OF A
S O U L
:i:
"Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies."
:i:
CHAPTER TWO
:i:
Like most children whose parents worked for the Magisterium, Blaine was put through all the Potentiality tests at a young age. Unlike many of these children, Mrs. And Mr. Anderson introduced Blaine to the alethiometer as soon as he could read.
Young children usually had a natural intuition for basic alethiometry. But with their youth also came the barrier of understanding: most were limited to yes-and-no answers, black and white truths which truths rarely were. Blaine was no different. One of his most vivid childhood memories was sitting on the chaise long with his mother, the way her hands felt as she guided him through all the intricate symbols on the alethiometer. By the age of six, the weight of the device was already a familiar one in Blaine's small hands. He was talented…but so were most Potentials at his age.
It had begun as an accident. Bored from an afternoon in the sun with his daemon, Blaine wandered about the house. He contemplated the pros and cons of eating the rest of the cookies in the pantry. On the way to the kitchen, he paused at by his mother's study – peering curiously through the heavy wooden door. It was just like every other door in the house; dark smooth wood and polished brass handle. But unlike the other doors, this one had been left ajar.
It was simply too much temptation for a nine year old Blaine to resist. He pushed the door further open; glancing up and down the landing to make sure his mom wasn't going to come tell him off. His father wasn't going to be home until Friday, so everything was safe on that front (Blaine wouldn't dare to go into his father's study anyway, even if the door was wide open.) A short look wasn't going to hurt anyone. Blaine slipped into the room.
"We're going to get into so much trouble," hissed Audrey, scampering from one shoulder to the other, little mouse ears flicking. Audrey finally decided to make a death-defying leap for Blaine's hair; climbing onto his head and making a temporary nest in his curls.
"Shhh," said Blaine, ever so stealthy.
The room wasn't anything remarkable, to be honest. The lights were off and the curtains were half drawn, throwing a long slender line of sunshine across the deep red carpet. The bookshelves lining the walls were in shadow, and Blaine could make out the shape of a globe on the top shelf, a telescope and other strangely shaped things. There was a chart with tiny numbers spanning the width of the wall opposite the window. A large mahogany desk occupied most of the floor space, sunlight painting a stripe of gold across something that glinted attractively.
Blaine made a beeline for the desk. Audrey shifted into a kitten, jumping lighting onto the table (scrabbling a little on the lacquered wood) while Blaine climbed onto the high-backed leather chair so he could see the desktop properly. He carefully left the stack of papers and files untouched, making sure he didn't knock over the metallic 3D puzzle thing beside the said papers. It was probably one of those brain-teaser puzzles, thick bits of oddly shaped metal that would piece together to form a shape. But Blaine wasn't interested in that right now; there was a large black jewellery box on the table. Its lid had been left open to reveal a plush interior, where a large golden pocket-watch-thing sat snug in velvet. The sunlight glinted off the gold chain and the engraved lid, and Audrey sniffed at it with curiosity.
"What is it?" he asked, tail swaying.
"Not sure," said Blaine, glancing at the door to the study before lifting the large watch carefully from its box. It was heavy; the metal cool to the touch and it took Blaine several moments before figuring out how to open the clasp. It popped open without a sound; breathless like a gasp.
It wasn't a watch – it was something much more beautiful. Blaine's eyes were wide with wonder, fingers tracing the edge of the glass behind which needle-like hands spun lazily above tiny, intricate pictures.
"Oh wow," whispered Audrey, "That's pretty."
"What do you think it's for?" asked Blaine, turning the object this way and that, admiring the way the sunlight would reflect off the crystal and gold.
"It kinda looks like a compass," said Audrey, giving the lid a tentative lick, "Real gold."
"Maybe it's a present," suggested Blaine, examining the little pictures. He stared hard at them, head tilted to one side – an early Christmas present for his father? Little Blaine stared some more.
The needles began to move.
:i:
Kurt had always thought he was fine at self-definition. In fact, he prided himself on being individual, different, someone who was meant for bigger and better things than the crude social ladder and expectations of Lima. But now, his ever changing wardrobe (chosen to stand out, stand out, never blend in) seemed a little superfluous, undecided, unsettled.
But this –
He had never anticipated what it truly meant to be part of something that gave you instant status. He wasn't sure what this was, but just one taste of it had him doubting, wanting, smiling.
This was thousand watt spotlights flaring out white, this was singing, belting your heart out into a microphone and having an audience who screamed back their applause. It was an exhilarating feeling, a taste that was on the roof of his mouth even after the last note had faded away from the ringing speakers. He was a little out of breath and vaguely Kurt hoped they had turned off the microphones because he was sure they could hear his heart rabbiting hard against his ribcage-
Beside him, Mercedes shot him a triumphant, glowing sort of look and Kurt was smiling so hard his face hurt. He had never seen his friend so confident before; not when she was singing her lone note at the end of ballads and group numbers, not when she was dressed up to the nines because they thought it was the only way for them to define themselves, to paint their identity so full of sharp lines and bright colours that all the other mediocrities of life faded away. Kurt allowed himself a greedy, breath-catching glance over the students, all of whom were cheering, applauding, applauding him.
It was intoxicating. Addictive. He glanced down to where Elizabeth, sleek and grey, was sitting by his ankle... realised she had not shifted throughout the entire rehearsal and performance.
:i:
"Queen to D-five," said Elizabeth primly, paws folded in front of her as she surveyed the chessboard. Obligingly, Kurt moved the white queen to the appropriate square. He took a sip from the glass of orange juice by his elbow, rubbing his tired eyes with his free hand.
"Why don't you just shift into a monkey. Or some other animal with opposable thumbs? That way you can move the pieces yourself, instead of ordering me to do it." Setting down the glass, Kurt moved one of his pawns forward.
Elizabeth fixed him with a dignified sort of look that she had perfected over a lifetime of wearing different breeds of cats.
"I can't see myself as a monkey. Ever. Biship, C-two. Check. Imagine your subconscious picking fleas out of your hair and-"
Kurt held up a hand.
"Stop right there – for one thing, I don't have fleas. For another, you have a point."
He moved his knight, taking Elizabeth's rook with a practice movement. The wooden pieces clicked gently as he set them down by the edge of the board; brown and white like chocolate squares. They reminded him of afternoons in the living room, when the tables came up to his shoulders and his mother would put him on the stool while they crouched over a chess board, taking in the warmth of fresh baked cookies (one cookie for every piece taken; it had not instilled the best game strategies in Kurt to begin with). Kurt's mother taught him to play chess as soon as she was sure he wasn't going to eat the pieces. It was one of the most vivid things he remembered about her; hair tucked flaxen golden behind her ear. He remembered watching her face, studying her expressions intently for a hint of what move to do next. He remembered the quirk of her lips every time he said "check!" and the way her hair smelled when it came loose from too much laughter. Kurt traced the edge of the wooden board, fingers worrying at the chipped corner (six years old, Christmas, incident with the new kitchen tiles).
Elizabeth didn't even look up properly, intent on her grooming.
"Knight...no, that one. Yes, Knight to E-five, check. Slacking, Kurt, you're slacking."
"Shut up," said Kurt, rubbing his temples and attempting to concentrate, "I'm tired."
After a long moment's deliberation, Kurt moved his king diagonally along the board, letting a rest on the white square beside it. Then he said:
"Oh dammit."
Elizabeth didn't even hesitate. As soon as Kurt's fingers left the crown of his chess piece, she crowed;
"Queen-"
Kurt moved it to E-four. Elizabeth reached over the board and knocked over Kurt's King with her paw. The piece toppled, invariably knocking over half the chess pieces all in one go. Kurt dropped his face into his hands with a groan.
"Check mate," said Elizabeth, whiskers twitching smugly, "Check mate, put it on the card, put it on the caaaaard."
Kurt pulled out the score card and reluctantly gave Elizabeth another line. So far, it stood at Elizabeth – 976, Kurt – 823.
"I maintain that the only reason you win is because you're my subconscious. You can read my mine but I can't read yours."
Elizabeth leapt gracefully off the table and onto the floor, shifting seamlessly into a little black cat.
"What utter tosh."
Kurt began placing all the pieces back on the opposite ends of the chessboard, lining them up in pairs. There was something soothing about the process, the complete balance of a game not begun. The blank stretch of checkered cubes was a wide expanse of blissful minutes he could spend inside his own head.
"Technically, you are me. It is also poetic that that I am the only person who can best myself."
Elizabeth padded over to Kurt's bed, jumping up and quickly settling herself onto his pillow with a contented purr. Kurt unplugged his laptop from his desk and joined her on the bed, flipped the lid open and setting it down on the beside table. Selecting a well-used icon from his bookmarks, he logged into the website and set his status to green.
Beside him, Elizabeth yawned lazily and stretched, tail curling gently around Kurt's left wrist.
"I thought you were tired," she said, turning around so she could peer at the screen. Kurt gathered the pillows up so he could lie comfortably while still being close enough to navigate the laptop keys. On the screen, a little pop up window signalled that jlansky88 wanted to start a game. Kurt gave jlansky88's stats a once over, then double-clicked yes.
"Not too tired for this. Will be a slaughter."
Eventually Kurt fell asleep on his bed, a brief lull in waiting for his opponent causing him to finally doze off. Elizabeth was tucked beneath his arm, and she opened one eye to survey Kurt's laptop before giving a disinterested feline huff and going determinedly back to sleep.
It had been half an hour, fifteen games and fourteen wins. Orbit2seconds sent a couple of annoyed messages before the game forfeited in his favour.
:i:
To be absolutely honest, Kurt fell in love all the time. It was easy. He fell in love with the latest Alexander McQueen silk scarves. He fell in love with the way his dad said, "I'm so proud of you." He loved the way grapefruit would stain his fingers, scent lingering for hours; he loved stepping through unspoilt snow, leaving clear footprints behind while Elizabeth padded out a matching pair of prints alongside his. He loved being able to sing.
He was not so good at falling out of love.
Looking back, perhaps Kurt hadn't fallen in love with Finn Hudson. He'd fallen in love with the idea of falling in love with Finn Hudson. It was all enough to make his head hurt. But that didn't stop him introducing Burt to Finn's mother, didn't stop him from trying so hard to fit into a mould he had sketched out, a mould that would make him into someone Finn could like. Of course, Kurt didn't count on his father actually loving Carol, didn't count on his Father liking Finn so much and wasn't that just the biggest joke of all?
Elizabeth was tucked next to his chin, perching close to his collar. Her feathers were warm against his cheek, and Kurt blinked hard to stop tears from falling.
"Let's just go home," she said, quietly, "Come on Kurt."
The light from the television flickered across the window, and despite the half closed curtains, Kurt could hear the murmur of conversation. His dad's voice was a low rumble, familiar and comfortable. Only Kurt couldn't make out what he was saying because he was standing outside while Finn and his father laughed at something on the screen.
"I just…"
"I know," said Elizabeth, soothingly, "I know. Let's go home."
The sound of muffled cheering. Kurt swallowed hard, turning away from the window.
"'Kay."
:i:
Then Mercedes quit the Cheerios and Kurt didn't. Despite Glee and a mutual appreciation of exuberant and fabulous hats, it was like a sudden rift had opened up between them, one which Kurt was unsure how to cross. Sometimes, when he was swept up in the red-and-white uniforms, the un-slushied mornings and lunch spent in the security of his teammates…Kurt wasn't sure if he wanted to go back to the way things were. It wasn't being selfish, was it?
Brittany waved a hand in front of his face, and Kurt blinked.
"I said, can I steal the rest of your fries?" she repeated.
Kurt looked down at his half-finished plate in confusion.
"I don't have any fries," he said, "Brit, these are celery sticks. Baby celery."
Brittany shrugged.
"I pretend they're fries and then they taste like cookies," she said, "So can I have them?"
Elizabeth gave Brittany's daemon a long, disturbed stare. Kurt sighed and nodded, pushing the plate towards her.
"Help yourself. Not exactly hungry anyway."
Across the table, Santana smirked.
"I was waiting to see how long you'd begin to say that," she said, "It's like, the second sign you're a real part of the team,"
"And what's the first sign?" asked Kurt, dryly.
Santana took a swig from the tall red bottle next to her elbow while Brittany fed Kurt's celery sticks to her daemon.
"Not being slushied. Or one of these," she shook her drink bottle at Kurt, who grimaced. Each and every cheerleader at the table had a similar red-bottle within reaching distance. Kurt owned one as well, but his was filled with water and honey (to disguise the colour in case of a random Coach Sylvester check) rather than the toxic cocktail that everyone else drank daily.
"Coach Sylvester will castrate any jock who gets food colouring on a Cheerio's uniform," Santana continued. She set down her drink, running a finger down the length of her daemon absently. The vivid green snake darted out a forked tongue, blinking once before settling back into his customary stillness. He looked like a particularly exotic piece of jewelry – until you saw his fangs.
"I have fangs. I could have fangs," said Elizabeth, out of the blue.
"I was slushied just yesterday," said Kurt, raising his eyebrow, "Clearly your theory has a flaw."
Santana rolled her eyes.
"You were in your Lady Gaga costume. That's different."
"Red is a sign of power," offered Brittany, "That's why the Nazis wore it."
The table was momentarily distracted by Brittany's Nazi comment. Andrew, who was a senior and one the Cheerio's few male members, made a choking noise and dived for a napkin.
"Are you comparing Coach to Hitler, Brit?" he asked, when he was no longer dying on this mouthful of Sue Sylvester's Master Cleanse.
Kurt stifled a giggle.
"Well," he said, "They both shout into megaphones and need makeovers. Don't tell Coach I said that,"
Santana slapped her hand down onto the table, letting out a burst of laughter.
"Isn't her parents Nazi hunters or something? I think she mentioned it once while were practicing out basket toss. Though I don't know if half the stuff she says in practice is true."
Brittany tilted her head, half eaten celery between thumb and forefinger. Her daemon tilted his head to match, ears flopping over to one side.
"Who's Hitler?"
"Oh my god," said Elizabeth, burrowing her face into the crook of Kurt's elbow, "How is she even real."
:i:
The next day, Kurt had to admit that Santana had a point about the Cheerio uniforms. He didn't have the power to part crowds like Santana and Quinn did. But the red and white was like a badge; people didn't avoid eye contact like it was contagious. Football players no longer threw him into the dumpsters and people seemed to see him instead of casting looks at Elizabeth, like they usually did.
It all came down to clothing (as usual). It wasn't as if Kurt kept a tally of the number of times he had been slushied. If he knew which corridors to avoid at which times and which days (Monday and Wednesdays) had the highest possibility of a slushie facial…well, it was only experience and survival instincts. But take all that away? One was bound to notice. Kurt would be lying if he wasn't enjoying it – even though he missed being able to dress to the nines. Sort of. Did he?
Of course, he was in his Lady Gaga costume again today, not his Cheerio's uniform. And on hindsight, Kurt should have known not to combine Wednesday and an enormous white wig.
He wondered if Karofsky and Azimio had nothing to do all day except waylay him by his locker.
"So now you got to dress like a freak too?" said Azimio, fist in hand. It would be threatening if they hadn't been doing this since Kurt first arrived, wearing his teal-green Chanel blazer. Now, it only made Kurt worry vaguely about his Glee costume and wondering if the two idiots would stoop low enough to hit a girl. Subtly, he shifted so he was standing in front of Tina instead, crossing his arms.
"We are expressing ourselves," he said, going for haughty, "The same thing you do when you come to school in those red jackets!"
He knew this speech off by heart; it was what he told himself every day when he picked out a new set of clothes to wear to school. It was his inner mantra when cold, sticky slushie dripped down his collar, the repetition of I'm better, I'm better, I'm better drumming its way through his head like music turned up too loud. He never had any trouble believing himself before.
"Is that right?" sneered Karofsky, taking a step closer. Elizabeth hissed viciously, ears flat on her head. Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt could see Karofsky's bulldog staring at Elizabeth intently. It made no threatening moves, but Elizabeth crouched low on her haunches, ready to sink claws into legs.
"The next time you feel like expressing yourselves, don't mind me if my fist expresses itself on your face!" Azimio slammed said fist into the locker by Kurt's head, the metallic crash making him flinch despite his resolve not to. Tina's eyes were huge in her head.
By the time they left, laughing, Kurt almost wished he had had Cheerios practice that day instead of Glee.
:i:
In the end, it was funny how things worked out.
When his father turned up a school, looking for Finn, looking for Finn because they were going to watch a game without Kurt – Kurt felt like he had been doused in ice. Elizabeth had sidled up to Rose, meowing, but that didn't stop them from leaving in a flurry of "I'll be home late"s and "see you later"s. It was funny because it made things so obvious and that was never Kurt's intention. It wasn't his intention to highlight every difference between himself and Finn, this whole thing was never meant to provide his father with a son who liked the things he liked, enjoyed watching sports and the deadliest catch on Friday nights. It wasn't supposed to give his dad a son who was straight and dated girls and was endearingly polite to almost everyone. It wasn't supposed to make his dad love Finn.
Kurt tore down another strip of colour samples, Elizabeth silent and forlorn at his heels.
It was funny how, instead of things working out the way he wanted them to, it was Finn who was getting a father. Finn, who didn't need to dress up in flannel to fit in. Finn, who didn't have to change. It was so unfair. It was so fucking unfair. Kurt crumpled all sample strips and tossed them into the waste paper basket.
It was funny how, dressed in flannel and holding Brittany's hand, his father was still looking for Finn. It was funny because until now, Kurt had never appreciated just how much his dad obviously wanted something different.
But nothing was funnier when Finn destroyed all of Kurt's constructed ideas about love and perfect all in one go:
"It's just a room, Finn!" Kurt shouted, the expression on Finn's face hurting more than he wanted to admit. "We can redecorate it if you want to!"
Elizabeth tried to get closer to Finn's daemon, but the Labrador snarled with uncharacteristic ferocity; defensive. Elizabeth jumped back, ears flat against her head. Finn looked angry – he had no right to be so angry, didn't he know how long Kurt spent going over the materials?- faced screwed up and hands clenched in fists. He picked up one of the lamps beside the bed, shaking it.
"Well first of all you need to get rid of this faggy lamp," he shouted, voice rising in volume to match Kurt's. He slammed the lamp back down onto the table, making Kurt flinch. The lamp upset the chessboard beside it, causing the pieces to scatter all over the floor. Elizabeth hissed, but Finn seemed to take no notice, grabbing the nearest thing- "and this faggy blanket and this faggy-!"
"Hey! What did you just call him?"
Both Kurt and Finn spun around, startled.
It was Burt, looking livid, one hand braced on the banister. Then he proceeded to berate Finn; voice low and full of something Kurt had only heard once before – when his dad had received that anonymous phone-call back in the garage. Something ached in his chest; painful and throbbing.
"I thought you were different, Finn," said Burt.
I thought so too.
Kurt gathered Elizabeth in his arms, buried his face in her fur, so he wouldn't have to look at Finn or his father. Elizabeth squirmed, but Kurt didn't loosen his arms. His dad's hand, clapping him heavily on his shoulder.
"Room looks great."
Footsteps.
His tears felt hot on his cheeks and he waited until both Finn and his dad had gone upstairs before letting Elizabeth down and sobbing into his hands.
:i:
Six-twenty in the morning. Up here, the sun was already a searing glow across the horizon, long since tinted blue and no longer gold. Blaine watched patch of sky outside his window dip, white to blue then back again as the plane descended steadily through the clouds. If he leaned his head against the glass, he could see the patch-work pattern that was the city draw nearer and nearer, buildings and roads coming into focus like a slowly adjusting camera lens. They would be landing soon.
He drained the rest of the orange juice in his plastic cup in one swallow, tucking the cup in the holder next to his arm rest. His left hand rested on the shoulder of the silver-tailed genet, currently curled up in his lap, head tucked between paws. Blaine stroked the dappled fur until his daemon opened his eyes.
"Already?" murmured Audrey, yawning. He licked absently at Blaine's empty cup, stretching languidly from his front paws to the tip of his long, striped tail. Blaine ran his fingers through Audrey's soft fur as his daemon pressed his nose to the small airplane window.
"I think we're landing in five minutes," said Blaine. He turned in his seat and held up five fingers in question. David, who was in the row behind, gave him the thumbs up.
"Why are we speaking in sign language anyway?" asked Audrey, climbing Blaine's blazer so he could sit at a higher vantage point, allowing him to people-watch.
"Don't want to wake Anna," said Blaine, jerking a thumb towards the girl who had her head pillowed on David's shoulder.
Audrey balanced himself on the edge of Blaine's shoulder. The weight of him was familiar, and Blaine reached up to run a hand down Audrey's back, feeling the four points of pressure through his blazer that were Audrey's paws. Audrey flicked his tail into Blaine's face, making him splutter.
"Should we wake him up?" asked Audrey, nodding at Wes who was fast asleep in his reclined seat. His hands were folded over his stomach while his daemon, a golden-brown hawk, was perched on the armrest of the seat, head tucked beneath her wing. Blaine glanced at his watch.
"Yeah maybe," he conceded, before leaning over and shaking Wes by the shoulder.
After a moment, he shook harder.
"Wes. Wes."
There came a sigh. Then David shoved his arm through the space between Blaine and Wes's seats and poked his friend sharply in the cheek with his index finger. Wes jerked upright.
"What-"
"And there you go," said David, laughing as Wes glared at him, running a hand through his hair.
"The pills knock him out, so you just have to jab him," David advised.
"That's the point of them, they're supposed to knock me out," Wes muttered darkly, running a hand over his face, then added "I hate planes". His daemon, now also awake, plucked a stray bit of fluff from Wes's sleeve.
"Well," said Blaine, "You'll be glad to know we're soon to be back on the ground."
"I hate planes," Wes repeated, "I'm such a good boyfriend."
He turned to look at the girl sitting across the aisle.
"Soph, look at the torture I put myself through for you," said Wes.
The girl in question flicked her pony-tail behind her shoulder, then blew Wes a kiss across the aisle. Her friend giggled into the open magazine in her hands and Wes looked slightly mollified.
:i:
"I can't believe you guys do this every year," said Blaine, knocking and entering Wes and David's shared hotel room. Audrey was curled comfortably around his shoulder, ears flicking and eyes alert. They were here for half an hour to check in, drop off all their luggage, before heading off to the stadium with the rest of the team. Blaine's own suitcase was already unpacked. He had been allocated to share with one of the girls, the reasoning being that since he was gay, it was perfectly acceptable. Blaine didn't even try to argue.
"Only since I started going out with Sophie," said Wes, changing out of his jeans into his Dalton uniform, his blazer still in its protective bag, "Father wanted to seem supportive I guess."
"So he bankrolled the entire cheer team to go to nationals, flying first class," said David, grinning.
Wes unzipped the bag and pulled out his blazer, shrugging it on. Then he wrapped a leather cuff back around his left wrist, and his daemon leapt from where it had been perching on the bed-post to perch on Wes's arm.
"His office doesn't exactly lack funding," said Wes, dismissively. He met Blaine's gaze for a brief moment, before looking away. David was oblivious.
"Ever since Anna made the team, it's pretty much mandatory that I come along to offer my loyal support". His daemon, a handsome, lanky hunting dog, was examining one of the half open drawers.
"Uh-uh," said Blaine, "and I'm here because..."
"Hey," said Wes, kicking off his converse shoes and stuffing his feet into leather loafers, "I promise you'll enjoy it. Last year's nationals were pretty amazing to watch, even though Sophie was in a terrible mood for weeks afterwards."
"Oh god, don't remind me," said David, flopping backwards to sprawl over his duvet, "I really hope we win this year or else the trip back home is going to be painful."
"It was the first time I saw Sophie cry," Wes agreed, "Scary stuff."
"Maybe it's a good thing I'm here as a neutral spectator," said Blaine, leaning back against one of the chairs.
"And not all cheerleaders are girls, you know," said David, waggling his eyebrows.
Blaine rolled his eyes. Audrey kneaded Blaine's shoulder anxiously, and Blaine reached up to stroke a comforting finger down his daemon's back.
"We're not going to be match made are we? I don't think that would turn out well."
Before he could reply, the door to the room burst open once more and Sophie swept in, long hair pulled back into an elegant knot. She was wearing her cheer-leading uniform, a dark navy blue affair with gold and black lines; school colours for Southwell, Dalton's sister school. She held out a phone. Her cat daemon watched them all with big yellow eyes.
"Kate says the cars are here," said Sophie, "You gentlemen ready?"
"'Course," said Wes, giving his girlfriend a mock half-bow. She didn't even roll her eyes.
"Should I go get the others?" offered Blaine, gesturing at the door.
Sophie shook her head.
"I've told the girls to get their respective male counterparts. They'll meet us in the lobby."
:i:
They spent the next two days making trips between the hotel and the nearest high-school, the combined powers of the Coach, Sophie (and no doubt Wes' wallet) ensuring that the entire gymnasium had been booked for their use. Blaine, along with the other Dalton supporters, spent the day on the stands. They had a roster to guard the entrance and patrol the perimeter – in the case of spies, according to Sophie.
The entire routine looked a bit mechanical by the time Blaine had to sit through it for the sixth time.
"Aren't they getting tired?" asked Audrey. He nudged Blaine's hand until Blaine resumed his patting. "I think they should all take a break for today. Anna looks like she's going to fall off the triangle."
"The competition is tomorrow," said Blaine, leaning back on his uncomfortable seat, "It's probably-" the music came to an abrupt silence, "oh, here they go again."
"No!" Sophie was screaming, voice a little screechy after their two hour long rehearsal. Her pony-tail was escaping its slick perfection, swinging as she shouted. Further down the stands, Blaine saw Wes wince a little, "You! You're out, you're out by a mile!"
Audrey burrowed his head into Blaine's sweater.
It wasn't that Blaine wasn't familiar with cheerleading – being on the football team at his old school meant that the cheerleaders were at the sidelines almost every match. But he had a niggling suspicion that the cheerleading he had seen was going to be nothing like the cheerleading happening at nationals. He had seen Sophia and her team perform before, once or twice, when Dalton and Southwell had their bi-annual exchanges. He could appreciate cheer-leading in an athletic-cross-performers sort of way – though the whole appreciation of short skirts was something he couldn't wrap his head around.
"Wow," said Audrey, when they stepped out of the car, "Everyone looks like they came out of the same mould."
And Blaine had to agree – the whole front entrance to the stadium was packed with various uniforms – all similar besides their differing colours and designs. Blaine, Wes and David were sticking out like a sore thumb in their Dalton blazers amidst a sea of cheerleading uniforms and their entourage.
"Remind me why we are wearing our blazers," Blaine hissed at David as a pair of girls walked by, giggling and looking back over their shoulders at Blaine. Audrey hid his face beneath his paws, tail swishing across the back of Blaine's jacket like a pendulum.
"They're staring, they're staring," said Audrey, "I wish they'd stop staring..."
"We're ambassadors for the school," said David with a fake English accent. Then he said, in his normal voice, "School policy or something, we're technically representing Dalton."
"Dalton doesn't have a cheerleading team!" protested Blaine.
David slapped Blaine hard on the back. Blaine could feel Audrey tightening his hold on his opposite shoulder.
"Come on, it's- Hey baby."
Anna made a beeline for David and they exchanged a passionate kiss while the former looped a lanyard over David's neck. Attached to it was a laminated card. She handed one to Blaine was well.
"Here," she said, "Sophie finally got ours. The reception is a bit hectic here, but I think someone recognised Wes and let us through pretty quickly."
David laughed, sliding an arm around his girlfriend's waist and pulling her close.
"Yeah, I was waiting for that to happen. Was he pissed?"
"Nah, Sophie was pleased. You should have seen McKinley's faces when we jumped line. So worth it."
"McKinley?" asked Blaine, curious as they made their way through the main entrance.
Anna sniffed.
"From Lima," offered David, "I only know because they, ah, won Nationals last year."
"And the year before that," said Anna, looking thoroughly put out.
"And the year before that," agreed David.
"And the year before that," she spat.
"I'm sure you'll beat them this year," said David, good naturedly, "I mean-"
"There's no beating anyone." Sophie appeared out of nowhere, pulling a slightly ruffled Wes behind her. "We're not even in the same category which you should know," She gave David an irritated glare "But if they win the national title and we don't, I am going to personally kill someone."
David made an exaggerated, apologetic expression and shrugged. She clapped her hands, and Blaine was convinced that if she had a gavel on hand, she would no doubt use it. All the girls wearing navy blue and gold stopped what they were doing and in moments, the entire team were filing through the stadium. Blaine caught David saying, "I thought you said she was in a good mood!" before the crowd of people separated them.
"Quick, or we'll get lost," said Audrey, standing tall on Blaine's shoulder. He nipped Blaine sharply on the ear when several girls cut across them, uniforms unfamiliar. "Come on, Blaine! Now is not the time to be a gentleman. I don't' want to get lost here, use your elbows. Use your elbows!"
"We're not going to get lost," said Blaine, eyes darting to follow the Dalton blazers and the Southwell navy and gold. He could see David's tall shoulders bobbing through the crowd, safely ensconced in the middle of the team. Blaine was so focused on not losing sight of that Dalton blazer he didn't see the girl until they collided.
"Well, excuse me," someone snapped and Blaine stumbled backwards as the girl pinned him with a hard glare. She, like most of the girls here, had her dark hair pulled into a sleek, high pony tail. Her uniform was white and red, "WMHS" emblazoned in bold text over her chest. Blaine held up his palm in an apologetic gesture.
"Sorry about-"
"You might want to watch where you're going," she said contemptuously, tossing her hair back. Then she seemed to take in Blaine's uniform, her eyes sweeping him up and down. Her daemon, a vivid green snake, made a swaying movement towards Audrey. Audrey flattened his ears and shifted so far back on Blaine's shoulder he was in danger of falling off. But then she was swept away by her team and into the crowd.
"Oh jeez, she was lovely," said Audrey, ears still flattened in irritation, "Her daemon was giving me bad vibes. Never trust anyone with a snake as their daemon. Sneaky, nasty and- Blaine! Where's everyone gone?"
Blaine rubbed a hand over his face as he was jostled in the crowd. There was no sign of Wes or David, and he couldn't see any of the Southwell cheerleaders anywhere either.
"I think if we can just make it into the – Audrey, you'll ruin the gel!"
Audrey had clambered on top of Blaine's carefully styled hair, tail swaying as he attempted to see over the heads of everyone around them.
"I told you we'd get lost," he said, irritably, "I told you to use your el- There they are! Walk faster Blaine!"
:i:
By the time Blaine made his way down the aisle and past an entire row of people to where the Dalton boys were seated, the lights in the stadium was already dimming for the first performance. Audrey's long tail was curled around his neck like a scarf and he was blinking curiously in the direction of the brightly lit stage.
"I was just about to go looking for you," said David, grinning as Blaine collapsed into his seat, "Where did you go?"
"Got separated by the crowd," said Blaine, "There's like a thousand people here!"
"More like four thousand," said Wes, leaning forwards and passing Blaine a folded programme. His daemon was perched regally on his shoulder, and she shuffled her wings at the movement, glaring at Audrey. Audrey scampered down Blaine's blazer and settled more comfortably in his lap instead. He nudged Blaine's hand until Blaine took the hint and started scratching him behind the ears. With his free hand, he loosened his school tie.
"Anyway, I'm glad you didn't get lost," said David, "It would have been impossible to find you."
"Pretty much," Blaine agreed.
"I suspect we could just get one of Wes's dogs to find you though. Right Wes?"
Wes rolled his eyes. He had his chin propped on one fist, and Blaine thought he looked a little bored.
"I told my father not to arrange anything."
David raised both eyebrows, tilting his head discreetly to the left.
"Yeah, because those guys fit right in."
Blaine chanced a glance over his shoulder and sure enough, there were a couple of suited gentlemen two rows behind their own. They were wearing subtle grey jackets, sleeves rolled up – but all in all they seemed a little out of place. Blaine adverted his eyes and surveyed the sea of people around them instead. Many were grouped together in various coloured cheerleading uniforms, parents and other spectators sprinkled throughout. Some of the teams would be sitting with the audience until it was time for them to go backstage and prepare. Most of the teams in the stands were girls, since the co-ed categories would be competing first. Blaine flipped the pages of the programme with his free hand.
"Is Wes really likely to be kidnapped at a cheerleading competition?" Audrey wondered out loud. Blaine shrugged.
Wes didn't even bother being subtle – he turned around in his seat and glared.
"Great," he said eventually, turning around and looking pissed, "So classy."
"No one will be sabotaging us at least," said Sophie, "Remember that time when the Texas squad had to pull out when their head cheerleader broke her leg coming in? Totally intentional."
Out of the huge speakers, music began to boom and suddenly, there was a squad entering the stage from the wings. The first row of girls each summersaulted neatly into formation and the crowd burst into applause, including all the Southwell girls. The look on Sophie's face, however, was less than impressed.
Blaine settled into his seat and Audrey climbed up his arm and back onto his shoulder for a better view.
Each squad had a routine of a cheer, a chant and a dance. As the second team for the day exited off stage, Blaine caught Sophie saying to Anna, "They only had three fulls. How did they even get into Nationals with three fulls?" and it was only moments before the next squad came on stage and their soundtrack was blasted from the speakers. The sixth squad from Washington on the same music as the one after and there was unabashed murmuring from the crowd. Further down the row, two Southwell girls high-fived in triumph.
"Ouch," commented David, "I bet someone is having a heart attack over that."
"Is it really that bad?" asked Blaine, having to raise his voice a little to be heard over the pounding bass, "Repeat of music? I mean, it's not like show choir. The routines are different right?"
"Yeah, but it still puts you on the back foot," said David. "Oh look how low that toss was!"
On stage, three girls were tossed into the air simultaneously, the spinning movement making Audrey wobble on Blaine's shoulder as he tracked them with his eyes.
"What's wrong with that toss?" asked Blaine, but David was too engrossed in the performance to answer. Sophie, her blond hair gleaming from the light reflecting off the stage, had an altogether too pleased expression on her face which told Blaine that there was plenty wrong with the toss. The expression promptly disappeared as the next squad took centre stage and the music began to play-
"Fuck!" spat Sophie, eyes wide, "FUCK."
"Whoa," said Blaine who had never heard Wes' girlfriend swear before. He sat up a little straighter in his seat, squinting at the stage. He could make out a familiar white and red uniform; the girls standing in a triangular formation while a guy stood at the point. There was another row of male cheerleaders behind the girls. All in all, it didn't look all that different to the other performances. "What's-"
"That's McKinley," said David, grimacing. His daemon made a sympathetic sort of whine in Anna's direction.
Blaine waved his hand, "Aaaaand…"
Then a voice came through the speaker system, a high, clear voice and Blaine realised that the guy standing at the front of the squad was singing.
"Is that Celine Dion?" asked Wes, incredulous. Beside him, Sophie looked like she was going to strangle someone with her bare hands.
"They have live music. They're- fuck!"
Blaine heard Wes say, "Is that Celine Dion in French?" while David laughed at the expression of the team in the row in front until Anna slapped him upside the head. Sophie was talking furiously with the Southwell coach, looking furious.
Blaine was a little preoccupied with the boy who was still singing in French. One of the cameras had zoomed in on his face so that it was projected on one of the screens that towered over the stage itself. He was singing into the microphone by his mouth, hair coiffed, eyes grey-green and he was singing. Blaine felt something akin to a maelstrom of butterflies explode in his stomach.
"Counter-tenor," said David, elbowing Blaine hard in the ribs, "Imagine if he was in the Warblers!"
"You traitor!" snapped Anna, shooting David a dirty look.
In the seat over, Wes was trying to calm down his girlfriend while McKinley executed some pretty dangerous-looking stunts that had the audience applauding and exclaiming in turns.
"Soph, the singer is a guy. He's not even singing in your category, calm down!"
"Vocals! Vocals! Why didn't we- who the hell is that guy? He was not on the squad last year!"
Blaine was so entranced by the singing he hadn't even noticed that Audrey was sitting on top of his head until Audrey said, sounding a little dazed;
"I love his voice, Blaine…"
The camera had cut away from the singer to a wide-shot of the rest of the team, but the singing continued-
"…Dames et cavaliers, avancez…"
He had moved from the front of the stage to the back, doing the routines with the rest of the team without a single break in his singing. He must have amazing stamina, thought Blaine, and fit. Then Audrey's front paws dipped over his forehead and there was a moment of confused scrambling in which Blaine's hair was irrevocably destroyed from its carefully gelled state.
"I can't see from here!" protested Audrey, sinking little claws vindictively into Blaine's dress pants. Blaine winced but ignored his daemon, trying to block out everthing apart from that voice. Sophie was inconsolable.
"They're going to take nationals again- don't tell me to calm down, Wesley! I want to know who he is. Where's the programme? Get me a name! Argh!"
"I wouldn't mind knowing his name either," admitted Blaine. David gave him knowing smile and they bumped fists over the arm-rest. Then David was back to maintaining a funeral expression for his girlfriend. Anna was staring at the stage, pouting. A glance down the row of seats told Blaine that now would not be a good time to show too much enthusiasm. It didn't stop him from applauding until his hands were red – though it did stop him from giving a standing ovation.
When the squad finished their dance number and exited via the stage wings, Audrey made a disappointed noise and stared forlornly after them.
:i:
All in all, there was a lot of screaming involved.
At one point, Jared (one of the cheerios; broad shouldered, could lift Santana with his pinky finger) hoisted Kurt onto his shoulder with a wild whoop and Santana was literally screaming with joy, her hair slowly escaping the glossy ponytail. Brittany was standing by the humongous trophy with the rest of the team, who alternated between jumping up and down and smiling at everyone around them. Cameras flashed, and the noise of the crowd was deafening.
"We won. Again. Suck on that!" Santana was saying.
Kurt was smiling so hard his face ached but he couldn't stop – he felt breathless and overwhelmed, a floating sensation lodged somewhere in his chest making him feel taller and lighter than he had ever felt before. Elizabeth was a nightingale – she had been for the duration of the performance – and she hopped on his shoulder, too excited to stay still. Eventually, Kurt was returned to the ground. His knees felt a bit wobbly, to be honest.
"Oh my god! Kurt! We took out nationals!"
"I know. I know!"
Out of no where, Brittany came barrelling through the crowd, latching onto Kurt with an excited "KURT!" Kurt laughed and spun Brittany around, her momentum making them both dizzy in seconds. She held both his hands and jumped up and down, face lit up like it was Christmas.
"We won! We won! Have you held the trophy yet?"
"No," laughed Kurt, "But I'm fine for now!"
"Coach says you totally gave us the edge with the panel," said Santana, appearing suddenly at Kurt's elbow. She looked like the cat who got the cream, a smug smirk at the edge of her lips. She linked hands with Brittany and swung it back and forth. She jerked her head at a passing pair of girls, dressed in blue and gold. "They didn't even know what hit them."
"You were awesome," agreed Brittany and Kurt felt Elizabeth puff out her chest at the praise, feather aplomph with pride.
Then the rest of the girls detached themselves from the trophy and came over for impromptu group hug-and-scream session, Jessica grabbing Kurt by the shoulders and kissing him soundly on both cheeks. Brittany decided she needed to follow suit and soon Kurt's ribs were hurting from too much laughter and there were smears of lip-gloss on his face.
"Oh look, we're on the screen again!" said Elizabeth, wings fluttering. Kurt glanced up and noticed that yes, they were indeed several cameras pointed in their direction.
"Oh Jesus, not again – those pixels make my skin look terrible," he said, making a beeline for the drinks table and hopefully out of the camera's frame.
He didn't even make it to half way before an arm grabbed him around the neck and he was pulled up against Sue Sylvester. Kurt choked a little, squirming until Sue loosened the arm around his neck. Elizabeth was dislodged from his shoulder with a chirp of protest and a flurry of feathers.
"…here do a fourteen and a half minute Celine Dion medley, entirely in French."
"Well you know what, I'm all about finding that freakishly depressed kid and show him what winning is all about!"
Kurt smiled awkwardly at the cameraman.
"Viva la difference!" he offered, adding a kick to illustrate his enthusiasm. At his ankle, Elizabeth snorted in a way that was distinctly un-bird like. Alright, so Kurt may still be a little high. Sue let go of his neck and Kurt seized his opportunity to escape back into the safety of the Cheerios, who were doing some sort of impromptu chant-number around the trophy, pom-poms and glitter and all. Brittany spotted him at once and danced over, thrusting a pom-pom into his face and giggling like a maniac.
Elizabeth was once again forced off his shoulder, wings akimbo.
"Honestly!" she said, flying around his shoulder before shifting into a Siamese cat and dropping gracefully to the ground. Kurt only laughed and scooped her up, kissing her between the ears and ignoring her half-hearted hiss of protest.
Across the room, Wes paused. The hawk on his shoulder blinked once, eyes fixed on the cat in Kurt's arms.
:i:
(Author's Notes): Lookies, it's Blaine & Co.! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, even though I'm really not happy in terms of characterisation etc. Any input/crit/feedback would be received with hugs. :D If you're confused about anything, check out the Explanatory Notes which will be updated as each chapter unfolds.
And yes, Blaine's daemon is male.