A/N: This would be a good time to mention the AU events that occurred before this. Karofsky's kiss with Kurt never happened, therefore there is no Kurt leaving, no Klaine relationship, and Karofsky is still as harassing as ever. Hopefully how this ties into the story will be a testament to why it needed to be done. This chapter is a little longer than the one before, but I felt it was appropriate. I was also going to add Brittany's POV to this chapter, but I felt it didn't fit in, so I'm leaving it for another time (it would have explained a lot, but still, I believe it can wait).
P.S. I forgot to mention that there is Character Death in this fiction. I don't know the exact time, but it will happen. I am also debating whether to continue with the current pairings I had planned. I may just stick with the ones in the original Glee, but I still don't know… Any guidance would be appreciated.
P.S.S. Also, thank you for the kind favourites, alerts, and reviews. Making my day, you are :D .
P.S.S.S. Sorry for any mistakes, grammatical or spelling wise. I'm still looking for a beta reader, so if you're interested let me know via PM!
"Mike, are you okay?" Tina worried, rushing over to him.
"Nothing an Asian kiss won't fix," Mike replied sweetly. He leaned into before she recoiled in horror, leaving him rather confused.
"Mike! Your head is bleeding!" Tina gasped. She pulled Mike over to a chair and began to pull his hair, checking for blood like a monkey checking for lice. He sat, bemused and aware of the snickers he was receiving from the other New Directioners.
"Do you feel dizzy? I hope you don't have a concussion," Tina worried. Her voice was warm, in a motherly kind of way.
"Well, I do kinda feel woozy," Mike mumbled quietly, not wanting to provoke Tina into embarrassing him further.
"It seems to be bleeding from here." Tina parted Mikes hairline, exposed the damaged scalp underneath. "Shouldn't you apologize," Tina accused Santana, glaring.
"Calm yourself, it's Dancer Boy's fault for jumping on springs." Santana wasn't intimidated, easily washing the blame off.
"I can help!" Brittany piped. She jumped up and rushed over to Mike, playfully forcing herself into Tina's position. "Don't worry," she soothed Mike, "I'm like a doctor. Every time I play Operation I get buzzed as the winner before I even take out the funny bone!"
Mikes eyes widened now that his health was in the hands of Brittany. He only felt a small throb of pain in the back of his skull, but the ditsy blonde couldn't remedy that. She would probably turn him comatose. He thought about moving, but the fear of disrupting Brittany and damaging himself more froze him stiff.
Oh god, I'm going to die in Glee Club, Mike thought anxiously. He could feel the throb of pain more clearly now. He tensed as he felt Brittany prod at his wound, twisting his face slightly to deal with the sharp, short burst of pain. And then it all felt fine. Not even the slight throb from before was there.
"Wow, Brittany," Tina gasped, "the wound's gone!" Tina had been supervising the exchange the whole time, a little frustrated that someone else was doing her job. So she was a little possessive, so what?
"You're welcome!" Brittany's eyes twinkled as she skipped happily back to her seat next to Santana, whose wings were fluttering with pride.
"…How?" Was all Mike could manage as he conversed with Tina, started a hushed conversation which was drowned out by Finn's sudden outburst.
"Wait… you guys!" His eyes widened dramatically as his idea surged down his brain and out through his mouth, "We have superpowers!"
"Well, not all of us," Sam pouted. In his eyes, he was the one who deserved them the most. He was the one who fantasized about it, his many comic books attest to that, and he could use royalties from his profession to help his struggling family.
"That doesn't matter," Finn said, turning back to his original train of thought. "We can use this, we can fight back."
"But superheroes aren't meant to abuse their –oh…!" Sam realized, stopping halfway through his interjection.
"Santana, go catch up with Kurt and tell him to wait." Santana looked up with fear at the mention of her name.
"Me? Go outside?" She pointed behind her back at the pair of wings nestling out of her shoulder blades. It was as if someone had cut off the wings of a large eagle and joined them to Santana's skeleton. "I don't know if you haven't realized, but I have wings. Not fairy wings, full blown feather eagle ones. Besides, I don't even know if I can fit through the door." Santana shifted uncomfortably in her chair before giving in to the heavy stares the room was giving her. With a sigh she breathed Spanish profanities quietly before leaving the room.
Kurt walked impatiently to the office of Coach Sylvester, his rushing increasing the sway of his hips tenfold. He just turned into a corridor, deserted except for Karofsky, who was begrudgingly walking in the opposite direction of Kurt. As they passed each other Karofsky viciously shoved Kurt into the lockers.
"'Sup, Homo?" he grinned before walking away. Kurt regained his stance, turning red with anger. He watched Karofsky walk away freely, each of his echoing footsteps making Kurt more and more angry. He shouldn't be allowed to treat him like that. Noone should be able to treat anyone like that, but Karofsky could treat little Gay Kurt worse than a dog. Why? Why? And, for that matter, why didn't Kurt retaliate? Kurt had always known. Because he feared the confrontation would lead into a fight, and Kurt had spent too much money cleansing his face to have it tinted with bruises and cuts.
But, what if I don't need a physical confrontation? Kurt grinned devilishly, his brain working maniacally. Based on his abilities in the choir room, maybe he could do a little more than a tiny barrier? He pondered a moment, considering the chances of his escapade succeeding, before gloomily accepting defeat. His anger had died down now, and therefore his motivation to defend himself. He looked up at the figure of Karofsky, painfully watch him near the end of the corridor. He turned to face Kurt, flipped him the bird, and rounded the corner.
It was amazing how just a small hand signal could revive Kurt's anger, driving the boy to follow his attacker. Kurt traced Karofsky into another empty corridor (not surprising since it was the middle of the period), and spoke out.
"Hey!" He roared, making Karofsky face him in surprise. "What the hell is your problem?" Karofsky's face went from a smirk to stony in less than a second.
"My problem?" He screeched, slowly walking towards Kurt. Kurt's anger was still bubbling, but it was being battled by the fear wedged in his brain. Karofsky could easily pummel him to a pulp, and there were no witnesses at this time. "My problem is that there's this gay kid that just pisses me off, flaunting his goods like everyone should stop and congratulate him." Karofsky was mere feet away from Kurt now, his voice was cold, quiet and venomous. Kurt could hear the anger hidden subtly in the calm strides, the twitching lip, and the fidgeting hands that were now getting closer. "What's your problem, Hummel?" Karofsky drawled the last word, looking him in the eyes. He walking closer, slower, like the masked killer silently approaching his victim.
"My-My problem is you!" Kurt chided, trying to defend himself but not aggravate Karofsky. Karofsky moved closer, just more than an arm's length away, and he wasn't stopping. Kurt didn't like it, with each step he felt a tightness in his chest, a hitch in his breath, more sweat trickle down his brow. "Stop!" Kurt yelled, pushing his arms outwards in hope to repent Karofsky away. Instead, Karofsky was pushed with an invisible force, rocketing backwards and tumbling over himself before sliding to a stop. He got up, confused and angry.
"Grrr… Hummel!" He growled, dusting himself off and now sprinting towards Kurt, malicious intent obvious by the fire in his eyes.
"S-Stop!" Kurt yelled again, slightly faltering. And, again, Karofsky was hurled backwards. Kurt scanned the hall quickly, wondering if anyone had seen the confrontation. No one had, which was good news. Karofsky was slumped against the wall as Kurt fled the scene, trying to make sense of it and hold back a triumphant grin.
Kurt didn't quite understand what was happening to him, but in his current adrenaline rushed state, he hoped it wasn't just a phase. He had never exhibited signs of psychic abilities before. I mean, sure, he was a straight A student, taking several AP classes and fluent in a number of languages, but that wasn't psychic. That was just smart. It had only started in the Choir Room, after he was almost squashed by Mike. But what would have… - the slushies. That was the only possible explanation. They sure as hell weren't normal slushies, but why would have the effects that they did? Usually they only gave Kurt one hell of a dry cleaning bill (you can't simply machine wash his clothing), and an icy temperature. Just another question for Coach Sylvester that gets added to the pile, he thought. He quickly checked the size of his forehead. Santana had grown wings, so it wasn't impossible for his skull to have increased in size. After all, when his supernatural powers took hold, he could feel his brain react. He could feel it direct, tell objects what was to happen then send the signal through his hands. It was like sharing bodies with a separate force. Like being conjoint twins with an invisible person who can hurl fat footballers into walls, something along those lines.
He shook his head to clear it and walked further away from where Karofsky lay. He was a little worried, but he deserved it. Besides, he didn't want to be there when he woke up. Someone will help him, believing that he slipped on the dirty floor or something. The important thing is that no one else saw what had happened. All Kurt needed was to be crowned King Psychic Gay of the school. Even thought the prospect of telekinetic abilities did see enthusing, McKinley would have no trouble regurgitating it like it was a vile habit or life threatening allergy.
Santana exited the Choir Room with an agitated sigh. She was angry that she had to go fetch Kurt, but then again the plan the New Directions had concocted motivated and excited her to find him. The anticipation of it sent shivers through her spine, and made her wings flap lightly, which brought her back to her fear. Fear of judgment. Santana wasn't one to enjoy the ostracism of being an outcast, and having horns and wings wasn't going to bring inclusion. She scrutinized the every hallway she turned into, choosing the ones with the least amount or no amount of people.
For one I'm thankful for lessons, she thought. She noticed her reflection while walking past a glass wall, and stopped to examine her new self. Hmmm… I can make this work… She gave her wings a little flutter and she smiled with relief. She had pulled of the skimpy nurse outfit, the flirty devil with wings wasn't much of a step above. Okay, maybe a little, but she had to admit that the wings, sleek and black and full, were definitely a positive. She was surprised her back didn't ache from supporting them, but maybe feathers were light. They folded comfortably against the curve of her spine, as if pillowing her back. The horns, on the other hand, were a little bit of a turn off. Luckily Santana's face leveled the distraction, making her still seem hot. And she guessed paired with the wings it lessened the oddness of it, as they were coherent. She could just pretend it was a post-Halloween costume and still strut her stuff around the hallways without much changing.
She strayed from her reflection to continue searching for Kurt, her hips exhibiting a now more confident sway as she walked. She could lie most of the damage to her reputation away, but she could be scathed in the process. Kids of McKinley were complete asses, so she didn't know if her new appearance would be taken as a kinky pleasure or freak plea of attention. Either way, there would be talking, if she heard it or not. And that chewed her up inside.
Now matter her self-confidence or pride, Santana would always care about other people's opinions. Those who didn't were stupid. If you are fine with whom you are, and everyone else wasn't that just shows poor judgment on your part. Maybe you're just overlooking a socially unacceptable trait of yours, and simply concluded that everyone else was against you out of jealousy or spite?
Santana rolled her eyes at herself. She hated when she became this inquiring and vulnerable person, even if it was just inside her head. Those questions made her flinch and give her second thoughts on almost everything. Landing on one conclusion, then being swayed to the next, before evaluating them both and making a realization that would surely be converted in a minutes time of grinding her thoughts. It made it seem everyone could be against her, even if she knew for a fact the person in question was incapable of it. Sometimes she wondered if Brittany was just with her falsely, and if she would gossip about her how she thought everyone else did. She wondered if after she left the room everyone would whisper harshly about her, or if there were groups of people who would bitch about her secretly and discreetly.
She began to place a finger on each of temples to calm herself, before releasing that her horns were occupying the space. She swore under her breath and shook her head to clear it of her conjecturing thoughts and turned a corner, bumping into Kurt. He looked flustered, and he seemed to be feeling his forehead in an odd manner.
"The hell are you doing?" Santana asked.
"Oh? Oh, nothing, nothing," Kurt panted. He seemed a little red in the face, but it his eyes glossed over with a realization of some sort before his face split into an ear-wide grin. "Nothing," he repeated darkly, "what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong with me," Santana emphasized, trying to convince herself more than she was Kurt. "But for Sue there will be. Come on, I'll explain on the way." Santana led the way, not hearing Kurt's irritated mumble.
"I already was on my way…" He trailed off in sentenced as he trailed behind Santana, dragging his feet.
Will rested against the piano, closing his eyes to try and process the new events that had happened moments ago. He thought it was ironic in a way – how the shortest of time can make the biggest of change. How the ordinary can reverse into the abnormal. How Santana can suddenly grow wings or Mike jump so high to hit the ceiling, or how Kurt could make an impenetrable force field. He ran a hand through his hair, pausing to play with one of the short curls. He was a little ashamed of how inconsiderate he was being. He knew he should be concerned for his kid's possible health scares and the like, but instead his mind wondered to how this could help their chances at Nationals again next year - a flying Santana, a jumping Mike, and a psychic Kurt. Man, that lost had messed him up bad. He had felt so confident in the competition, but his students had fallen short of his expectations.
Well, not all of them. Just Finn and his raging hormones. Did he have to have a make out session on stage? Will tugged on a lock of his hair, successfully pulling himself out of his funk. Time to help the kids. After all, that's what a teacher is for. He wished Brad the pianist was there, but he had left to go on vacation now that the School year was nearly finished. Damn, now Will had to take full leadership of this (not that Brad have ever taken even a little of it before).
"Okay guys, gather round. We have to sort this out." He waited patiently for everyone to crowd around him, giving him time to add impact to the speech he was about to give. He swiftly planned like he always did: outlining the importance of unity, acceptance, and overcoming obstacles. He didn't wait for Kurt or Santana to return. He was pretty confident he knew what they were attempting, and usually he would object out of fear of their safety, but right now it seems that they could protect themselves, so he happily let them go.
"Now, we all know that something fishy is happening-"
"Fishy is a security guard stalks you in a store. Even when you haven't stolen anything. This is downright wack!" Puck interjected, with mutual nods from the crowd.
"Yeah, since when can someone just grow wings?"
"And heal wounds?"
"And jump into the ceiling?"
Everyone looked expectantly at Will, who gave in with a sigh and continued.
"We all know something... 'wack'… is happening, but it's important that we stay calm and don't panic." Will started, treading on his words carefully. Puck seemed to be amused at his description of the situation. He turned and faced Sam.
"Hey, man," he called, gain Sam's attention. Sam jumped, eyes blinking quizzically. "Don't you have stashes of comic books? Those guys in them usually have powers." Puck gazed, hinting at Sam before realizing he didn't have a clue. "Tell us what happens to them, nitwit." He blew out a strong breath, amazing by Sam's inability to get a clue. Apparently Sam was too, and he blushed, embarrassed.
Sam had been secretly hoping someone would ask him for help. After all, superpowers were the first thing on his list at Christmas (up until he was fourteen, but still), and if it were a subject, he would have aced it, despite his dyslexia. He was thrilled, but managed to was able to not show it in his voice.
"Well, uh… the people usually get powers from accidents. And nuclear waste. That last ones a biggie," he added thoughtfully, biting his lip in concentration. "Yeah, it's almost always nuclear waste. But it's not like they put that in slushies," he said, dismissing the option.
"But didn't anyone actually see them? The slushies were green. And I thought they were glowing," Tina said uneasily.
"Yeah… I thought it was my-" Puck stopped himself. "Yeah," he repeated , dipping his head.
"But that's just stupid," Quinn said angrily, "there's no such thing as a nuclear waste slushie."
Sue watched Becky run from her office, pleased that she had given her such valuable information. It was nice to have an extra pair of everything to work for you. Unfortunately, the information intercepted wasn't good. It was what Sue had been dreading. She knew there was a chance it would happen, but she disregarded the odds continued her plan as usual. And it resulted in failure. It was a failure now, and it would most likely cascade into multiple more along the road.
With a roar of anger she pulled open her desk drawer, retrieving her diary. Narrowing her eyes in thought she sought refuge in the therapeutic methods of self-expression via her good old diary. Sure, it wasn't expressing herself to others, but that didn't matter. As long as her thoughts were kept somewhere else instead of her head it was fine. And at least those Glee brats wouldn't be able to call her a hypocrite. She shuddered at the thought, which fueled her writing more.
'It happened. What I had dreaded, what I had prayed wouldn't happened. Something good happened to the Glee Club, which is in comparison bad for me, and it is all my doing.
It all started with their heartbreaking loss at Nationals. They seemed pretty upset – almost as if they didn't see it coming. Like an Ohio Glee Club has a chance to place at Nationals makes me laugh more than old people falling on sidewalks.
But, they were genuinely upset, so I thought I would send them something to get their mind off that pain and onto a new one – the realization that they are still at the bottom of the food chain. My cheerios are at the top, Glee at the bottom, and I am the one who carves the chain from the iron of me myself.
And what better way to say – 'hey, you're all losers and you still all suck more than the amount of vest's Will has' than to drown them in slushies. The plan was simple, and I thought of it quick. I was quite proud of it, but the dates were against my wishes. The school had stopped with the production of slushies on the second to last day of school, just to save money. So I had to improvise. I made my own replacement – and a fine one that represented all of them as a whole. I even memorized the recipe.
Corn syrup, water, salt, dog food, and some green stuff from the science labs at school. I didn't know what the last one was, but I touched it with my bare hands and hypothesized what it could be. It wasn't acid, or anything that could physically damage them, so I was free from lawsuit. Also, it made the prettiest green – the glowing colour of envy. So all it goes, into the processor, and with some minor modifications I had created the perfect fake slush.
And what happens next? They sprout wings. Great. But I can't help but wonder – I touched the putrid blend myself – what will happen to me? I have never been a fan of wings. If I wanted to be a bird I would have asked for 'black wing' surgery years ago. And the heights of flying are not something I like – getting a better view of a world full of idiots and teenagers – no. That isn't what I want. But I can't say I don't want something. I need something now; fate was in their court, so the ball should be passed into mine. I need something to level the playing field, as right now it's in their favour.'
Sue looked up attentively from her venting at the sound of a thundering beat. The blinds on her windows shook in warning, and the glass of water next to her was rippling with every sound. The noise grew louder, coming towards her office and reverberating around it. The door was pushed open, and Sue waited guardedly for someone to show themselves.
Kurt willed the door to Coach Sylvester's office open, and it did, forcefully. He was shivering in excitement. After a whole year of taking the sarcastic comments, ignorant abuse, and shame seminars he finally had the power to do something. Something that could rise above his fragile stature, make him seem intimidating - something that couldn't be traced back to him (in case he needed to resort to earlier methods. Leaving his thoughts behind to concentrate on the task at hand, Kurt used his powers to move Santana's into Coach Sylvester's office and into her iPod dock.
"I still can't believe she has one of those," Santana whispered, crouching near the door to not be seen.
"It's music, everyone likes some sort of it," Kurt said absent mindedly. He was surprised at how well he could maneuver levitating objects, considering it had only been roughly twenty minutes since receiving the ability to do so. Maybe it's because it's small…He thought, before clicking the play button. The fierce beat scared Coach Sylvester, who hadn't seen the iPod come into the room, sneak around and plug itself into the dock behind her. The song was unfamiliar to her, and she swung her swivel chair around see what the hell had happened.
"Quick! Now!" Kurt queued in a hoarse whisper. Santana quickly rushed up from her position and began to sing with the lyrics.
"Look, what we have here,
Didn't see this coming…."
Santana made sure her voice was slightly raspy and strong, underlying the contention of the song. She flexed out her wings to be as frightening as possible, adding more power to her voice as she did so.
"The tables sure did turn on you,
Don't apologize, it's none of my concern.
You had your chance to make amends,
Now it's our turn to take the offense."
That was Kurt's cue. He rose into the room, eyes glowing with authority as with one mental move all the papers off Coach Sylvester's desk and swirling into the air. He could tell she was furious, that she wanted to attack, but she couldn't. She wouldn't be able to touch them. The face she was making was priceless – raw anger mixed with sheer helplessness. Kurt smiled, narrowing his eyes. It did feel good, to be in his position. He searched deep into his chest to find his deep voice, and continued the song.
"And it sure feels good, I see why do it.
To take control, shove those and screw it.
But now, honey, that ain't gonna work
'Cause your plan backfired,"
Santana echoed the last word in an eerily high voice, now adding fear to the face of Sue Sylvester. Kurt could tell Santana had been wanting to do this as much as he had – maybe even a little more. She had been demoted to the bottom of the pyramids, and Kurt had… Well, to be honest, she hadn't done that much to Kurt. It made him feel slightly guilty, but them he remembered Glee Club, how she loathed them. And – duh! She was the one who slushied them. His voice grew with fury as he dwelled on his thoughts, the rooms belongings being tossed around level with Kurt's anger. Papers were flying, cheerleading trophies rattling in their case and some breaking through its glass and onto the floor.
Sue hated that she had to duck under her desk and hide to avoid the whirlwind of her belongings. She was cringing with anger, and she couldn't do anything about it. Because she was scared. For the first time in God knows how long, Sue Sylvester had actually been sought out and cornered, like she did to so many others.
Usually seeing from the other side of the spectrum gives people a change of heart, resulting in them having good behavior, but not Sue. Nosiree, that wasn't how she played the game. If someone challenged her, she would rise to it and defeat it. No matter how long it took, she vowed she would get revenge. The fact that the low life Glee kids had usurped her position as the confrontational fear-striker fueled her even more. She sat, hunched under her desk, her knuckles white from gripping her hands into fists. She could feel the wind of the rotating objects drift through her scalp.
Soon, soon. Was all she could think to soothe herself. Soon she would be able to retaliate, and she would make sure her retribution was twice as painful as this. Thrice. Umpteenth times as painful.
Kurt willed the cyclone to stop, still singing to the music. He was surprised the commotion hadn't sparked curious bystanders, but at least it made things easier. And, for that matter, where was Becky? She was usually Coach Sylvester's right hand woman. Again, at least it made things easier. And Becky was a sweet girl – he couldn't justify putter her through this kind of treatment.
"All that crap you've been giving,
We can finally give it back.
No remorse, regrets just repayment,
We'll see we get our money back.
So sleep with one eye open,
You'll never know when we strike next.
Let the fear consume you,
You've backfired and that's just that."
Kurt and Santana stopped suddenly, Kurt retrieving the iPod without having to move. Coach Sylvester stayed quiet under her desk, probably not wanting to be seen in such a state of uselessness. Kurt snickered loudly, wordlessly confirming the message of the song: 'We're in charge now," before exiting with his usual sway.
Santana followed him slowly, pausing at the door to look at the room they had just given a rough makeover. The trophy case was broken, the leather swivel chair ripped and its padding strewn over the floor. Trophies were lumped on the floor and hundreds of sheets of paper littered the floor. Dents were covering the walls and the desk, and the lamp on it was broken.
Santana laughed darkly before turning and exiting, hiding the fact she felt they went a little overboard. She hoped they hadn't hurt Sue – not physically.
Oh well, now at least she'll know not to mess with Porcelain and Sandbags. Santana thought, adding a small skip to her steps to catch up to Kurt.
A/N Again: The song, Backfired, written by me. Crappy, I know, but I didn't know of any song that could represent the situation at hand. As always, please favourite and review, as I only keep writing if I know people are interested in reading.
