Oh my god. First, I want to apologise for HOW FREAKIN' LONG it's been since an update! Over 2 months... I'm really sorry.
I've had exams, assignments, birthdays, parties, hangovers -lol-, life, dance eisteddfods, and just life in general.
But I seriously hope for those who actually read this story, that this will satisfy you! Its kind of a boring chapter, just again, setting up more events etc. I know exactly where this is going now, in full detail, so hopefully I'll get to writing during my moments of free time. But I have art school, more eisteddfods and assignments in the near future so I really don't know.. Updates are always going to be slow. SORRY! I really hope no one lives off this fic the way I live off some and die inside every day I have to wait for an update.
Oh well.
Lets gooooooo!


As the first warm rays of early morning sun snuck through the drawn curtains of each of the little cream houses that dotted the streets of the town, a scrawny teenage boy made about on his rounds. Weaving between letterboxes and greening hedges, the dull thud of heavy paper landing awkwardly on damp grass following him. His bike, shiny and red - sparkling with newness in the eyes of any given bystander, moved silently. His asthmatic breathing was only accompanied with the thuds of delivery and the twittering of early birds hidden in their nests. He rounded the next street corner, onto the road of newly developed houses, standing boxlike and frozen in a dream state, not yet awoken on the early Sunday morning. The boy rode onwards, skipping every few houses as they were not yet inhabited before slowing to an almost stop, in front of the one house that seemed out of place on the newly named Athleene Crescent. Number 35. The huge manor looked down upon the rest of the street with superiority acquired only with age. Chest heaving, he stepped off his bike, pushing it towards the old house. An off white picket fence surrounded the front yard, closing off the steep stone steps leading to the long porch that circled the house. The walls were made from deep maroon bricks, piled together roughly, yet elegantly. The windows were large and spotless, drapes thrown across the inside glass to stop unwanted eyes venturing inside. The upper level was just as grand as the bottom. The house was perfect, a keepsake of olden architecture, planted smack in the middle of this new age street. The longing to gaze upon the interior for a change haunted the boy, but he knew who lived in the perfect house. Forgetting his want, he propped his bike up next to the fence, grabbing a newspaper out of his shoulder bag, and gently opened the gate and headed to the front steps. On request, he was to deliver the paper to the door. He purposely arrived in the early hours to avoid the possibility of encountering the house's owners. Part of him wanted to meet them, maybe as a way to venture inside their house, but the other part of him wanted to stay clear of them completely. They were as intimidating as their grand house. Walking slowly and carefully, being sure not to make too much noise, he reached the porch; newspaper shaking slightly in hand and out of breath from the climb. Eyes directed at the ground, he went to sit the paper on the mat, when he noticed a pair of fancy sleek shoes tapping slightly out of habit. The boy's head shot up and his gaze met that of the crystal eyed owner of the manor. His brown hair was neat and swept away from his face, he wore a loosened blue tie under a tight buttoned waistcoat with a pale blue dress shirt; sleeves pulled up to the elbows. Dark grey pants that clung tightly to his legs and of course, the shoes. He sat on the stone bench that looked out onto the street from the porch. Purple shadows beneath his eyes suggested he had not slept. With a smile he turned towards the alarmed boy who clutched the newspaper tightly in his fist. ''Morning,' came the man's voice, rough from disuse, but higher than the norm for a grown man.

'...Good morning sir,' the timid response came from the boy. Wide eyed he stared at the man who had startled him with his presence. Another smile. An attempt to console him.

'I take it that is for me?' He asked out stretching his hand to take the rolled up paper. The paper boy hesitated before handing him the newsprint. 'Thank you,' said the man before unfolding the scrolled pages to glimpse at the cover. He began to read, a frown of concern darkening his tired face. The paper boy watched, unmoving. A moment passed. 'Don't you have other papers to deliver?' The man finally asked at last. With a confused nod he stumbled back down the steps, hurling open the front gate before grabbing his bike and taking off down the remainder of the street. On his porch, the man shook his head, before uncrossing his legs to stand, making his way into the house with his newspaper. Once inside, he wandered, walking around in small circles, upstairs and back down, until another man, dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and boxer shorts staggered his way into the kitchen.

'Kurt... what's wrong babe? It's like 6am... What's all the fuss about?' Blaine asked groggily from sleep. Kurt merely glared at Blaine's unshaven face, ice eyes on fire, before throwing the newspaper down onto the counter between them, then turning to make a pot of coffee. Blaine's eyes widened at the headline, mouth falling open slightly. 'Shit Kurt...'

The front page of the newspaper blared a headline in huge bold lettering. MISSING MAN VICTIM OF BEAR MAULLING. The large photo of Jeremiah Wilson's smiling face looked up at them in black and white. Blaine's eyes scanned through the report. Last sighted by partner Sam Evans, 26, on December 12th 2021, in the woods where they had been hiking. Discovered Friday evening in the middle of the same woods, not far from where he was last sighted. Unseasonable time for bear attacks. Hibernation disturbance patterns leading to human death: another cause of Global Warming?

'So they found him... at last.' Blaine's voice was heavy as Kurt wordlessly poured him coffee in his favourite mug.

'At least they believed it was a bear. Nice work Blaine,' Kurt smiled taking a long sip of his coffee. Blaine breathed a single chuckle, re-reading the article again.

'Well at least Sam has some closure now. I doubt he will hold the funeral in Lima, he'll take it back to San Fran, or Westerville. Think we should attend?' Blaine asked with eager eyes.

'I think if I did I might even feel some kind of remorse! Actually no, that's just ridiculous; it's me we're talking about. Maybe we should still go, show our support for little Sammie.'

'It's going to be a little morbid isn't it? A funeral, then an engagement party in the same few days.' Blaine sipped at his mug.

'I have been planning this party for a month Blaine, we are not rescheduling for someone's death, even if it was something we caused. I have a reputation to maintain, and that is one of fabulous mood lifting parties, not of depressing wakes.'

Blaine laughed, shaking his head of messy curls, finishing the last of his pick me up, before heading upstairs to shower and get ready. Kurt followed quickly after, not wanting to miss a chance to bathe with the love of his life.

A number of things had changed in the last 4 months since Jeremiah Wilsons' 'disappearance'.
There had been a movement by two parties. Blaine and Kurt had moved back to Ohio.
Sam Evans, unknowingly a widower, had also moved back to the familiar atmosphere of Lima.
There had been and engagement.
There had also been a silence.
No innocent blood had been spilt by the two murderers since returning to Home Sweet Home.
But silence is made to be broken.


The boy on the gleaming red bike continued his rounds, curving around street corners and onto nature strips dropping off the bombshell of Jeremiah's death to each resident of Lima, Ohio. One of the final houses he came to deliver to, four blocks away on Church Street was swarmed by police cars. He knew who lived there, in fact he knew where almost everybody in the community lived, as most people in small towns did. This was his younger sister's first grade teacher, Mr. Evans' house. He was a nice guy, with mousey brown hair styled messily on purpose. So why the hell were the cops at his place? Too afraid of being caught to investigate, he threw down the newspaper, before peddling away as fast as he could.


It was around 1:00pm when Kurt and Blaine got the telephone call.

'Hey guys, its Sam. Do you mind if I came over? I-I just got some news... about Jeremiah. I need my friends right now,' the quiet shaky voice of Sam Evans murmured through the phone.

'Oh Sammie, of course! We saw it in the paper today. Come over right away, Blaine and I aren't doing anything important, just a few party things but that can wait,' Kurt's voice drenched with sympathy and understanding, but his eyes smirking playfully.

'Thank you so much guys. It means so much to me, truly.' Sam replied sincerely, with another supportive comment from Kurt, before they ended the conversation by hanging up the receiver.

'Sam is coming over then?' Blaine asked from the couch, as he flicked through a small notepad of guests to their party, double checking who had RSVPed and who hadn't.

'Yup, he'll be only a few minutes away. My plan is to act like we care about Jeremiah's death and all that jazz. I refuse to help with the funeral though.' Kurt said sinking down next to Blaine. Blaine nodded, attention fully occupied by the list before him. Kurt leaned into his fiancée, eyes quickly darting down the list of names. He had only glimpsed his own father's name before Blaine shrugged away from him, standing swiftly and heading into the kitchen. Kurt's eyes instantly narrowed, glaring into Blaine's back as he walked away. It was these small acts on Blaine's behalf, the unintentional knocking back of advancements and the tight lipped secrecy, that made the histrionic killer tick, but his overwhelming love for the man always overran his irritation.
It was barely a moment since Kurt's brief whim of anger passed when the door bell chimed, alerting them both to their mourning friend outside on the porch.

'I'll get it Blaine,' Kurt said hurrying to get the door. Blaine began to shuffle his way out of the kitchen as Kurt threw open the mahogany wood to see the messy mousey brown head of hair belonging to Sam Evans. Sam's head raised to look Kurt in the eyes, his own eyes red and puffy from crying. Kurt didn't get the chance to offer his sympathy before Sam had thrown himself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably into Kurt's sweater. Kurt rocked, hushed and ushered the distraught man inside and into the living room, before signalling to Blaine to fetch a stiff drink and three glasses.

'It's my fault, it's all my fault!' Sam sniffed between large swallows of scotch. Kurt's hand was rubbing small, comforting circles into his lower back with sad eyes, while Blaine sat on the opposite seat disagreeing with Sam's statements and refilling their glasses.

'No Sammie, no. It's no one's fault. It was an accident. He was lost; he must have wandered into a bear while it was hunting or something. Don't you dare blame your self.' Blaine's encouraging words made Kurt smirk in his mind, knowing how Blaine's motivational speeches could of earned him a rewarding career as a life coach, or something as equally as optimistic. Also, the fact that Blaine was speaking complete and utter bullshit about the whole ordeal being an "accident" caused Kurt to have to bite his lip from bursting out into a fit of hysterical laughter. It was all just far too hilarious for Kurt to handle. Blaine shot him a few warning glances whenever his poker face looked as if it were to slip, but fortunately, Sam spent most of the afternoon staring into the bottom of his drink. It seemed hours had passed, when finally; Sam stood, a little wobbly, and thanked them both for looking after him in his "hour of need". With a hiccup, Sam stumbled for the door, before Blaine and Kurt caught him and helped him down the steps.

'There is NO way you are in any fit state to drive Mr. Evans,' Kurt lectured as he loaded Sam into the passenger side of his car. 'Blaine will drive you home, and I'll follow behind in my car to drive him home.' Clicking Sam in with his seatbelt he slammed the door and waved him goodbye and Blaine buckled into the driver's seat. The car pulled away, Kurt in no hurry to follow.

It was only a five minute drive to Sam's house in Church Street. Blaine used the few stolen moments alone with Sam to ask him a few questions he would never risk to ask in front of Kurt.

'So, Sam... Have you thought about funeral arrangements yet?' Blaine asked, eyes focused on the road. Sam gurgled loudly before answering.

'Um, Jeremiah's parents and handling most of it, I'm just inviting people I guess.' He paused. 'They didn't know many of his friend's y'see...'

'Oh, right.' Blaine continued to stare ahead. 'Sam?'

Yessumblaine,' slurred Sam.

'Do you remember Rachel Berry?' There was silence.

'How could I forget?' Sam smiled to himself. 'I haven't seen her in forever. I wonder if she still dresses like a toddler...'

'Well, I'm not entirely sure about that part Sam, but...' Blaine hesitated, turning into Church Street. 'You should invite her. To the funeral.'

Sam said nothing as Blaine pulled into the drive way. 'Okay, that would be a good idea, I think.'

'Good thinking,' Blaine grinned, stepping out of the car and assisting Sam out and to the door.

'Thank you Blaine. You and Kurt both. You guys are awesome, okay?' Sam smiled fumbling with the key in the lock before twisting it and opening up the house. Blaine nodded and turned to leave before he felt Sam grab his face between his hands. Bringing Blaine's lips roughly to his own, he smooched his friend's face, drunk and sloppy, as an expression of gratitude. Kurt's shiny black hybrid pulled up opposite the house just as Sam broke away from the kiss. Blaine laughed and said his farewells, heading towards Kurt's car, thinking nothing of Sam's drunken gesture.
As soon as Blaine closed the door to the hybrid, Kurt's foot slammed on the gas, revving the car violently and quickly away from the house.

They away drove in silence.
One of them, fuming with rage so violent and savage, that it took all their self control not to destroy everything then and there. Jealously licked at his veins, eating at his innards.
The other, sat in false innocence, planning on ignoring the obvious problem at hand. A skilful tactic to avoid confrontation. But poison to honesty.
They arrived home in silence. One wanting to prove his revenge. The other, wanting to uphold his faithful facade.

Blaine bounded through the door first, followed closely by Kurt. Kurt pitched the car keys onto the small table in the entrance hall, before lunging at Blaine. Blaine let out a yelp, which was quickly silenced by Kurt's mouth against his own, fiery, hungry and hot. Kurt pinned Blaine roughly to the wall, biting Blaine's bottom lip with sadistic force. There was a growl in Kurt's throat, deep and animalistic, as he kissed Blaine deeper, rocking his hips into Blaine where he was pinned to the wall. Kurt broke away momentarily to gain his breath. Blaine was wide eyed with surprise, an eager flicker in his eyes. Kurt slammed his full body to Blaine, the picture frames on the walls shaking from the force. Kurt's voice was dark and serious as he spoke words simple enough for Blaine to understand under any circumstances.
'You're. Mine.'
Blaine nodded, pulling Kurt back to him, kissing him just as fiercely as Kurt had before.


Three days later, Jeremiah Wilson's funeral was held at the local chapel. One hundred and eighteen family, friends, and members of the public came to pay their respects to his passing. Sam sat in tears in the front row with Jeremiah's parents. Smiling photos of a man with wild blonde hair surrounded the altar and coffin. The coffin was fixed closed, either empty or filled with shredded remains, no one was sure. Kurt liked to think that they still sat torn and broken and bloody out in that forest, a snack for a real bear or another wild creature. Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand the moment he felt Kurt was going to chuckle, reminding him where they were.
The service was lovely. Simple, but lovely. Jeremiah was cremated in the end, and his ashes were taken with Sam to be scattered across the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. The crowd of people who had attended the funeral were slowly filing out of the chapel in silence, when Kurt and Blaine both heard the cocky click-click of high-heeled shoes strutting against wooden floors. The both turned to see a pocket sized brunette in an over-sized, flimsy, black, wide-brimmed hat, black funeral lace covering her eyes elegantly. Glittering black jewellery wrapped around her wrists, and lacquered black nails held an expensive black clutch in her thin hands. Tight red satin stuck to the woman's body cutting off short to reveal two long tanned legs in black stilettos. There was a murmur of voices, and few recognising gasps and a squeal of excitement. The Brunette's hair fell in ringlets down her back, sleek and shiny and perfect. Kurt's eyes widened in astonishment. Blaine's face lit up in glee.
A devil in a red dress had appeared at a funeral. The Brunette lifted her head to eye Kurt and Blaine mischievously, biting her lip in anticipation. Rachel Berry grinned at her best friends in high school, her Kurt and Blaine. It'd been almost 7 years since their last meeting.
She threw her arms around the pair as she approached; embracing them as if nothing at all had changed between them in 7 years.

Only a lot of things had changed.
Rachel Berry has achieved her dreams, but with an added catch she had never expected.
She had grown up, grown wise, grown into herself.
She had grown from the good little girl she had been, into the deviant woman she was today.
A life of secrets and lies can turn anyone into a demon.