Title: Keeping the Balance
Author: sun_and_rain
Rating: PG-13
Warning: deals with issues of consent, homophobia, and memory loss
Summary: They met up once a week, to gather stories and fragments of memories like puzzle pieces. No one recognized the name when Kurt first spoke it–a name he'd found buried somewhere in his dreams–but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was important: "Blaine". Whatever had been taken from them had something to do with Blaine.
A/N: Extra long chapter in apology for how long it's taken me to post this. School has been much busier than I expected. I hope you enjoy this chapter! P.S., I've gotten my first fanart! It's here: theplaylistismagic . tumblr . com /post/21062121037/inspired-by-my-favorite-fanfic-left-over-by-sun. It's done by the amazingly talented theplaylistismagic. Go and shower her with love, and then follow her, because she is quality. I adore her art and her fics; she's just supremely talented.
We're still on Kurt with this chapter, by the way. The boy has got quite a lot to say. ;) Please remember to read and review! Though it takes me forever to answer your reviews sometimes, I promise I will eventually answer every single one. You are all lovely, patient readers, and I'm so touched you've all stuck with me. Thank you!
Chapter Four: The Germans Wore Grey, You Wore Blue
When Kurt woke up in the mornings, he awoke to uncomfortably tight sleep pants and a feeling of having left half of himself behind.
Sometimes, he remembered every detail of the dreams he had.
Every touch, no matter how small, was engraved into his memory. Every murmured word of feeling still sent shivers down his spine throughout the day. The dream was becoming hyper-real: the more time he spent with Blaine, the more real the space they inhabited seemed to become. He'd taken to daydreaming about him while he was awake, pretending Blaine's presence filled the classrooms he sat silently in, doodling words he couldn't read and hearing whispers in his ear translating each lovesick phrase back to him. It sent him into fits of meaningless smiles, staring into the air and feeling Blaine's phantom hands on his during difficult parts of the day.
Mercedes had taken to watching him closely—no longer pestering him for information he had made clear he wasn't ready to give, but still obviously concerned. Kurt knew he was beginning to lose touch with the world she inhabited; school and glee club and bullies seemed so insignificant compared to the importance and urgency dictating his meetings with Blaine. Kurt remembering everything was a matter of life and death, Blaine had managed to get across to him—but whose life and whose death remained unclear to Kurt.
All he knew was he couldn't tell Mercedes anything about it. He still had no idea what had led to losing Blaine, or even who took him away (Blaine kept telling him, but Kurt kept forgetting), but he knew, somehow, that Mercedes had played some part in it all. He doubted whatever she had done had been intentional (this was Mercedes, after all), but Kurt was still hesitant to talk to her about it. He had no idea if she would even remember if he explained it to her—and whoever took Blaine might still be watching them. Any clues that Kurt was starting to remember could send unintentional warnings to whoever was watching. If they were watching.
Either way, he had to tip-toe around this whole thing until he had all the facts.
It was getting all the facts that took time. He only remembered half of what Blaine told him anyway, and Blaine had been hesitant to move past simple pieces of information once Kurt remembered his name—afraid that too much of it might weigh so heavily on Kurt's mind it would poke holes, turning it back into the sieve it had been only three nights ago. Instead, he gifted Kurt with brief explanations every visit.
"I'm Magic," he'd explained once.
"I came to your house through a doorway I'd created. I closed it, though, a while ago."
"My parents live near you. I don't remember the address, but… but they live near you. You'd like my mother," Blaine had told Kurt. Something behind his words made Kurt file it away for safekeeping. Find her, something told him. He couldn't remember if it had been Blaine or himself that had said it.
Kurt would complain about the lack of information if he wasn't so hyper-aware of the fact that Blaine had told him everything repeatedly throughout the past two weeks with a well of formidable patience and understanding. And, much as Kurt loathed to admit it, Blaine's fears were justified: Sometimes he would wake up empty, having forgotten everything but the feeling of someone's lips on his and the knowledge that he had lost something. On those days, Kurt spent the whole of his time awake trying to get something—some little understanding—back. He almost never succeeded. Then he'd go to sleep, and see him, a beautiful, hopeful boy and it would come back; Blaine would come back to him, it would all come rushing back to him, and Kurt would spend the rest of their meeting pretending it had been there all along.
He never told Blaine about the days he forgot. Blaine's tearful demands that he not forget him again rang loudly in his ears every time he considered it. But Blaine knew anyway—Kurt could tell. He looked at him on those nights with a kind of intense desperation that was absent on the days Kurt remembered everything. Kurt knew they both dreaded a day he'd fall into sleep and once more see a boy he had no memory of knowing.
"One step forward, two steps back," Blaine had muttered once.
"Story of my life," Kurt smiled wryly in return.
He'd begun to keep a journal, writing down everything he knew about Blaine in permanent, un-erasable pen. Though it couldn't bring back the memories he lost, it made the days he woke up empty much easier to combat.
Blaine's presence during his waking hours helped with that, too.
It wasn't often that he could feel Blaine there with him during the day, but it happened sometimes (not long enough nor often enough for Kurt to be content). He hadn't been lying when he told Blaine he couldn't stop thinking about him. Even when he woke without the emotional recognition he knew he should be carrying while looking through his journal, he'd spend the rest of the day wondering. Everywhere he looked was a possible spot where he and Blaine had touched, kissed, smiled at each other, laughed. The tree in his backyard felt special, secret and important in some way that Kurt knew had something to do with Blaine. The couch in the living room of his house. The piano in the choir room.
Often, Kurt felt a longing so powerful it sometimes felt like his heart was wringing itself smaller. He fell into daydreams, imagining Blaine next to him in class, beside him on the sofa, watching over him as he was slammed into lockers. His dreams became increasingly more elaborate and romantic, apprehension tinting their meetings as neither of them wanted Kurt to wake up and forget.
"They're not daydreams," Blaine had told him once. "I'm here with you. I'm with you."
The kiss following that declaration had been particularly intense.
His grades were dropping. His family had begun to look at him in concern. He barely sung in glee club.
Kurt ignored it all, and slept.
"You must remember this," Blaine sang quietly as they sat together on the swing, "a kiss is just a kiss. A sigh is just a sigh…"
"The fundamental things apply," Kurt joined in, his head on Blaine's shoulder. Their voices petered out into the nothingness surrounding them.
Kurt felt as Blaine half-hummed another line before giving up.
They sat in silence, curled up on the swing.
"Sometimes it feels like this is what's real. And the other is the dream."
Kurt tucked his arm around Blaine's waist and repositioned himself. "A bad dream."
"Yes."
"Me too," he said.
Blaine breathed in audibly. "Why can't we stay like this?" he said suddenly, fiercely. "Why can't this be what's real?"
Kurt was empty of words.
Blaine deflated of energy as fast as he filled with it. "Sorry," he murmured.
Kurt squeezed Blaine's waist and said nothing. Blaine kicked his feet off the ground and rocked the swing again.
"No matter what the future brings…" Kurt sang softly.
Blaine moved, curling around Kurt and nuzzling into his hair. "How's Karofsky?"
"He still hasn't said anything yet. He keeps staring, but he won't approach me."
Blaine muttered something that sounded a lot like 'good.' "I don't want you alone with him," he said. "He might know something, but if you decide to approach him, I want you to bring Mercedes with you."
Kurt shifted uncomfortably, letting a bubble of unease form around them. After a while, Blaine pulled back, concerned.
"…I'm not telling Mercedes," Kurt admitted quietly.
Blaine frowned. "Why not?"
"Because she took you away from me," it came spitting vehemently out of him, and both Kurt and Blaine drew back in surprise at the outburst.
"What?" Blaine asked incredulously. "Where did you get that idea?"
"I remember it," Kurt told him. "I just remember feeling it—she had something to do with you being taken away."
Blaine's lightly scratched Kurt's back. "Kurt, she cares about you. Anything she might have done she did out of that care. Don't blame her for trying to help you."
"Help me with what?" Kurt asked in irritation—and here was the one piece of information he constantly forgot. Kurt could remember weeks of interaction with Blaine, whole nights of warmth and playfulness and arguing—but the days leading up to their separation remained as blank and empty as they ever were. No matter how many times Blaine told him what had happened—no matter how much foreboding hung heavy over his head—he remained clueless: leaving him with nothing but an unexplainable certainty that time was running out.
And Blaine had stopped telling him. Or Blaine told him, and it slid off of his mind like oil, unable to sink in and penetrate his brain. Only Blaine's unswayable conviction that these meetings were a matter of life and death stuck with him, and the building frustration Kurt felt at his own inability to comprehend why was slowly chipping away at him.
"I still can't talk to her about it," he mumbled sullenly. "People could be watching."
"You don't trust her anymore," Blaine said frankly, seeing through him as he always did. His hand gripped Kurt tighter. "Don't let them ruin your relationship with her, Kurt. Don't. They twist things, turn you into someone you aren't—you can't stop them. Don't blame Mercedes. Please."
Kurt looked up at that, watching him carefully.
"Who are they turning you into?" he asked.
Blaine only sent him a sad smile. He looked years older than he was—drained and tired and defeated. Kurt hated when he got that look.
"I'll talk to her," he promised.
"Thank you," Blaine said. He pulled at Kurt slightly, and Kurt relaxed back down onto Blaine's shoulder.
He kissed Blaine's chest and picked up the verse.
"It's still the same old story: a fight for love and glory," he began.
"A case of do or die," Blaine joined in.
"The world will always welcome lovers," they sang. "As time goes by…"
The rumor going around the school was that Rachel Berry's sanity had finally flown the coop. She had attended school for one day during the week: she was silent but stoic, and the silence lasted until she entered the choir room—where, for no reason anyone could discern, she burst into spontaneous tears and left school immediately, refusing to discuss with any of the glee club members what was going on, and even declining the opportunity to turn the whole problem into a dramatic, show-stopping number.
Quinn drove her home, and remained as tight-lipped about the situation for the rest of the day as Rachel herself had been.
Finn was worried; Kurt could tell, because he had begun snapping at everyone for no apparent reason. He had even started a fight with Karofsky when he caught him staring at Kurt—Puck joined in, and it quickly devolved into an all-out brawl. Rehearsals for glee club had been tense anyway, with everybody on edge due to the presence of the football players, and Couch Bieste and Schue were essential in keeping everyone in line. It was only Kurt's vehement assertion that he was fine, that Karofsky hadn't done or said anything wrong to him, that got Puck and Finn to back down. Kurt was almost sure he was touched at the gesture, even though the motivation for it was a little muddled. It was the misguided thought that counted, he supposed.
Karofsky had sent him a look filled with equal parts gratitude and resentment after the fight had broken up. He then proceeded to ignore him for the rest of rehearsal.
Kurt knew he was going to have talk to him in private, but Blaine's warning not to do so alone clanged loudly in his ear every time he thought about approaching him. He had promised to talk to Mercedes—but Kurt still wasn't sure he was ready to let her back in.
So, instead, he found himself standing outside Rachel Berry's house on a Saturday afternoon, trying to figure out whether he should knock or ring the doorbell.
He settled on ringing the doorbell.
A man in glasses and grayish-brown hair opened the door. "Yes, hello, what do you want?" he asked, voice all rapid business. Kurt blinked.
"Um, I wanted to talk to Rachel…?"
"Are you the boy who kept calling her?" the man asked firmly. Kurt assumed he meant Finn.
"No," he said slowly. "I'm Kurt Hummel. I'm in glee club with her?"
The man's eyes lit up. "Ah, Kurt! Yes, Rachel's told us about you." (Kurt raised his eyebrows at that. She had?) "Hold on, I'll go see if she's well enough to see you." The man (whom Kurt could only assume was one of the Mr. Berrys) ushered him inside and went upstairs, leaving Kurt alone in the living room.
Kurt glanced around curiously, taking in the various trophies and pictures of Rachel decorating every inch of the mantelpiece. It definitely looked like a house Rachel Berry would live in. He fiddled with the top of the container of cookies he'd made, wondering again if it had been too much to bring. He hadn't ever really tried being friends with Rachel before. He wondered what it was Rachel had told her dads about him.
A few more minutes passed and Kurt sat gingerly down on the couch.
He hadn't told Blaine about Rachel. Not without couching it in vagaries and uncertainties—the same way he had discussed Karofsky. He had no idea if whatever was happening with her had anything to do with Blaine—he didn't even know if whatever was happening with Karofsky had anything to do with Blaine—and he didn't want to get either of their hopes up in pursuing an ally that might prove to be utterly useless after all. Not when he still had no idea how this whole situation had happened.
Not when Blaine was clearly having such a hard time this week.
But he couldn't let another minute go without investigating. Not anymore. Being careful was all fine and good, but Kurt was beginning to feel that the time they had was growing too short to spend it dawdling. His meetings with Blaine had consisted entirely of fantasies this week; places of comfort, loving actions, soothing thoughts. Every time they met up, it seemed that Blaine clung tighter, kissed harder.
He didn't want to speculate on why that was so.
If he couldn't talk to Karofsky, he would risk Rachel's crazy. He had to. He had to start feeling like he was doing something, or he was going to end up exploding into angry power ballads in the middle of rehearsal. And it wasn't going to be pretty power ballads, either.
Whoever was watching him could just shove it.
Kurt looked up hopefully as Mr. Berry came down the stairs, face falling when the man shook his head. "She doesn't feel well enough to see anyone today," Mr. Berry explained, an apologetic smile on his face. "Maybe you can come back another time."
Kurt saw the genuine concern hidden in his eyes and found himself standing up. So her parents didn't know why Rachel had suddenly turned into a recluse, either.
Biting his lip, he shifted his grip on the container of cookies, before awkwardly holding them out. "They're vegan," he said. "Um… can you tell Rachel I brought them for her?"
Mr. Berry smiled at him, gently taking the container. "Thank you, I'll tell her," he said. "I'm sure she'll appreciate it."
Enough to talk to me next time, Kurt didn't add.
He was ushered out the door with the same friendliness in which he was ushered in.
The door shut.
Kurt stared at it.
…It was time to talk to Quinn.
"No," Quinn said as the rest of the glee club finally filed into the auditorium. "I told you I don't want to talk about it, Kurt. I don't gossip about my friends."
Kurt would have contested several elements of that statement (the first being, since when did Quinn consider Rachel a friend?), but bit his tongue. trying to keep it civil. "I only want to know—"
"Just drop it," Quinn said firmly. Kurt chewed on the inside of his cheek as Puck came up to them.
"What's going on?" Puck asked, sitting down next to Quinn protectively.
"Nothing," Kurt bit out. "Thanks for the help, Quinn." He looked at her one more time before moving to a seat closer to the stage. So much for that. Quinn watched him go, unimpressed.
Kurt huffed as he dropped into his seat. Mercedes sat down shyly next to him. "Hey," she said softly. Kurt glanced at her and managed a small smile.
"Hey," he responded, keeping his eyes on the stage.
He shouldn't be angry with her, he knew. He wasn't angry with her, not really; he was angry at the situation. He wasn't angry at her.
…He couldn't even ask her why she'd done it. He didn't even know what she had done—and she didn't even remember having done whatever she'd done, anyway, so it would just be confusing and stupid and... He was sure she was already confused, and probably feeling hurt, but…
But Blaine wasn't with them. Blaine was stuck in some horrible place that was steadily chipping away at his dependable composure, that was tensing his shoulders and weighing down his face with exhaustion and sometimes, flickering quickly, fear. Blaine wasn't with Kurt, where he was supposed to be, where Kurt needed him to be.
And Mercedes had played some small part in making that happen.
Karofsky walked into the auditorium, trailing after Azimio and one of the other football players Kurt had never felt the need to know. An itching started up underneath Kurt's skin. If he couldn't talk to Rachel, he had to talk to Karofsky. One of them had to know something—who had taken Blaine, what had happened, where they'd gone, why no one remembered anything—but he had promised Blaine he wouldn't talk to Karofsky alone.
Kurt glanced at Mercedes out of the corner of his eye, unconsciously grinding his teeth together.
…He didn't even know if she'd believe him. She had shown no signs of remembering Blaine at all since he'd been taken away. He didn't even know if she'd known him before their memories were wiped.
He bit his lip and turned to pay attention to Schue and Bieste, who entered the stage as if preparing to go into battle. He felt the brush of someone's fingers on the back of his hand.
Blaine.
…Not yet. He wasn't ready to talk yet.
"We're working on choreography today," Schue announced. "Let's try something different and mix it up. Mike, Sam, and Kurt, will you come up here and demonstrate?"
Kurt felt the hot glare of the football players behind him as he walk up to the stage. Ever since Finn had started that fight with Karofsky, tensions were racketing high—and Kurt, unfortunately, seemed to have become the goat upon which they piled most of the blame.
The music started and Kurt, Mike, and Sam began to dance.
"Did you guys practice this together in the locker room third period?" one of the football players called.
"I ain't doing no gay shit like that!"
Someone whistled. "Move those hips!"
"Knock it off!" Coach Bieste snarled. "The next person who makes a comment like that is off the team! Got it?"
They quieted, but Kurt could still feel the heat of their glaring.
He chewed on his tongue and counted the minutes until he could sleep again.
"A picnic?" he asked as he looked at the red-and-white checked blanket spread out before him. He could feel sunlight and smell flowers, though the only evidence of either of those things were the daisy chains Blaine was linking together from his spot on the blanket. "This is new."
Blaine smiled up at him softly, the exhaustion that was becoming ever-present in him clinging to the corners of his eyes. "I felt like doing something special," he said. "It's been a hard week for us and… I want to just be with you tonight. If that's okay?"
Kurt clasped their hands together, kneeling down and kissing the tenseness from Blaine's eyes. "That's just fine," he said. He quietly studied the relief that seeped out of Blaine's shoulders, turning him pliant in Kurt's arms. Blaine leaned in to kiss him, carefully slipping one of the daisy chains onto Kurt's head and letting his hands trail lingeringly through his hair once he had it placed. They moved, Kurt leaning until he was lying on his back and Blaine following, sucking on Kurt's bottom lip, keeping them connected. The crown Blaine had made Kurt crushed slightly in the back as Kurt's head relaxed onto the blanket.
"I miss you," Blaine whispered, sounding so young suddenly.
Kurt brought a hand up to cradle his cheek. "I miss you, too."
Blaine let out a small sound and buried his face into Kurt's neck, sighing. Kurt closed his eyes and carded his fingers through the hair at the base of Blaine's neck, melting into the blanket as Blaine melted into him. His fingers traced the letters stitched into Kurt's forearm, lazily teasing the edges of his sleeve and dipping under it to touch the hidden skin it covered.
This shouldn't be an escape for either of us, someone whispered in his ear. Kurt thought Blaine had said that, once, but he couldn't remember when.
"I remembered something today," Kurt spoke into the silence. Blaine hummed a question, drawing patterns around Kurt's elbow.
"Be careful, it's my heart," Kurt sang in response. "It's not my watch you're holding: it's my heart."
Blaine chuckled softly.
"Holiday Inn," he murmured happily. "Finn was feeling unreasonably triumphant about that movie, considering he didn't want to watch it."
"He thought he was participating in a secret matchmaking conspiracy," Kurt informed him. "We were so obvious even Finn noticed our sexual tension, apparently."
"Hmm," Blaine nipped at that spot behind Kurt's ear and Kurt shivered. "You're too sexy for your own good, Hummel. How could I resist your wiles? I bet you get all the boys back home."
"I have a moderately-sized harem," Kurt allowed. "Certainly not all the boys…"
"I knew I made you that crown for a reason."
Kurt laughed and laced their fingers together briefly, dragging his fingers up to explore Blaine's arm.
Blaine sucked in a breath as Kurt's thumb stroked the tender part of his wrist.
"That feels…" Blaine curled around Kurt, hiding his face in Kurt's neck.
Kurt frowned at the tenseness suddenly rounding Blaine's shoulders.
"What is it?" he asked.
Blaine's breath hitched and he shook his head.
"What happened today?" Kurt pushed, trying to coax Blaine gently away from his neck. Blaine shook his head, pressing his face in closer.
"You can't tell me," he said slowly, frowning. "They told you not to tell me, didn't they?"
"Not just you," Blaine tightened his grip, curling even closer. A hot trickle of tears wet Kurt's neck, and Kurt, surprised, drew back a little. "I'm sorry," Blaine whispered.
"Don't be," Kurt said, wrapping his arms around him. "I'm here."
"I know." Tears began to roughen Blaine's voice. "I feel…" His body began to shake with silent crying, and Kurt frowned in bewilderment; clung to him tightly.
I feel safe with you, someone whispered.
"Blaine—Shh, Blaine…"
"I don't want to wake up," Blaine cried into Kurt's neck. Water filmed over Kurt's eyes as he held on, peppered kisses into Blaine's hair, shushed him tenderly. He moved their bodies so they could wrap around each other, weaving themselves into the other until they could pretend it was impossible to separate.
"It's okay, I'm here," Kurt hushed. "It's okay."
"I don't want to go back," Blaine sobbed as if he hadn't heard, shuddering in Kurt's arms. "Please, I don't want to go back."
This shouldn't be an escape. Not for either of us.
"I'll find you," Kurt said fiercely into Blaine's ear, fisting into Blaine's shirt. "Stay strong for me. I'll find you."
He could only hold on as Blaine cried harder.
He had to talk to Mercedes.
Today.
