people joining in at the same order until the word "Doctor" was being thrown around the room into a clutter of the simple word that was currently sending violent chills down Blaine's spine.
Kurt stopped his pacing short when he saw the man's head move lazily, until he was picking it up and his eyes were starting to blink open.
Kurt stood in front of the staircase, leaned against the beige wall and said the words he'd rehearsed in his head as the man began to gain awareness on the situation.
"Breaking and entering, send some backup, I've got him restrained." He said, lowering his voice much more than normal and held the plastic walkie-talkie to his mouth. It came off rather perfect, his voice didn't crack once and his emotions didn't show through his face. Kurt Hummel really could act when the deed was requested upon him.
"You- sit still." He snapped at the man, who was sitting up now, watching Kurt. Kurt pointed a finger at him, getting right up in his face as planned inside his jumbled and mushy brain that had trapped him in this mess.
"You hit me with a baseball bat." He accused, still a bit dazed, his eyes narrowing like he was still figuring that out.
"You're breaking and entering." Kurt accused right back. It was so perfect. He was so happy with his act he almost forgot he was supposed to be afraid right now.
He just sort of stared at Kurt for a moment, blinking a whole lot in confusion, before he tried to get up. Kurt held in his sigh of relief when he saw his clumsy trap had worked and the man was pulled back down before he could get too far up.
"Well that's much better, oh, come on, really, just what I needed." He muttered as he was pulled back down. He didn't question the restraint, which was rather appreciated. If Kurt did have handcuffs, he would have used them, but only some cheap plastic ones had come with this costume that he could have easily gotten out of. If Kurt could do it, it seemed as though anyone could.
"Could you just shut up now, I've got backup on the way." Kurt threatened. He pulled his belt up again, trying to look fierce while doing it, but just ending up looking like an idiot with too-big pants, which was exactly the case.
"Hang on- wait- you're a police man." He said.
Kurt let his eyebrows raise, putting a smug smile on his face, "And your breaking and entering. See how this works?" Of course, as much as he loved his act, and as good as he did it, the feeling of nostalgia was creeping up on him from behind and all he wanted to do was accuse this man of being so late.
"So what are you doing here? Where's Delilah?" He asked frantically, pulling his arm on the trap, like if he pulled hard enough he could get out, which was probably true.
Kurt tried to hide his sorrow when he recognized the word 'Delilah,' more nostalgia coming upon him, stalking him from behind and threatening to fill his mind with terrible memories.
"Delilah Bell?" Kurt asked, shoving his hands uncomfortably in his pockets and trying to hide his fear.
"Yes, Delilah. The little boy. Where is he?" He asked. Kurt's swallowed down all his feelings, some he couldn't even identify. He was confused; he knew that feeling inside and out. He was terribly, painfully nostalgic and his heart felt like it was going to crawl up his throat and jump out. "I promised him five minutes. But the engines were phasing, I suppose I might have gone a bit far. Did something happen to him?"
Kurt's breath was falling short. It was heartbreaking, the way he leaned forward until he couldn't go any farther, his eyes wide in concern.
But the boy he was looking for was gone. There was no Delilah Bell anymore and never again would there be. After enduring that much pain, fantasies can be easily identified as fantasies, and Delilah Bell couldn't do that, Kurt Hummel could. And Kurt Hummel needed to suck up the fact he was dreaming, or that this was some sick prank, and get himself together.
"Delilah Bell hasn't lived here in a long time." Kurt said hoarsely. And he was only speaking the truth.
"How long?" He asked. Oh, he knows nothing- nothing at all.
The things Kurt had been through because of a damn fantasy. He'd spent so much of his childhood believing, waiting. This wasn't real. Nothing felt real anymore, though. It was this strange emptiness- whatever the sentimental void in Kurt's soul was, this man was to blame for. Kurt just spent so long with this emptiness in his life that never would have been empty if this man hadn't been the thing to fill in the first place.
"Six months." Kurt blurted. It was the first thing that popped into his head.
"No, no, no." He groaned, in an almost-sarcastic tone. He slumped back, leaning on the stair behind him. "I can't be six months late, I said five minutes." He clarified, nodding at Kurt. He continued to be petrified. "I promised."
You did promise. You promised.
Kurt turned around. He didn't know what he was doing when he pulled the plastic walkie-talkie to his mouth again and turned away.
"What happened to him?" He shouted, "What happened to Delilah Bell?"
"Sargent, it's me again." Kurt said in to the walkie-talkie, his back turned to the man. "Hurry up with that back up, this man knows something about Delilah Bell."
Kurt sniffled a bit when he'd finished the words that had only slid out of his mouth like butter. He ran the ugly sleeve of the shirt over his eyes, reminding himself now was not the time to cry.
Blaine stood behind the doctor awkwardly, watching her pull the eye of some random, unconscious man open. She sort of inspected his monitors and whatnot, doing the kind of thing doctors do.
They ruckus among these zombies has stopped after a moment. Blaine had really felt like throwing a, "Told you so," into the room as payback from all those are-you-really-that-stupid looks he'd received from her, but he decided the situation was a bit too serious for childish insults.
"I don't think they were even conscious," She muttered to herself, closing the man's eye. She looked at Blaine, no look of empathy or sorry on her face.
"Well, ma'am, there's another thing… see," Blaine muttered. "I don't understand it, I don't know why, but…"
"Yes?" She urged.
"I've seen almost all of them- walking around town and-" Blaine explained, his thick eyebrows melding together as he felt concern with himself.
"Excuse me? As in these patients?" She asked. It was funny- even after that entire thing she was still giving him looks that accused him of insanity.
"Yes! I mean, I don't get it either, but-"
"These patients are under twenty-four hour supervision- we know if their blood pressure changes." She hissed. "They're not walking around town and-"
"Please!" Blaine begged, talking over her shrill voice. She stopped; looking almost infuriated like Blaine was suggesting she couldn't do her job or something. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I have pictures, all-"
"I'm going to have to ask you leave." She said firmly. "I have the right to dismiss any visitors at any time and you are disrupting the-"
"Please!" Blaine shouted over her, holding out his phone, "Just look!"
"If you don't leave, I'm going to have to call security." She threatened, her voice overlapping his, getting louder each time.
Blaine gave up. He looked at the woman for a moment, and bit his lip before he could snap any nasty comments at her. He stormed out, not pushing anything or slamming any doors, but the way his footsteps echoed against the tile and he practically radiated the annoyance he was feeling said it all.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, preparing a somewhat sane explanation to his mom for why he wouldn't he there when she got back.
"I need to speak to whoever lives in this house right now." He said, cool and collected, sounding business-like as he rubbed his wrist.
Kurt leaned forward and slapped his hand away from where he struggled against it, trying to slip his hand out without Kurt's knowing. "I live in this house." Kurt announced.
"But you're the police." He protested.
"Yes! And I live here! You've got a problem with that?" Kurt shouted. He didn't let himself question the words coming out of his mouth.
Kurt waited for an answer, possibly some snarky comment or another protest. But he watched the man's eyes dart about the room for a moment before he asked, hushed, "How many rooms?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"On this floor. How many rooms on this floor? Count them for me, now." He demanded, his face solemn.
"Why?" Kurt asked, putting a hand on his hip as he questioned him.
"Because, it will change your life."
Kurt gave him a look, but answered him, not turning around to prove he knew the number of doors without counting, if that was this man's game. "Five." He said. He still didn't around, counting each door and pointing to it with a finger without even looking. "One, two, three, four, and five."
"Six." The man added, insisting.
"Six?" Kurt asked. Was this a joke, or some sort of twisted metaphor?
"Look."
"Where?" Kurt was annoyed now. He was nearly sure this was some funky metaphor that would make him think about life in some weird new light.
"Exactly where you don't want to look, where you never want to look. The corner of your eye. Look behind you."
Kurt felt the man's ominous fall upon him. Of course- when he looked behind him there would be nothing there…
He grew worried, every millisecond, the pressure got heavier. He felt him looking exactly there- the place he- no one- ever, ever wanted to look. And there, from the corner of his eye, he saw it. The one thing that was supposed to be there even less than the man in front of him.
"That's- that is not possible." Kurt mumbled. The door- it was just there, so innocent and so normal- and yet, it was so wrong. Unless a contractor had hid behind his back and suddenly created a new wall in a matter of minutes, that door was not supposed to be there. "How is that possible?"
"There's a perception field around the door. Sensed it last time I was here. Should have seen it." He explained quickly from behind Kurt. Kurt really paid no attention, only hearing a string of fast-paced noises.
"That's a whole room. A whole room I never even noticed." Kurt whispered.
"The field just stops your noticing." He continued. "Something came here a long time ago, to hide, and it's still hiding. And you need to let me go now." He demanded, shouting to grab Kurt's attention, which he was losing rapidly fast.
"I don't have the key, I must of lost it…" Kurt whispered, walking towards the door.
"How could you of lost it?" He shouted. Kurt walked faster, nearing the door, staring at the thing he'd walked by so many times and was just seeing. "Stay away from that door!" He yelled, again. So much yelling, gosh.
"Do not touch that door!" He commanded, just as Kurt put his hand on the doorknob, twisting it like it had something to prove.
"Listen to me!" He shouted. "Do not open that door!"
Kurt heard nothing but the annoyance in his voice, words lost on him as he opened the door.
"Why does no one ever listen to me?" He complained. "Do I just have a face nobody listens to?"
Kurt felt the room, literally felt it, as though it was breathing on him, the inanimate object telling him all its secrets. Everything was neglected, the white wall paper fading beige, peeling, crates in the corner and stacked against the wall, the only real thing in there being an old and corroding wooden rocking chair that looked like Goldilocks had sat in, an entire arm on the floor, dislocated from its real place. Kurt almost felt a pang of sympathy for the room, the only light coming from the cracks of a boarded-up window and the elegant violet drapes the color of wine.
Kurt was so extraordinarily scared, and yet he couldn't help but run his hand along the walls, pulling bits of wallpaper with him.
"My screwdriver, where is it? Silver thing? Blue at the end?" He shouted for Kurt, who listened, staring curiously at the thing on one of the crates that matched the description. "Where did it go?"
"There's nothing here." Kurt noted. He felt himself informing the man of this, like there was nothing to be afraid of, really. It was just a misunderstood room-
An invisible, misunderstood room. Kurt needed desperately to get back to reality, to let the real, instinctual fear kick in so he'd run out of this house screaming and arms flailing. But he couldn't find himself doing it.
"Whatever's in there, you can't be seeing the whole room. What makes you think you can see it?" He shouted to him. "Now, please, just get out."
"Silver and blue at the end?" Kurt asked, glancing wearily at the thing.
"My screwdriver? Yeah." He responded.
"It's here."
"Most of rolled under the door," Kurt heard.
He swallowed his fear. "Yes, must of… and then it must have jumped up on the table."
"Get out of there." He hissed, and when Kurt made no move to escape, he repeated himself, fiercely shouting, "Get out of there! Now!"
Kurt stared wistfully at the screwdriver, drowning in some purple goo, just as raggedy as The Doctor himself, appearing to be on the verge of falling apart. Kurt knew it was the same magic wand that fixed the crack in his wall. He couldn't let it just die here, or whatever magic screwdrivers did when they broke. Kurt assumed they died.
He carefully picked it up with both hands, using as little skin as it possibly took to pick it up. The goo hit his fingers, and he cringed at the grotesque substance, wiping it on the side of the box.
"Get out of there!" He repeated. Kurt could hear him fighting the lock, trying to bring the wooden pole on the staircase down. Kurt ignored him, slowly picking up the wand, perplexed by the goo that stuck on the thing.
Kurt felt the monster behind him before it even touched him. His eyes widened and his limbs froze. He looked around frantically, looking for the creature stalking him.
"What is it? What's going on?" The man yelled at Kurt.
"There's nothing here," He reassured himself, "But..." He whispered, keeping his panic contained inside of him.
"In the corner of your eye." He said.
Kurt's breathed hitched when he swore he saw a flash of blue behind him that wasn't there before. "What is it?"
"Don't look it at- if it knows you've seen it, it will kill you." He shouted. Kurt's fingers began to violently shake from where they grasped the wand. His breath was too fast, but it felt like he wasn't getting any oxygen to his brain at all.
"Don't look at it!" He instructed again. Kurt's head turned when he felt the hot breath on his neck, only purely by instinct.
"Do not look at it!" He repeated.
Kurt's head turned again, and this time, it met glassy yellow marble-eyes. The thick blue worm opened its mouth wider then Kurt's head, it's sharp and thin fangs sharper then blades. It hissed, sticking its long, round red tongue out at Kurt and hissing like a snake.
It was then his scream escaped his lips, possibly higher than the average female.
"Get out!" The man shouted, and for once, Kurt was not the least bit hesitant to follow his order. He raced out the room, slamming the door hard behind him. He ran to the Doctor, tossing him the screwdriver as he put his head to the wall, panting. He knew very well there were tears coming down his cheeks, but it was only a sane reaction, being he'd just come in close contact with his murder.
The man pointed the screwdriver at the door, and the click on the other side of the room implied something had been done. "Oh, what has the bad alien done to you?" He said. Kurt felt a queasy pang in his stomach at 'alien.'
"Will that door hold it?" Kurt whispered, absolutely terrified.
"Yes, of course, it's an inter-dimensional multiform from outer space. They're all terrified of wood." He said sarcastically, and Kurt, by no means, appreciated it.
A light, a bright yellow light, started appearing from the other side of the door, illuminating every crack. Kurt only peered at it for a second before turning his head away. He was going to die, anyway- what was the point of watching some mysterious shiny light flicker on the other end of some invisible door?
"What's it doing?" Kurt moaned. The man looked up from where he was making his screwdriver light up and pointing it at the bike lock.
"I don't know," He admitted calmly. "Run, just go. Your back up's coming, you'll be fine."
"There is no backup." Kurt hissed as he stared blankly at the wall.
"No, on the radio," He explained to Kurt, confused. "You called for back-up."
"It's a pretend radio." Kurt snapped. He ripped it off his shirt, throwing the hollow plastic toy on the ground. "It's plastic!"
"But you're a police man." He disputed.
"It's a Halloween costume!" Kurt snapped. "It's not even mine!"
The man only stared at him, confused, before he was bluntly interrupted by the knocking down of the door. Kurt stepped back, but did it wrong and fell on the rug.
Kurt squeezed the fabric on his pants for comfort, his eyes following the man that walked out. He almost relaxed- it was only just a man and his dog. It was the kind of man that made you wish you lived in a different neighborhood and the kind of dog that made you want to hide your children, but it wasn't a giant blue worm with glassy yellow eyes, so it was good enough for Kurt.
"It's just a man," Kurt whispered.
"No, it isn't." The Doctor corrected. "Look at the faces."
Kurt did as told; paying great attention to the faces like there was something he was missing, until it popped out and hit him in the face like a speeding car.
The dog growled, a mean and violent growl you'd expect from a dog of that size and that ratty black color, but the dog's mouth was shut. The man, on the other hand, despite making no noise, his mouth was open wide, and he barked at Kurt. The dog barked, and the man's mouth was the one opening and closing.
"What… what is that?" Kurt stuttered.
"It's one creature," the Doctor explained, almost smug with his knowledge, "One creature disguised as two. Clever ol' multiform. A bit of a rough job though- got the voice a bit juggled, did you?" He asked to the man in a dirty handy-man outfit.
"Mind me, where'd you get the pattern from?" He continued, the man's neck snapping in place as it turned to look at the Doctor. "You'd need a physic link, a life feed, how'd you fix that?"
The man growled at him, frustrated. Kurt's eyes only dashed between the man in the raggedy clothes, the man who apparently knew everything now, and the man who barked like a dog. This was all too confusing.
The man stepped forward, his dog doing the same thing at the same time, the same way. He growled again, before he opened his mouth and the same freakishly long fangs as the blue-worm monster appeared in his mouth.
"Stay boy!" The Doctor yelled at him. Kurt felt his hands cover his eyes, hide him from the thing. It was a childish thing to do, but he'd probably be dead in ten minutes anyway, so what did it matter?
"Don't worry, we're safe. You wannna know why? He sent for backup." The Doctor assured.
"I didn't send for backup!" Kurt reminded a bit annoyed.
"I know," the Doctor said, mimicking Kurt's tone. "That was a clever lie to save our lives. Okay- yeah! No backup! And that's why we're safe, alone we're not a threat to you, if we had backup then you'd have to kill us."
Kurt just gave him a look, wondering where he was getting his conclusions now. But somehow, it had seemed to calm the dog/man down a bit.
All the chaos was interrupted, then, suddenly, by some booming voice that had an unidentified source. "Attention Prisoner Zero, the human residence is surrounded."
Kurt shuddered. That was when it dawned on him- the Prisoner Zero that had haunted Kurt's nightmares all his life was right there, trying to kill him. Disturbing, but with so many worries right now, that was dismissed to the bottom of the list.
"What was that?" Kurt whispered.
"Well, that would be backup." He answered Kurt before looking back to the psychotic monster of some sort. "Okay! One more time-" He shouted over the echoing, monotone voice that was repeating itself. "We do have backup and that's definitely why we're safe."
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."
"We're safe apart from, you know, incineration." He admitted, glancing up at Kurt, whose eyes went wide at the monotonic chant. Everything was just death today, wasn't it?
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."
The thing wandered into the door by its right, its movements robotic and expressionless. Kurt's eyes followed it wearily as it marched off into Finn's room. Could something like that leave some sort of disease in Finn's room? More importantly, if that were to happen, could Kurt catch it?
The man pounded the screwdriver on the ground, groaning, "Come on, work!" like it would make any difference.
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."
The thing obeyed after a moment, the top lighting blue, and he hastily waved it over the lock.
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."
After a moment, the lock just- unlocked? It didn't make sense, but, of course, not one thing in the past twenty minutes since this guy showed up had made sense if it didn't make Kurt question his sanity altogether.
Now that he could, the man stood up, and sort of flailed his wrist around. The plastic rope was knotted rather well, especially seeing as how Kurt's similarities to a boy scout stopped at gender. He tugged at the thing while he shouted, "Run!"
Kurt did so without having to be asked twice. He flew down the stairs at an unnaturally fast pace, and figured he'd be falling right on his face any second now; he tended to do so when he got nervous. The man ran after Kurt, his screwdriver in his mouth as he pulled on the cord.
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."
Kurt flew out the door, and it smacked against the wall outside with such force he didn't question the fact the cheap shingles were probably broken. The man immediately followed, slamming the door shut and pointing his screwdriver at it with the hand the cord was still wrapped around.
"Halloween costume?" He asked questioningly.
"Yes!" Kurt said breathlessly as the man retracted from the door. "Now what's going on?" He shouted.
"You pretended to be a police man?" He argued, running away and into the yard.
"You broke into my house!" Kurt shouted over him, flicking his head back so his bangs wouldn't fall in front of his face as he ran behind him. Even the best of hairspray wasn't reliable under this much stress and physical activity. "What's going on?" He repeated before he could once again change the subject. "Just tell me!"
Kurt stopped short when the man stopped at the huge blue police box. Kurt felt himself drowning in the unnecessary and unreal nostalgia. "Tell me." Kurt demanded, losing his attitude, standing still a few feet away from the man and his box.
"An escaped prisoner had been hiding in your spare room disguised as a man and a dog and some other aliens are about to incinerate your house. Anymore questions?" He explained hastily and annoyed, turning to the door of the police box.
"Yes!" Kurt shouted, frustrated as he pulled at his hair.
"Me too." He muttered.
See- there was two reasons why Kurt wanted to strangle this man right now. One: so this guy just walked about into Kurt's life when he was six, left him curious and lonely for twelve years, and boom- calmly strays right back in? What kind of jerk did that? Two: And then, after all that, he left six million questions to be asked and he didn't even know the answer? Did he just expect Kurt to be okay with that? He could barely stand the weekly gap between each Grey's Anatomy, how was he supposed to withstand this?
The man pulled at the door on the box to no avail, shouting, "No, no, no!" as he did so. Kurt just blinked a few times. He was starting to strongly dislike whatever happened after this man was so upset he felt the need to repeat himself. First a slimy blue worm that turns into a man/dog, now what?
"Don't do that! Not now!" He shouted, slapping the metal door with his hand. "It's still rebuilding, not letting us in," He complained.
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."
Kurt flinched when he heard the dog barks from behind him. He turned around before his brain could convince him that he really didn't want to do that, and instantly regretted doing so. The man and the dog stood side by side in Finn's window, the man still barking while the dog remained silent.
Kurt grabbed the man by his shoulders, pulling him away from the box. "Come on," Kurt shouted over the booming, "Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated," and ran.
"Wait!" The man complained, his feet not moving as Kurt pulled on his cord-clad wrist with every muscle in his body, even if the majority lingered of it was in his brain and were only concerned about pop culture and fashion. "Hang on! Wait!"
The man escaped Kurt's uneasy grip without struggling for long, and pointed to the tree stump sitting near the box. "What happened to that tree?" He shouted like it was the worst thing in the world. Kurt watched him flail his arms around, one draped with a heavy cord, "There was a huge tree when I left! With a tree house and branches and leaves! I destroyed it, wrecked all the branches and the house on top!"
"It got cut down!" Kurt shouted, frustrated. "Now let's go!"
"Yes, but it's been cut down so long! It had to have been ten years, ten years at the least!" He babbled, and while throwing his arms about, the cord finally wiggled off his wrist, flying into the ground, but he didn't flinch, if he noticed at all.
He examined the remains of the tree for a moment, bobbing his head sideways before he stood back up and faced Kurt, who was looking a tad pale. "Twelve years!" He exclaimed. "I'm not six months late, I'm twelve years late."
"He's coming," Kurt urged. He wanted to get out of here. He didn't want to address this with this stupid dream-crushing fantasy.
"You said six months, why did you say six months?" He interrogated, leaning in closer on Kurt until he had to bend back.
"We've got to go," Kurt hissed, but it came out gentle and breathless, which was far from the effect he was looking for.
"This matters! This is important!" He scolded, taking a step forward as Kurt stumbled back. "So why did you say six months?"
Kurt broke, leaning back in on him so he had to bend back this time. He shouted, much louder the necessary and much less polite then what should have been. He was so angry, so crushed. This man had just disappeared, neglected Kurt's own existence for years, painful, stressful, long years. In those years, he discovered what it was to be alone. This man was possibly the only thing that had kept Kurt from imploding. This man had been his hope.
"Why did you say five minutes?"
What kind of hope destroyed you like that?
