Chapter 5.2 in what will be a 5-6 chapter story.

The conclusion to Chapter 5! (And, really, to the story!) It's been a long time coming, so thank you all for being so patient and sticking with me through rewrites and computer crashes. And if you can hang on just a little bit longer, I'll be posting The Greatest Epilogue I've Ever Written early next week.

Keep being awesome, you fine, fabulous people.


Chapter Five, Part II: Age Ain't Nothin' But a Number

Wes was getting really tired of being scared shitless. David, he suspected, felt the same.

Brittany stared at them, her expression utterly blank. Wes and David stared back helplessly, waiting for the proverbial ax to fall. (At least, Wes sincerely hoped it was proverbial—it didn't look like Brittany was carrying any medieval weaponry on her person, but Santana's hidden arsenal had been a surprise, as well.)

After what seemed like an eternity, Brittany tilted her head slightly to the side, zeroing in on David. "When did you get here?" she asked, far more neutrally than the question merited.

David glanced at Wes, seeking—and not receiving, to Wes's shame—guidance. "About twelve minutes ago," he answered honestly.

Brittany looked pleased. "I didn't think you talked," she told him. "Santana said you were training to be a mime."

David's mouth opened slightly, and Wes couldn't decide if he was more confused, offended, or abashed. As insults went though, Wes considered, it wasn't patently inaccurate—while David had no past or current aspirations to mime-hood, the only time Santana and Brittany had actually met David had been at Kurt's old house after Wes and Blaine had extracted him, half paralyzed with terror, from the basement.

It had not been one of David's more verbose days.

Brittany was still staring. "Does Santana know you're here?" she pressed, and David shuddered horribly.

"No, no she doesn't," he answered quickly," and I would be incredibly grateful if you didn't tell her."

Brittany's expression didn't budge, and Wes began to realize how utterly screwed they were. Brittany didn't look like she was about to call in the cavalry, so to speak, but she also had no clear reason not to: she had caught Wes and David trespassing on school property for unclear but likely dishonorable reasons (if they were truly pure of intent, they would have been wearing their uniforms), the week that they were to compete against each other at Regionals, no less. What made the already unfortunate circumstances markedly worse was that it had been Brittany who discovered them—Brittany, who was the only member of New Directions who was consistently liked by everyone, and the extent of whose evil genius was as of yet unclear.

In short, they had been apprehended by the one person who could (and probably would) bring the wrath of God and McKinley down on them, and do it in such a manner that Wes and David, for all their nervous apprehension, wouldn't even see coming.

Wes wanted to go home.

Brittany looked at him curiously. "Why aren't you with Tina?" she asked suddenly.

Wes started, more than a little puzzled at the sudden non-segue. "Tina?" he asked politely.

Brittany nodded. "You and Tina were totally going to get it on in the Astrology classroom, she said."

Wes choked. He and Tina were going to—

He and Tina, who was definitely Mike's girlfriend? Tina, who couldn't possibly know he was even in Lima yet, and certainly hadn't seemed like the type to randomly make out with acquaintances (even Asian ones), particularly when she was already seeing someone? And what kind of school taught Astrology?

It occurred to Wes, as David was rubbing soothing circles on his back while he regained his breath, that Brittany was likely either speaking in some form of code, or was simply outright toying with him.

Even knowing that, her mind games were scarily effective.

Wes decided that his and David's best chance of walking away relatively unscathed was to humor Brittany and play along—perhaps this was some sort of test. He straightened back up, noting with unease that even his sudden coughing fit was insufficient to crack Brittany's perfect deadpan façade. "Right, Tina and I," he lied, with less smoothness than he would have liked. "About that. We…decided to hold off on, 'getting it on', temporarily. At school seemed like an inappropriate location."

Brittany's expression shifted, just slightly, to something like mild disappointment. "Santana says to ignore everything that Rachel says," she lectured evenly, before turning to confide in David. "That's exactly what Rachel said when she caught us making out in the Celibacy Club meeting room last year," she whispered audibly, gesturing to include herself and Wes.

Wes's airway was immediately re-compromised.

By the time Wes had quit sputtering stupidly and was ready to defend himself, Brittany had picked up her books from a nearby table and was smiling brightly. "I have to go to the library now," she informed them. "See you at practice."

And with that, she strolled out the door.


In his rational mind, Wes knew that he ought to be feeling a profound sense of relief that Brittany had gone, and that he and David were mercifully still intact. Unfortunately, his rational mind had thrown its metaphorical hands in the air and jumped ship some time ago, leaving Wes with little else but anxiety and something approaching panic.

"David, I've absolutely never made out with Brittany," he protested quickly. "I didn't even know her last year, you know that. And why would she think that Tina and I are sleeping together? Do you think that she truly believes that, or is this some sort of elaborate setup, in which she's secretly monitoring my reactions?" He paled dramatically. "Oh God, what if there's a hidden camera somewhere, and she's been filming us this whole time? What if she shows it to Mike or Tina?"

David patiently allowed Wes's paranoid babbling run itself down. "Wes," he said finally, "why would Brittany say she was going to the library? We're already in the library."

Wes observed his surroundings for the first time. David was right—they were most assuredly in the library. The library that Brittany claimed to be going to when she left, which meant that she could have actually gone anywhere. Which, to be entirely fair, could have been true no matter what she had told them, but specifically picking the library could only mean that Brittany wanted them to know that she was lying.

"I think I need to sit down," Wes whimpered hoarsely. David nodded fervently in agreement.


There were very few students in the library for Wes and David to Passively Observe. Which was fine, given that Wes didn't really feel capable of anything more complicated than sitting quietly in his seat and practicing his pranayama anyway. And, being a library, there were certain sources of information available to them besides the students.

"I grabbed the last three years, do you have a preference?" David asked deferentially, holding up the stack of yearbooks he had fetched from the shelves.

Wes shrugged indifferently, and was consequently handed the 2010-11 book. "What's a 'thunderclap'?" he asked, once again feeling confused as he began flipping through the pages. "And why is this year's yearbook out already? Aren't yearbooks typically published at the end of the year?"

It was David's turn to shrug. "Perhaps the school receives a discount for ordering them during the off season," he suggested. "It sounds as though the principal—whoa."

"What is it?" Wes asked quickly, leaning over to see what had caused David to cut himself off. And…

"'Whoa' indeed," Wes agreed. There in front of them was what was barely recognizable as New Directions' club photograph from the previous year. It was difficult to identify who was actually in the picture, however, given that it had been heavily defaced with multiple permanent markers. Nearly everyone in the shot had been gifted with some sort of unnatural facial hair—even the girls—and several members were sporting blackened teeth and ridiculous hairdos.

"Check yours," David prompted, and Wes flipped hastily through his edition until he found the latest Glee club picture. It, too, had been vandalized.

"Have I mentioned yet today how incredibly grateful I am not to attend this school?" Wes wondered aloud.

"You haven't, but consider it noted," David answered, already back at work. "Look at Kurt, he looks like he's about fourteen in this picture," he commented, holding up the page so that Wes could see Kurt's individual picture.

It was true—Warbler Kurt had done a remarkable amount of aging in the past year. "I wonder if he'd be in the book this year," Wes pondered, slowly flicking back toward the 'H's' in his book.

He became slightly distracted, however, at a particular snapshot in the 'P's'. "Is it me, or does that Puck guy look far too old to be in high school?" he asked David idly, lingering on the Mohawk and trademark scowl in the school picture.

"Oh definitely," David agreed absently. "Look, I found another picture of Kurt." Wes leaned over again with interest to see a photo depicting McKinley's parking lot. The angle of the shot was a bit awkward, but that was definitely 10th grade Kurt climbing into the driver's seat of his car.

Along with what appeared to be half the Glee club. "David," Wes asked with a frown, "when is Kurt's birthday?"

David thought for a moment. "I'm not sure precisely," he admitted. "Sometime toward the beginning of the school year, though. Why?"

Wes pointed at the picture. "This was taken last year, so Kurt would have been sixteen at the time." David looked at him blankly. Wes elaborated. "Beyond the obvious question of how he would have managed to fit that many people in his car at once, a sixteen year old driver in Ohio isn't allowed to transport more than one non-family member at a time."

David raised an eyebrow, examining the picture again. "That's true, isn't it?" he mused. "Well, Kurt's dad is a mechanic, perhaps there's a loophole for that sort of thing."

"David, I've read the Ohio BMV handbook seven times," Wes stated flatly. "There are no exemptions for the mechanically inclined."

David didn't argue. He knew how Wes felt about handbooks.

He did, however, attempt a distraction. "Look up Santana," he directed, tapping Wes's yearbook as he began turning the pages of his own. "I want to see something."

Wes was still bothered by Kurt and his flagrant disrespect for the rules of the road, but he dutifully capitulated to David's demand. "What are we looking for?" he asked tiredly, scanning photos until he found Santana's picture.

She was smiling. It was creepy.

David pushed the previous year's book over so that it rested on the table between the two of them, opened to the correct page. "Coach Sylvester implied that Santana had…had some work done," he explained awkwardly. "It's probably not true, since I can't imagine any parent would allow their underage child to have plastic surgery, but…I have to admit I'm somewhat curious."

Wes was suddenly, inexplicably, curious himself.

He and David looked back and forth between the two pictures silently, giving the matter the full and undivided attention that it deserved. After all, a young woman's reputation was on the line, and it wouldn't do to conduct an investigation that was anything less than painstakingly meticulous.

"I can't really tell," David said finally. "They look the same to me."

"That's because you're not looking at them right, Prep-School McDouchecanoe," a voice behind them snapped back testily.

Perhaps it was because it was the third time in less than an hour that Wes had been snuck up on and ambushed, and he was starting to become conditioned to the visceral combination of adrenaline and pure dread. Or maybe he was merely feeling fatalistic, nerves shot after endless weeks of reacting to any mention of McKinley, Lima, or New Directions with an immediate sense of impending doom. Either way, rather than jump or shriek girlishly, Wes and David merely turned, slowly and resignedly, in their seats as one unit to face the owner of the aforementioned possibly-enhanced breasts: Santana Lopez.

Santana Lopez, who was looking at them with a murderous expression on her face.

Well, crap.


Rather than stringing them from a bookshelf by their own intestines, however, Santana smiled dangerously and pulled out her phone. Clicking a few buttons and holding it up to her ear, she casually lifted her right leg and placed the heel of her shoe on David's thigh, directly above his femoral artery. "I've got them," she smirked into the phone, as David started to sweat. "Still in the library. Yeah, they're not going anywhere, are you, boys?" she asked in cruel amusement, smiling predatorily at Wes.

For a single, self-serving second, Wes considered attempting to escape—it wasn't like Santana could simultaneously arrest David's circulatory system and chase after him, after all, and it was far more likely that he could call for some sort of help if he made it out of the building.

Santana chose that second to apply the slightest bit of weight on David's pressure point, making David hiss involuntarily and ending Wes's feverish plotting.

It didn't take long for the rest of New Directions to arrive, and the relative silence of the library meant that Wes, David, and Santana could hear them coming long before they entered the room.

"…knew those punks looked familiar," someone was grousing, while another voice—Mike, Wes recognized—was pleading their case. "Wes seemed like a decent guy," he argued, "they probably have a good reason for being here. Did anyone even ask them?"

"I did," Brittany replied, "but they seemed a little confused. Matt can talk now."

Everyone ignored her.

"As admirable as it is that you're standing up for your fellow countryman,"—Wes couldn't help the groan that slipped out when he realized that the speaker was the incredibly long-winded brunette—"we cannot discount the timing of their sudden 'visit'. Regionals are in four days, and I refuse to be colored by Mike's Asian Persuasion and fail to investigate the situation properly."

Tina scoffed. "Do you even notice when you say offensive things anymore?" she asked.

If the girl had an answer, she didn't have a chance to give it. "Rachel's all kinds of rude," another girl chimed in, "but she could be right. I'm meeting Kurt and Blaine for lunch in half an hour, and nobody said anything about the Warbler Brothers being in town."

Wes felt the blood drain out of his face. It hadn't occurred to him that Kurt also had the day off from school, and might come to see his friends at McKinley—and judging from David's panicked expression, neither had he.

"Should we call him?" someone asked. Wes squeezed his eyes shut, hoping against hope that—

"Nah," Finn answered, and Wes let out a sigh of relief, "leave them alone. They're singing a duet at Regionals, and Kurt said they'd be practicing at our house all day, since there's nobody home and they can be as loud as they want."

Santana snorted. David shot her a disapproving look but, even under the circumstances, Wes had to smile proudly at his Junior Warblers' dedication.

He didn't have long to smile—New Directions chose that moment to make their entrance, filtering in groups through the wide, open doorway. Mike was looking at Wes quizzically, and Brittany smiled brightly, but the rest of the club looked rather displeased to see them.

The brunette girl—Rachel—Wes had extrapolated—was the first to speak. "I'd like to take this opportunity to inform you that we, as a club, have extensive experience in dealing with spies and, furthermore, do not condone such deplorable tactics in what should be an unbiased, merit based competition," she announced. "So if you've illegally taken any notes, pictures, or videos, you should just hand them over now."

David raised an eyebrow. "We didn't take anything. But you sent Kurt to spy on us months ago," he pointed out. "And didn't you sneak into the auditorium at Carmel, like, half a dozen times last year?"

Rachel flushed, but maintained her scowl. "That was different," she insisted shrilly. "And stop making this about me, when we're supposed to be interrogating you."

David appeared as though he was ready to argue back. Luckily, someone presumably sane took over. An incredibly blonde boy in a letterman jacket—Wes recognized him, but couldn't recall a name—held his hands out in a peaceful gesture. "Look, we're gonna cut you guys some slack," he offered, making eye contact first with David, than Wes. "Nobody's seen you anywhere near the choir room, and Mike and Finn said that you're friends with Kurt."

Wes nodded gratefully at Mike, who nodded back solemnly. Tina wrapped an arm around his bicep. "But that doesn't mean we're letting you go," she stated bluntly. "You two have a lot of explaining to do."

David and Wes exchanged worried glances as the group gathered around them in a half circle, trapping them between the club and the table and effectively blocking any potential exits. Wes knew David was anxious about the same thing he was—how much did New Directions already know? Finn and Mike had vouched for their good character, so they must not have gotten too upset that Wes's conduct had been rather more inquisitive than was socially acceptable. They couldn't know about them breaking into Blaine's computer, and Kurt would have no reason to mention that Wes had seen some of their performance photos, or that David had been present when he had received some of the latest gossip. But if Brittany knew (as she likely did) about the stolen files…

Puck the Mohawk Guy had apparently been elected Bad Cop, because he stood in front of the two of them looking, frankly, petrifying. He nodded to Santana—who was actually filing her nails, Wes noted in utter disbelief—and she released David's leg with a reluctant sigh, before sauntering over to join the others.

"First things first," Puck demanded as David bent over with a strangled gasp and began massaging the rapidly swelling heelmark through his jeans. "We've heard a lot of crazy shit about Gay Boy Academy, and you're gonna explain it to us. Understand?"

Wes, who was intelligent enough to refrain from correcting him, chose instead to nod quietly.

"First of all, where the hell is Westerville?" Puck wanted to know. "Because you're all supposed to be, like, two hours away from Lima, but you people are always here—Pixie came to visit all the time before Kurt even transferred, and even now he practically lives in the Navigator. And I don't drink fruity coffee drinks, but everyone else says that they can't even turn around in the Lima Bean without tripping over a dorky uniform."

"And we've checked—the Lima Bean is definitely in Lima," Quinn supplied helpfully.

"And you really need to settle this for us, because we're seeing a lot of conflicting information on this one: Where do you people live?" Kurt's friend Mercedes asked. "Because we all thought Dalton was a boarding school, since Kurt's always bitching about not getting to wear his own clothes at all during the week, and he's there at night so often, and he and Finn didn't see each other at all between their parents' wedding and Sectionals. But then all of the sudden the Incredible Hulk is getting bedside warm milk deliveries every night, and he says that Kurt and Blaine were at his house after school last week."

"And I don't know if he stays at the house at night or not, okay? I need a lot of sleep!" Finn protested loudly, and not without frustration. Wes gathered from the several eye-rolls and dubious glances that Finn had already been harangued on the subject before.

The boy in the wheelchair rolled forward slightly. "Also, we'd really like to know how you've managed to con the school administration into letting you operate without a director," he confided quietly.

"And what is with that stupid yellow bird Kurt's been carting around everywhere?" Mercedes demanded. "You know you can't just force pets onto people, right? I know I'm not the only one who thinks that's insane."

The room was silent as everyone stared expectantly at Wes and David, who, for their part, were thoroughly taken aback.

Well, nearly silent.

"Kurt says you invited a bunch of girls to a creepy abandoned warehouse for a sex party," Brittany complained. "Why wasn't I invited?"