Kurt Hummel – McKinley High's one and only countertenor, top fashionista and diva extraordinaire – was having a bad day. Simple as that.
The series of events leading Kurt to draw that particular conclusion had begun first thing that morning when the sixteen year old's alarm clock had rung not only far too late, but had startled him to such a degree he had actually fallen promptly out of bed when it did, because apparently he had slept way too close to the edge than he normally would.
Then, only minutes later, he had to his utter despair discovered the obvious imperfection on his usually wonderful skin. A blasphemous zit dared to tarnish his beautiful milky white skin – and he was in too great a hurry to properly cover it!
So, of course it should not had come as such a surprise when his favorite McQueen coat unexplainably sported a colossal tear stemming from one of its pockets. But it did, and he would had cried over its destruction had he only the time to actually grieve it. Though as it was, Kurt only had the time to grab the first coat he could find (that didn't clash all too horribly with his hurriedly put together outfit) and run out the door to try and catch the bus so he wouldn't miss too much of first period.
School hadn't been much better in the end. It was like every jock on campus just knew he was doomed to show up shockingly late that specific morning and had all simply gathered outside to wait for him.
He had been thrown into the dumpsters twice before he even made it inside the school hallways.
And throughout the entire day those Neanderthals had made his life a living hell. No less than four times Kurt could be found in the schools various bathrooms desperately trying to salvage his clothes and his hair by scrubbing away all the red dye number six that he could. Sadly his Vivianne Westwood scarf proved to be unsalvageable, a loss he would lament later.
That wasn't to mention how the hockey team had found it hilarious to dump that days mystery meat on top of his head, drenching all of him from head to toe in that foul smell that would surely manage to seep into every pitiful pore of his body before he could remove it. He could only imagine the damage that treatment had done to his poor skin. Kurt shuddered simply thinking about it.
In the end he had been forced to extract his loathed PE clothes from the furthest depths of his gym locker, as all of his emergency outfits had already been tarnished by that point. It was a good thing the pants he had stashed were full-length though – he could only imagine the ridicule should he show himself in their school's deploring gym shorts that barely covered anything up. It hadn't been more than ten minutes though before they too were more or less destroyed; the last two slushies of the day hitting him straight on the chest, the red ice sliding down the fabric and tainting the garments beyond repair.
Well, fuck.
Now, it wasn't only the bullies that managed to make his school day so horrible. His third period math teacher had promptly decided that his class definitely were in grave need of a pop-quiz to keep everyone on their toes in the future, and not long after that Kurt had discovered he had forgotten his history paper back home that morning, a paper which was supposed to be turned in specifically that day. Obviously.
And to top it all off there hadn't been any glee club meetings whatsoever that day. And Mercedes' had been out sick the entire week with pneumonia, which meant he had suffered through the torture on his own.
So yeah, it was safe to say that Kurt Hummel wasn't having a great day. At least it was Friday, which meant he wouldn't had to go back the next day. Not to mention how there was only a week left before Christmas break begun.
At least Finn had smiled at him briefly when they'd passed each other in the hallway though. Kurt supposed he had to count that in his favor, even if the jock had consequently missed it when Strando had pushed Kurt against the lockers not moments later. Small wins and all that.
Though in the end Kurt only found it fitting how utterly disastrous his day had turned out.
Because you see, eight years ago - on this exact date - was the day Kurt's mother Elisabeth had finally succumbed to a long battle against cancer. So wasn't it ironic how all the jocks in school seemed to instinctively know how horrible this day would be for the young countertenor just by waking up, and how they easily could make everything ten times worse with their brainless yet scathing remarks and their simply put terrorizing actions? As if he needed any of that crap to feel like he had hit rock bottom today of all days.
Kurt had only been two years old when the doctors first discovered his mother's terminal leukemia. At the time he hadn't understood the implications it brought, he had been far too young to understand the meaning of fear and of loss. It had only been much later, after her death that he had finally known what it all really meant, that he had truly understood.
In the beginning after her diagnosis there hadn't really been any noticeable changes in the Hummel household, at least not that he could bring himself to remember. His mother would still smile constantly; eyes always crinkling slightly in the corners and her dimples unmistakably showing years upon years of smiled and happy laughter. Their house would still be filled to the brim with laughter at all times of the day just like it had been before the diagnose was set.
It was just that sometimes the air around them would turn somewhat pensive, and the two parents would wonder how long everything would truly last while gazing longingly into the others eyes over the head of their still blissfully unaware child as he would sit cuddled between the two.
With time a year passed, the same year their doctor once said Elisabeth would most likely not be alive to see end of. Then another year came and went. And another. And another. And another.
And then… Then Elisabeth grew worse. Much worse.
The majority of the memories Kurt still held of his mother stemmed from that time, from the time when doctor visits were frequent, from when his mother had been admitted into the hospital one day only to never leave again with her life intact.
Whenever Kurt would find himself thinking about her it would usually be one of those memories sitting lodged at the forefront of his mind, torturing him. It would almost always be those same images haunting him.
He would see her lying curled up in her hospital bed, looking so impossibly small and fragile to his then six year old mind. There would be dark circles accenting her tired eyes, her skin and her lips would look so sickly pale even his father had been tentative to touch her in fear of somehow breaking her. He would remember how her breathing seemed to be labored far more often than not, and he would recall how her voice would go from the melodic tone of his earliest youth that he had always loved to something seeping through with such raspiness it had hurt even his own throat. He would remember the pain in her eyes when she had explain to him that she would had to leave him and his father behind to go live with the pretty angels hiding amongst the clouds.
He could remember so much pain. So much fear. So much hopelessness.
But then there were those memories – those few older memories – in which he was younger and his mother was healthier. Usually they were only short glimpses of his once happy life; his mother kneeling in her garden caring for the flowers in the flowerbed, the two of them being curled up together with Burt on the couch watching the Lion King for the twentieth time, his mother pushing him on the swings at the play ground down the street during a warm summer day…
All of them short, yes, undoubtedly so. But they were all happy none the less.
Then there was the time his mother had first told him about Jack Frost…
They'd talked about going to the park that upcoming Saturday all week so that Kurt would be able to make beautiful snow angels and snowmen with his friends from kindergarten instead of being forced to do it on his own in their backyard, but once Saturday morning came any and all attempts of doing that had proved themselves futile if not outright impossible.
Outside the safety of their home there was a huge snowstorm raging through their town, and listening to the radio one could hear that the entire state in fact was suffering from it. All over Ohio snow was reaching up to the brink of peoples windows, more snow only adding to it by the second. Harsh winds were tearing through the trees across the state, making them bend to an uncomfortable degree, some of them already broken and other even torn up by their roots. One couldn't see longer than five feet in front of oneself before everything quickly muddled up into one big blur.
Safe to say that it was downright dangerous to even consider going outside in that weather. Luckily there would prove not to be that many that even tried in the first place. The people living in the Hummel residence certainly didn't.
"I believe dear old Jack is angry again," his mother had stated looking outside, a fond smile on her lips but still wearing a deep frown splayed across her forehead.
"Whose Jack mom?" little four year Kurt had questioned with a light lisp, also sporting a slight frown, though his was more out of frustration from not being able to go outside to play like he had planned to than from the obvious concern his mother was showing.
Elisabeth had looked down on him, watching him carefully with her clear blue eyes before taking his tiny hand in her own and leading him from the vicinity of their kitchen to another window – the one in her and Burt's bedroom – the only one with a comfortable window seat built in. There she had sat him down in her warm lap as she softly began telling him the tragic tale of Jack Frost as they both watched as the storm continued to rage outside.
"Somewhere out there in the world, there is a boy – or a young man really – whose name is Jack. Nobody knows where he came from, or why he is here. He can't tell you the answer to that either because not even Jack himself truly knows.
What we do know though is that Jack is special, because with the help of his staff he can control the ice and the snow. With his staff he can make sure the snow is just a little bit wet so that it will be easier for all children across the world to make snowballs and snowmen to their hearts delight, and he can freeze the lakes and the rivers so that people can skate on it without fear of falling into the cold water…"
"Jack can do that?!" the young boy had cried out excitedly, amazement shining in his big, glasz eyes as he gazed up at his mother. "What else can he do?"
"Well…" she had drawn out, tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth as she thought. "He can make the snow really hard when children want to ride their sleds down the hills, but still super soft when somebody falls off so they won't get hurt. He can also make beautiful pictures on the windows with his ice. Just look here," she had said, pointing to a pretty pattern of frost going around the edges of the window beside them.
"Wow…" Kurt then sighed in awe, staring at the in his mind magnificent ice. "He is really cool mom!" he had burst out gleefully, only to frown again. "But why did you say Jack is angry mommy? Isn't he happy he can do all of those cool things with his stick? I would be really happy mom! And I would had really many friends, and they would all think I was cool too!"
His mom had smiled, but she hadn't looked happy as she watched the snow swirling around outside.
"I'm afraid it isn't that easy for dear old Jack." Kurt then watched as his mother closed her eyes and sighed quietly. "You know Kurt how you, your friends and all of the other kids in your kindergarten class know there's a Santa Claus who brings you presents for Christmas, how the Easter Bunny hides all those eggs for Easter and how the Tooth Fairy trades your teeth for pennies?"
Kurt had nodded seriously since he knew all about them, but he didn't understand what that had to do with Jack Frost and why he was angry. Had Santa Claus teased Jack like some of the bigger kids at kindergarten sometimes teased him? That used to make him angry, maybe Jack was the same? But would Santa Claus and the others really tease Jack? That didn't really sound like them…
"Well, there isn't anybody who believes in Jack, and because nobody believes in him, nobody can see him either." Kurt had gasped in shock hearing that, but he still remained seated quietly in his mother's lap, wanting to hear why nobody believed in him. He sounded so cool! "And because nobody can see him he doesn't had any friends," she had finished despondently.
"No friends?" Kurt had asked sadly. He himself didn't had many friends either. All the boys in kindergarten thought he was weird, and most of the girls said he was a boy and had cooties so he couldn't play with them. Which he didn't! He would know if he had something as stupid as cooties!
But still, he had Mercedes and Brittany. They were his friends and they played with him all the time. He couldn't imagine not having any friends at all. No wonder Jack was angry. He would be angry all the time too if he didn't had any friends.
"No friends," his mother then confirmed. "So sometimes he will get angry; at the world for being so unfair to him, at himself for not being able to make people believe in him… though never at the children, because Jack can't bring himself to blame them for not believing in him.
"So when Jack gets angry he loses all control he has of himself and his powers and that is why the storms are so bad Kurt, because the storms are only mirroring how Jack is feeling, and it won't stop until Jack is calm again.
"But tomorrow Kurtie, when you wake up you will see the most beautiful sight in your life, because once Jack has calmed down he will feel bad and guilty for letting the storm come to us, and he will do everything he can to make it up to us.
"Everything will sparkle so much that you will think someone have poured glitter all over the ground and the trees, the sky will be the most beautiful blue you'll ever see and all the birds will be so happy with Jack that they start singing as prettily as they can to thank him. It will all show the most stunning kind of magic there is."
Kurt had sat there with his mother for a long time once her story about Jack Frost was finished. He just sat there nestled into her embrace, thinking quietly about what he had been told as the snow fell before his eyes.
"Mom?" he had finally said after a long time, having come to a decision after a long while of thinking.
"Huh, honey?" his mother had murmured somewhat sleepily, as she had almost fallen asleep sitting there in the soothing warmth from having her little son lean against her chest.
"I think I'll believe in Jack," Kurt had told his mother proudly. "And if he wants to I will be his friend too. Do you think he would like that mommy? Do you think he would be my friend?"
"I think he would love that hun," she had told him with a great smile on her lips, making him grin too, knowing he had come to the right decision.
"Now," she had asked a few minutes later, "do you want to help me bake some cookies and surprise your father?"
"Yes!" he had shouted happily, throwing his tiny arms in the air. He then leaped out of her hold, bouncing merrily to the kitchen, his mother following behind him at a more sedated pace as she chuckled quietly to herself.
Now, that had been a long time ago, and just like most children do Kurt had grown up to stop believing in silly things like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, but just like his mother before him Kurt couldn't find it within himself to stop believing in the old legend of Jack Frost.
He knew it wasn't rational; he knew the chances for someone like Jack Frost to actually be real were about as slim as someone finding a frog that would turn into a prince if you kissed it, or someone discovering there was a little dwarf inside a teacup on the dark side of the moon.
But wasn't that the thing though? That belief and trust in something didn't had anything to do with being rational; it was simply something within you, something that would stay there whether there was evidence proving it existed or not.
That was why Kurt didn't care if the people around him wore crosses to school or started new clubs where they could discuss their various beliefs. Just because he identified himself as an atheist – who albeit did believe in Jack Frost of all things – it didn't mean that other people weren't allowed to believe in God or Allah or whatever. Just as long as they didn't try to shove their beliefs into his face.
Though of course, he did kind of mind when the bullies around school – and away from school for that matter – would justify their actions toward him by saying being gay was an abomination according to the bible.
Anyhow... Yeah, Kurt still believed in Jack. He wasn't ashamed of it either, not in the slightest. He didn't broadcast it, but should it happen that anybody were to ask, then sure, he had admit to it happily. It wasn't like it was the oddest thing about him anyway.
His father would often say things during cold winter nights about how his mother too believed in him – how she would stay up especially late, simply staring out into the white snow worrying about her 'friend' Jack. It always made Kurt felt that tiny bit closer to his mother, knowing she too had remained steadfast in her belief in the story meant for young children. It also made that small voice in the back of his mind calling him crazy for believing in something so outlandish lessen.
Was it even possible to not be ashamed for believing in something but still felt like you're crazy for doing so at the same time?
Kurt would reason that if his mother, a grown woman with a house and a family, could still be convinced that Jack was real, then he undoubtedly could too. And for the past twelve years he had, though unlike his mother had claimed when he was four, Kurt had never been able to catch the faintest glimpse of someone resembling Jack Frost. He certainly hadn't been able to befriend the mysterious legend either like he had once planned to.
Oh well.
Opening the front door of the high school and tentatively stepping outside Kurt realized it had been stupid of him to hide in the girl's bathroom when the school ended half an hour earlier. Sure, it meant all of the football players would had cleared out; thus minimizing the prospect of being subjected to yet another shove, swirly or dumpster toss before going home. However, it also meant that with his car – his little baby – locked up in his father's garage with a leaking water cooler, combined with the fact that he had now missed the last bus from school – and with his phone lying powerless and dead in the bottom of his messenger bag – he would now be forced to walk all the way home.
Yay.
Deeply regretting ever leaving the safety of his bed that morning – heck, regretting telling his father he would still go to school instead of staying at home like he had been offered the night before – Kurt stood atop the stairs of McKinley High's front entrance, where he felt the cold already began to seep past his filthy clothes, deep into his skin and bones.
Drawing his coat closer around himself he set a quick pace, determined to get himself home as fast as possible, reluctant to stay outside in the brusque cold any longer than strictly necessary.
There was a moment of grief in the air around him as Kurt suddenly thought about what his mother would had to say about the cold. She had said it once when he was younger, when he had been about six years old and much more well versed in the tales of Jack Frost.
"Whenever the cold feels like it will dig itself into your heart and your stomach Kurt," she would began, lifting him up to the window sill so he could watch outside, "you should know it is only because our old friend Jack is really, really sad. The coldness you feel surrounding you is the same coldness Jack feels in his heart, which is why it can feel so achingly painful outside when it is this freezing."
"But couldn't someone make him happy again mommy? Like you do when I am sad?" Kurt would then ask her, worrying about poor Jack. His mother always was the best at cheering him up when he was down. She would always bring him a warm cup of milk and read him a fairytale, and she would always make these funny voices to the different characters. That always made him laugh again and he would forget what had made him sad in the first place.
Hopefully someone could make Jack Frost felt like that too.
"I wish someone could Kurtie, I wish someone could."
His mother would always look so worried whenever it was particularly cold outside – she would always walk back to the windows around their home and stare out through the glass, her fingers twitching in need to do something. Kurt still didn't know why she had continued that habit; neither did his father had any explanations for it. It was in the end only one of the many enigmas concerning his mother when it came to Jack Frost.
Turning left at the street corner Kurt shoved his already frozen fingers as deep into the coat pockets as he could get them, silently cursing how freezing his PE sweats felt against his skin, while simultaneously wishing he had brought along a warm scarf or even a hat that morning so he might had been able to warm his cold ears a tiny bit. They felt just like icicles as he briefly lifted his fingers to touch them.
Kurt really hoped his father wouldn't be home when he had eventually get there, as he could live without the sure fired lecture about taking some responsibility and not be outside in weather like this. As if it ever would had happened if he had been able to drive his precious baby to school...
Sighing quietly Kurt kept walking, longing for the warmth of his bed, where he would be able to cry himself to sleep without fearing for anyone's reaction to it. Where he would be able to cry over his overtly crappy day. Where he would be able to cry over the anniversary of his mother's death and the feeling of longing and loss that came with it.
He knew that later tonight; after a poor attempt of dinner from his father – a meal probably consisting of a badly roasted piece of meat and some overly cooked potatoes – the two of them would go visit his mother at the graveyard where they both most likely would bawl their eyes out. Just like they'd done the previous year, and the years before that too.
But Kurt also knew that he wouldn't be able to hold in his tears for much longer as it was. Already he could felt the sobs lodged tight in his throat and knew it was only a matter of time before it all would come crashing down.
Ten minutes passed with Kurt still walking, not even close to being home, but far closer to allowing the tears to run down his ice cold cheeks. Kurt could practically felt his bluing lips began to tremble, and he had to blink continuously just to be able to see where he walked.
That was the moment when a cool and almost bored voice spoke out behind him, "You should probably dress a bit warmer in this cold Kurt, didn't your mother ever tell you that?"
Kurt froze where he stood. He could swear he knew that voice – that teasing note hiding just below the surface along with the promise of such care. It seemed so familiar, and in a weird way it felt like finally coming home again. But Kurt couldn't place it; he hadn't got the faintest idea of who it could belong to.
He felt like he should know anyway.
"You're not even wearing a hat or something," the voice continued teasingly, this time sounding much closer to him than it did before. "Tsk, tsk Kurt, you could freeze your ears off in this kind of weather if you're not careful."
Kurt closed his eyes. He knew that voice, he couldn't explain how, because he couldn't remember even hearing it before, but he knew it. It was like that voice was embedded in his bone marrow somehow, like it was a part of him and his life. But from where?
"I suppose you don't have any gloves either do you? Otherwise you wouldn't shove your hands so deep into your pockets one would think you were searching for China." Whoever was behind him seemed to be even closer still, probably not even ten paces back if Kurt's experience with listening for bullies proved correct.
Kurt tried to dig into his memory, searching for a familiar face that the voice could belong to. At least he could tell the person was male, the voice too deep to belong to a girl – though he really shouldn't stereotype like that considering his own high pitched tone…
But it didn't belong to any of the guys at school, not that there were many that would ever talk to him in the first place. The guys at his father's garage were all too old, all too gruff for it to be any of them, and besides; they were all probably working right now. It wasn't any of his relatives, at least not any of them that were still in contact with him and his father. It wasn't the guy working at the grocery store, it was not the pizza delivery guy, it was not the mailman, not the graveyard's handyman, not that homeless man – Patches – hiding behind the library…
Who was it?
"You're just like her you know," the voice continued with a sudden morose tone, only to then finish with a small, sad chuckle, "Elisabeth never would dress properly before going outside either."
Kurt whirled around on the spot, eyes wide in wonder and mouth gaping slightly. "You knew my mother?" he asked breathlessly.
It was it was at that point that he realized he could actually see this 'mystery person' of his now. It was a boy, or possibly a young man even, leaning up against the icy brick wall beside them with one leg bent slightly. His skin was pale, possibly even paler than Kurt's own – which he would fondly call milky white when speaking about it with Mercedes and the other girls. Kurt didn't know there were any people in Lima with skin paler than his own.
The boy's hair was a remarkable white-ish color, like it was laced through with strands of silver and a pale gray, which was obviously dyed because seriously, whoever was born with that naturally? It was even more palpable considering the boy's dark eyebrows, because that difference in color really couldn't happen on its own.
Dropping his eyes Kurt found that the boy wore a blue hoodie, and while it wasn't anything like a Marc Jacobs sweater it truly did look amazing with the way it stretched across the boy's broad shoulders and thin waist. The way it showed off the boy's muscles certainly was nice. And the material did admittedly look extremely soft. Tight camel colored pants hugged the boy's long legs, and Kurt definitely approved of them despite the slightly worn threads at the bottom, but Kurt frowned confusedly when he saw that the boy wasn't wearing shoes or even a pair of socks. Wasn't that absolutely freezing? Kurt shivered just thinking about it.
"Why aren't you wearing shoes?" Kurt blurted out, and then promptly blushed when the stranger started laughing. It was a hearty laugh, the kind where it comes from deep within your stomach.
"Seriously?" the stranger huffed out through his chuckled. "You're really gonna ask me why I'm not wearing shoes? Not, like, who I am, or what I'm doing stalking you? I guess you did ask how I knew your mother though..."
Kurt had to smile, despite the small pang in his heart when the boy mentioned his mother. The stranger did had a point with him bringing up the lack of shoes of all things. It was kinda weird, wasn't it? He shook his head lightly before peaking up through the fringe of hair that had fallen over his eyes. "Fine then. Who are you, and how do you know me? I don't think I have ever seen you before."
"Oh you have, Kurt, you were just too young to remember it," the boy spoke, a sad tilt to his voice. "After all, you were only two years old the last time we met."
Kurt nodded sagely, he had trouble remembering most of his childhood at all, it wasn't strange that he couldn't remember something that happened when he was two. Then he realized something; this guy seemed to be about his age, maybe a few years older. How could he remember something like that?
"Wait, you're like, my age. How could you remember something like that?" he asked, curiosity filling him to the brim.
"Oh, I'm much older than I look," the boy somberly said, looking down at the ground with an unreadable expression. Geez, did this guy had mood swings or what?
Kurt tried to look into the boy's eyes, but ultimately failed when he just kept averting them. "Fine," he said with a small sigh. "You still haven't told me your name or how you know me though," Kurt pointed out.
"I have been a friend of your mother's for a long time Kurt," the boy began, "I met you for the first time when you were just a few months old – a small, precious little thing." The stranger reminisces before looking up into his eyes with a smirk. "Can't really say you've changed much."
Kurt blushed beet red within moments, and chuckled nervously as he looked down at the street. Was this guy flirting with him? He couldn't really tell, it had never happened to him before, as it wasn't really possible in this town.
He didn't even know this guy's name.
Shit, he still didn't know this guy's name.
"You've answered one of my questioned. How about the other? What's your name?" Kurt asked; still staring at the ground, not daring to look up at this guy that might be flirting with him. Kurt don't even know the guy's name but was already terrified of scaring him off. And no wonder really, this was the first boy his own age beside the guys in glee club that didn't seem afraid or disgusted talking to him. It was... nice.
He could hear the ruffling the clothes made as the stranger moved tensely. Kurt was about to open his mouth and say something, though he didn't know what exactly, when the boy said the one name he hadn't expected to hear. At all.
"My name Kurt... Is Jack Frost."
And it wasn't until Kurt's head whipped up that he finally took in and saw the long earthly brown stalk resting against the wall next to the boy. Next to... Jack. Jack Frost. The guy from his mother's stories. The guy that apparently knew his mother, and had been her friend. Huh. Well, look at that.
Who was out to screw with him this time?
"Look, I don't know what you think you're doing, or where you found out I still believe in Jack Frost," Kurt growled snidely, eyes narrowing as he stared at the strange boy, "but if you imagine I would fall for that you've got another thing coming. So... just skip along to the next gullible person you can find and try your tricks on them. Because me? I'm not buying your charade."
"No?" the boy replied, seemingly amused as he raised his fist into the air.
"No," Kurt shook his head.
Out of nowhere a small whirlwind of snow began hurling through the air, forming something akin to a miniature tornado, spinning mere inches from the strange boy's outstretched palm.
Eyes widening Kurt looked on, transfixed, not able to drag his gaze away. That- that was something he hadn't expected alright.
"Believe me now?" the boy – Jack – asked slyly, smirking.
"You- you-" Kurt gasped, searching for words that could describe his sudden chock.
Then the world went black.