I'm taking several liberties with finally winding up what we've seen on camera. This is the last chapter that takes place around events that have already happened, and next will be mostly Dalton, with occasional things like Regionals mixed in.
xxxxXxxxx
Kurt doesn't tell anyone besides his dad and Carole when he plans to transfer. He feels guilty for robbing the newlyweds of their scheduled honeymoon; especially after dropping the bombshell of I just don't feel safe at McKinley anymore so soon after their wedding and the beautiful performance Finn had arranged for him.
Leaving New Directions was going to be hard, Kurt wouldn't deny that, and if he's going to be completely honest the last thing that he wants to do is start over even if Dalton is every tormented kid's dream with its zero-tolerance bullying policy, the old-estate feel that seeps into even the dorms (Blaine had showed him) and the friendly, albeit slightly bored, atmosphere the male student body projects.
The uniform thing, Kurt can probably handle that. He feels like he's a part of something special the first time that he holds one of the school's regulation ties in his hand, and all his life he's never been allowed to be part of something exclusive.
And maybe if he jazzes up his uniform his first day with a brooch, well… New school or not, he's still Kurt Hummel.
Saying goodbye to the glee club is as difficult as he'd imagined, and Kurt goes about it wrong by showing up late to rehearsal with a tight chest and throat, tears gathering in his eyes with the swollen vessels tingeing the sclera a pinkish red, and getting to the punch as quickly as he can.
He leaves the room before anyone can see that he's really, really crying, leaving Finn to field questions about a move he knew absolutely nothing about. Kurt was so selfish and maybe he's irrational, maybe he's a diva.
Maybe if he says goodbye in the harshest way possible, no one will miss him.
It's just the first in a series of lies.
xxxxXxxxx
Texts between Kurt and Blaine have been sparse in the past couple of weeks. Kurt has been planning the wedding that he'd briefly mentioned and Blaine has been stressing about not stressing so much that he's had to force himself to sit down every night and go through book after book in his selected reading list from his literature class.
Somewhere between the aptly-titled "Queer" and "Franny and Zooey," fourteen days have passed since Blaine has received a text message from Kurt. While sad, he wonders if maybe it means that things in Kurt's life aren't so dismal right now and that he's handling things perfectly fine on his own. After all, he lets himself think, we weren't that close.
Somewhere between the first couple pages of Upton Sinclair's "The Jungle" Blaine's phone buzzes on his nightstand. Jostling the pill bottle in his haste, Blaine rights it before sliding his thumb across the screen of his phone to unlock it without bothering to read the text from the home screen.
My first day is Monday.
It's Kurt.
He'd said something, vaguely, the last time they'd met face-to-face, about considering Blaine's idea of a transfer. It appears that he'd gone through with it, and Blaine doesn't deny a victory fist pump and a leap of his heart in his chest as he texts back You're able to pay for it and everything?
I sort of took away the honeymoon, and I can't buy materials for clothes or bid on eBay for awhile, but we got the money. At least the uniform means my lack of new garments isn't as tragic as it can potentially be.
Im just glad youll be able to save me from myself. A text that seemed innocuous in his head hits home a lot harder than Blaine wants it to when his little green bubble pops up in the conversation after he thumbs the send button. He reads over it and winces a little.
The great Blaine Anderson needs saving?
If only you knew, he thinks darkly. What he sends is Since you last texted me ive read through three books from my selected reading list.
Some would consider that an accomplishment.
It's good talking to you again, kurt. Really.
Behind his reading glasses his eyes are tired and under the blankets his limbs feel sluggish and heavy. When his phone vibrates this time it's his daily alarm, not a text. Kurt's probably asleep by now, snuggled under the covers back in Lima, and Blaine fleetingly wishes that he could be there with him. Even though he's been going to Dalton for well over two years now and has had this same room the whole time, it still doesn't feel like home, or a home that he's fashioned himself, anyway.
It could just be his mindset, or it could be the flimsy mattress covered with cheap sheets. There's always the turmoil of his own mind to potentially keep him seeking shadows and twitching in constant fear, but that's partly the reason why he takes his pills at ten-thirty every night like clockwork.
It's maybe because Blaine has never really had somewhere to call home and he's never had that great of an imagination to try to make up some fantasy world. He sits up in his bed, propping his back against the headboard, and reaches for the bottle of pills and the bottle of water. It's always the same routine, mundane like factory work, but the results are never the same.
He switches off his light after chasing the pill down with another swig of water and nestles under the covers, glasses folded up by the base of the lamp and phone plugged into the charger, alarm set now for class in the morning. His eyelids flutter after he draws them shut and the fingers on his right hand, which is buried under the pillow, twitch as he turns to face the wall.
His breathing evens out as he fades into oblivion.
xxxxXxxxx
Nightmares are common enough that even when he wakes in a cold sweat and full of fear, he's not too bothered for more than the initial period between dream and the waking world when everything blurs and seems like everything is vivid and anything is possible.
They tend to vary based upon his stress level or his thoughts before he falls asleep. This particular one that he awakes to with a scream embedded in his throat and a cold sweat dripping down his brow and back had him running and running and running even though his body felt like it was made of lead.
The scenery was dark and twisted, no definite beginning or end, top or bottom, and his peripheral was filled with creatures that could have stepped right out of The Mist: Gargantuan monsters with eight knobby legs that towered high above his point of vision and that faded into the dreamworld-oblivion, spiders that scurried along beside him with the speed and power of a prime Thoroughbred, snapping hungrily at his heels.
On the horizon—at least the best horizon that could be carved out of this world—was Kurt, waving frantically. He was too far away for Blaine to be able to make out his face, but he kept running, kept dodging the snapping spiders and feeling the low animal cries of the towering monster rumbling deep in his chest.
Kurt's mouth moves but there's no sound. Blaine feels like he's getting closer, the distance between them closing just a bit as his lungs burn and his body screams at him to lie down, take a rest, let this be over. There's the faint glimmer of Kurt's glue-gray eyes, the faintest outline and splash of color of the bow of his pink lips, the unnaturally silver light of this world catching on strands of chestnut hair.
One foot after another, Blaine runs. His heart thuds powerfully in his chest, his muscles burn, his breath comes in great heaving pants. Sweat runs down his brow and slides down his face, trickling like water down his neck: the temperature has suddenly spiked to an almost tropical atmosphere, becoming suddenly sticky and humid and vaguely sweet-smelling. The air surrounds him like a thick, stifling blanket and his lungs scream a violent protest.
He wants to yell out but even without trying to formulate the words he knows his voice is caught deep in his throat, lodged like some animal in a trap. He locks eyes with Kurt, sees that he can make out a bit more about his features now, knows it's not too far…
Kurt's spine suddenly snaps backwards as he arches in silent agony. Blaine skids to a halt, sending bits of rock and dirt scattering, and watches wide with hazel eyes, tears and sweat mixing on his face. Kurt's mouth opens in a scream unheard of by anyone other than himself and, as Blaine watches, a shape bursts forth from his torso, black and sleek and gaseous.
Kurt—or his body, whichever—crumples to the ground in a heap. No blood can be seen but Blaine's only focused on the ghost-like creature that hovers a few inches above the ground and begins to glide smoothly over to him.
Blaine keeps his eyes wide and fixated but his heart still thuds painfully in his chest, his breaths still come fast and panicked. As the presence comes closer Blaine loses his footing on a rock that hadn't been there before and falls backward, landing hard on his tailbone.
He peers upward and doesn't dare move.
The presence is gliding closer, skimming the ground, and when it comes to a halt a few inches from Blaine, he sees very familiar hazel eyes darkened with evil and hate. He sees the same curly hair and tan skin that he's all-too familiar with.
When it speaks, Blaine knows that voice from inside his head.
"Hello, Blaine."
He wakes.
His chest squeezes and he wants to scream and cry and destroy things but it's like he's paralyzed under his covers. The bed is dampened by sweat, sheets wrinkled and twisted where they're clutched in a death grip in his hand. The sun isn't even up yet.
He wants to call Kurt, text him frantically to make sure that he's still alive, but he knows that Kurt is warm and safe and unaware of the horror going on just two hours away in the mind of a boy he'd just recently met. This just isn't fair. He shouldn't have to go through all of this just because his parents went about everything the wrong way. He wants to be just like any other normal teenager who's slowly beginning to fall in love. He wants to be stupid and irrational and do dumb things that he'll regret ten minutes later.
He wants all of that, but before being a teenager Blaine is a sick patient.
And like any sick patient, Blaine has his good days and his bad days. This one is looking bleaker and bleaker as time wears on and the sun climbs up in the sky to shine hazily through his dark curtains.
xxxxXxxxx
"Blaine, you okay, man? You look a little pale."
Blaine sets his tray on the table with a sigh, sliding onto the hard plastic bench before resting his chin on the heel of his hand. He'd gotten his usual breakfast—bacon and eggs and an English muffin—but just the smell of it is making his stomach coil and revolt. "I didn't sleep well last night. I've been stressed about the tests coming up."
Nick gives him a disbelieving look but goes back to eating his cereal. Jeff stares at him harder, like he knows the real reason, and Blaine supposes that he knows enough to flesh out something close to the truth. Most boys know, but only the vaguest details possible. The specifics are left up to Blaine and the Warbler council only for the purposes of rehearsals, performances, and limits. He always feels a little bad for not letting the pair in front of him more into the not-so-secret secret but for now he's happy to just let them know that he suffers from occasional panic attacks set off from flashbacks to his previous high school.
It's a lot better than telling everyone else that he harbors a violent alter ego and has absolutely no control over himself when the alter ego takes over. People tend to view him differently when they find that out.
Blaine picks up his fork and pokes dejectedly at the pile of scrambled eggs, wondering what Kurt's up to in Lima. He's probably on his way to school right now, preparing for his last real day there. Blaine brightens a little at the knowledge that come Monday Kurt will be at his side, dressed to the nines in his uniform, smiling at him and chattering on and on like he's wont to do. He hopes that he'll audition for the Warblers.
Blaine will have to tell Kurt eventually. If he's transferring then Blaine can't keep him in the dark forever, especially if there's an emergency or if Blaine suddenly isn't… himself. Kurt needs to know that it's not his fault, that he can't control what happens. That no matter what may seem to come out of Blaine's mouth, he's only being used as a flesh puppet, that when he's dark and mean and hateful it's Holden at the controls, not Blaine.
Blaine wants to tell him, but he doesn't want to scare him off.
The bell rings.
xxxxXxxxx
From the outside, backlit by golden yellow sun, McKinley looks a lot less threatening and prison-like when Kurt knows that it's his last day here. He doesn't eye up the dumpsters in the hopes that they'll throw him in the cleanest one available if they're going that route, he doesn't stare in contempt at any of the jocks as he struts past. It's November but a few straggling birds still sing and Kurt feels as light as one, as bubbly as a canary when he reaches the front doors without so much as a jeer or ill-placed slur.
McKinley could go suck it: Kurt Hummel was leaving for Dalton Academy in less than forty-eight hours and only seven of those would be spent at this cesspool. Even the ache of leaving New Directions was dulled by the prospect of boys who got him, of Blaine.
When he steps into the hallways he inhales the familiar nauseating stench of burnt coffee and erasers, that tuna-lunchbox smell that he never understood. Students walk past, Goths and nerds and burnouts and Cheerios, all dressed differently from chains to short red skirts.
Though Kurt will undoubtedly miss his careful outfit planning, he's almost excited, in a weird way, to be part of the impeccable sea of blazers. He'll belong and Blaine will be right at his side, guiding him and smiling that beautiful, heart-melting smile of his.
Kurt's at his locker, staring at Blaine's photo with a small smile on his face, when Brittany flounces up, cropped top showing off the sleek lines of her curves that are only further accentuated by the tight tank top she has on. Kurt closes the locker door gently, books clutched in his arms. "Hey, Britt."
"You're coming back, right?" she asks without preamble.
Kurt blinks, lips parted in a slight amount of shock. He knows he'd been expecting too much when he'd hoped that Brittany would have understood his blunt statement to the club, but Brittany is Brittany and even though this tugs at his heartstrings he still loves her.
"I'll be back on weekends," he says, resting his forehead against hers as they head for Home Ec. "But not every day. I'll be boarding at Dalton."
Brittany blinks at him innocently, tugging at a strand of her blonde hair. "Is Dalton like Hogwarts?" Her eyes suddenly brighten and she claps excitedly, almost sending her books and papers falling to the floor. "Are you a wizard?"
Kurt laughs, louder and more heartfelt than he has in a long time, and only says, "I wish."
They walk in silence for a bit, dodging students rushing to reach class. Brittany's sweet perfume fills his nostrils, reminding him of their make out sessions in the basement of his soon-to-be old house. He remembers asking her what boys' lips tasted like and he wonders if he'll figure that out at Dalton.
He didn't dwell of the locker room kiss with Karofsky. Kurt had been enshrouded with fear and self-hatred and longing and anger. He didn't bother to concentrate on the pair of lips on his. It wasn't real, it didn't count. He'd tell himself that, but the fact of the matter was that it did count. It counted and it was so, so unfair.
He's shaken out of his thoughts by Brittany's voice. "Are you gonna miss us?"
A lump forms in his throat as they take a right and head down another hallway. "More than you know. I might even miss Mr. Schue's dictatorial ways."
They reach the classroom and Kurt slides into his usual seat beside Mercedes. She gives him a sad smile that he returns. "How's the last day going so far?" she asks, trying to sound happy for him, but if anyone can detect a note of sadness it's Kurt.
He shrugs and says, "Good so far, I guess. No tormenting. Who knows: maybe they'll miss me and pine for me to come back to put some meaning into their sad lives again."
"You know we all don't want you to leave, right?" Mercedes says in a rushed whisper as their teacher walks in, brushing aside Kurt's attempt at humor. "We love you and we'll fight tooth and nail for you, you know that. Even Rachel."
Kurt knows that, he does. He knows that he's got Finn and Puck and Mike, but it's not enough, not when his life is threatened. And maybe there was no water to it, maybe it was just fear causing those words to come out, but it had been said and Kurt was afraid. Blaine had offered and he had found a way to accept.
"I know," he whispers.
xxxxXxxxx
When class ends that day he hugs everyone goodbye, even Mr. Schue. There are good-natured threats about Regionals, about not losing himself in those uniforms, finding a guy so that he can finally stop whining—courtesy of Puck, and Kurt smiled and was still amazed at how far he had come in the past year—and Kurt will miss their easy camaraderie.
However, things must change, and spending his life in fear for seven hours a day isn't the way to go.
He hears Blaine's voice echoing in his mind as he gets into his car and drives off for his last weekend as a public school student.
"Don't ever look back, don't ever look back…"