Author's Note: I've started my new job, guys XD There's a television right in front of the till, and if it so happens to be quiet while Glee's repeated... Well, then I get paid to watch Glee, don't I? Although, I must admit, I'm kind of apprehensive for the 'Original Songs' episode, because I know there'll be flailing, and my work colleagues aren't yet aware of my fangirlyness.

Once again, (because I wouldn't really like to be sued...) I don't own anything here. Enjoy!


"Letters for you, guys. And have you two taken to receiving joint mail now?" You'd be justified in assuming that this was aimed at Kurt and Blaine – sadly, Jeff was talking to David and me.

"Not to my knowledge," I replied, examining the envelope – sure enough, 'David and Wes Warbler' was written in heavily cursive handwriting. Kurt grinned.

"I think I know what these are. Guys, prepare to witness a Rachel Berry Party." I looked at Kurt's and Blaine's (separate) envelopes, and then back to ours.

"Why's ours so much thicker?" Kurt shrugged, while slitting his envelope open.

"They got a bit carried away while writing it, but I didn't think they'd include their written conversation too." He turned his attention to his letter, while I tore ours open. I started to read, and David leant over my shoulder to follow along.

'Dear David and Wes Warblers,' it began.

'You are cordially invited to Rachel Berry's birthday party, which will take place at my house. There will be light refreshments and entertainment. Réspondez s'il vous plaîte.' Below this, in writing I could identify as Kurt's:

'You've spelt 'plaît' wrong, dear.'

'Look, Kurt Hummel, I'm still convinced that your friends are spies, sent to ruin my' "my" was heavily crossed out, and replaced with 'our chances at fame, and the only reason I'm inviting them is because Santana refuses to come unless Wes is there. If Santana doesn't come, no one will.'

'Bring booze guys ;)'

'No, Noah, they are not allowed to bring alcohol. No alcohol, Warblers.'

'And this is why no one likes you.'

'Well, they obviously do, otherwise they wouldn't be expressing their wishes to come to my party, regardless of the presence of one Santana Lopez.'

'Berry, people are only coming to your party to get you trashed.'

"Kurt," I said slowly, flicking through the invitation. "There's like, eight pages in here." He looked over and made a grunt of assent. "Why... Are we expected to read all of this?" He shook his head.

"Most of that," he pointed to the invitational essay that David was attempting to plough through. "Will be arguing. I left them to it at about page four..." He extracted a page from the leaflet and scanned it. "Ah, here we go – 'Well, as hilarious as this has been, I've got to go.' ...And you don't need to read the rest," he said quickly, attempting to hide the page from view.

However, I used my super-ninja speed, and swiped the page back for our own reading amusement... What, no sarcastic comment?

No, actually – trying to cut back. Sarcasm is apparently bad for your appendix.

"Bless you, Kurt, this is adorable," David said, handing me the sheet and starting on page five. "Positively romantic poetry, right there." Underneath Kurt's sign off, it seemed all of New Directions had, once again, jumped in to have their say-

'WANKY!'

'I, for one, have to agree with Santana here.'

'Hell yeah, my boy's finally gonna get some!'

'Whoa, dude, that's my little brother you're talking about!'

'Finn, Kurt is neither younger than you or your brother.'

'Umm, how do we know Kurt's getting some? He could be, I don't know, going to meet his dad or something..."

'Urgh, MENTAL IMAGES!'

'Moving on from incest... Sam, its obvious Kurt is going to make gay babies; did you see the colour of his face?'

'Kurt's going to have a baby dolphin? Can I be godmother?'

'No, Britt. What do you think they're doing right now?'

'I highly doubt that Kurt's even'

'Right now? Some really hot making out. Wonder if they'll make it a threesome...'

'SANTANA!'

'What? That Blaine kid is hot, and you can't deny that Hummel will probably be a total animal in bed.'

'This is my step-brother – I don't want to be discussing his sex life!'

'His rambunctious sex life...'

'WANKY!'

And so it carried on, in this cyclical fashion, until eventually it ended with-

'Look, Warblers, just come to the god damn party. You don't even have to respond, we're just assuming that you're coming.'

I looked up at Kurt curiously; he flushed and pointed at me.

"If you value your lives," he flicked his pointed finger between me and David, who was crying with laughter.

It was a combination of the invitation and the confused and irritated look on Blaine's face at being excluded.

"You won't say anything. To anyone. Ever."

"Not even the part with the strawberries and chocolate sauce on your-" I said, stopping to laugh at Blaine. His face had flushed a hilarious shade of magenta, and I could practically see the scenarios playing out in his head.

"Especially the part – wait, there was nothing about strawberries and chocolate sauce!" David snorted with laughter, and Kurt threw his spoon at him.

"Idiot. Remind me to kill you both later."


"Let's play spin-"

"No, Rachel. That's just your excuse to make out with everyone. I'll tell you how the partners are going down this evening – Quinn will probably drunk-rape Finn, Artie and Britt will find a corner, Mike and Tina will find some other corner, Santana will try to get in various threesomes, and will then settle for Sam-"

"Hey!" Sam interjected angrily, but Puck just ignored him and carried on.

"Mercedes will get drunk and giggly with the Warblers-"

"Well, that's a pathetic image of me, thanks."

"There's nothing pathetic about us, Mercedes Jones!"

"Lauren and myself will find a cupboard or a bedroom to go make some bedroom magic happen, Kurt and Blaine will look on like bemused parents, and you, Rachel," Puck looked deeply at Rachel, almost as if he was searching her soul.

What, are we writing a romance novel for horny pre-teens now?

"You will desperately try to get someone to sing karaoke with you, in the hopes of showing off your mad skills. Again" Rachel opened her mouth, and then snapped it shut and folded her arms sulkily. It was quiet for a few seconds, and then David piped up,

"What about Spin-The-Bottle-Truth-Or-Dare-Shots?" The other guys all cheered happily, and Puck slapped David on the back.

"I knew there was a reason we told Rachel to invite you. Rachel, go get the alcohol."

"Okay, Noah!" Rachel said cheerfully, practically skipping out of the room. I raised an eyebrow at Mercedes, who just shrugged.

"We think she's high on her perceptions of her own talent. She hasn't had anything to drink – oh hell no, Berry, you've got to be kidding me." Rachel raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"What? You don't like red wine?" She held up the bottle of fairly expensive looking wine, and there was a collective groan.

"Rachel, you promised you'd get alcohol. That's not alcohol - that's juice for old people. We can't possibly get drunk on that. Hell, we probably can't even all get a drink from that – there's sixteen of us. How do you honestly expect to divide one bottle up between all of us?" Rachel just smiled knowledgably in response.

"I'm not. That's why I bought another bottle, but I'm keeping that upstairs – no sense in opening a bottle if there's no need for it!" There was silence for a few seconds, and then,

"I'M GOING TO KILL HER!" Santana shrieked, lunging off Sam's lap like a girl possessed.

Fortunately, Sam embraced his innate ninja and grabbed hold of her arms before she had the time to commit murder. We may have to adopt him as, I don't know, our pet or something.

Eventually, after everyone had established that Rachel's blood would be very difficult to remove from the carpets, and none of us was willing to bury her body, Puck held up a hand.

"Right, we need to sort out the punch. Rachel, go get the other bottle of wine; I'll pour it in, and hope the chemicals will react or something to create vodka substitute." He looked at David and me cautiously. "Warblers, come help me... sort it out." Blaine and Kurt shot us odd looks from where they were practically spooning on the floor, but we chose to ignore them, and made our way to where Puck was hovering over the punch. He looked around suspiciously.

"Have you got it?" He muttered out of the corner of his mouth. I nodded subtly, while David pulled out a bottle from his... Wait, where did you pull that bottle from?

A magician never reveals his secrets.

Fine.

"Good," Puck sighed in relief. "Because shots of wine aren't shots, dude. They're just... well, small glasses of wine. Pour it in."

"What, all of it? This is pretty strong stuff," David said dubiously, peering at the label. "It's a really high alcohol percentage, it's like-"

"Yes, all of it." Puck grabbed the bottle, opened it, and sniffed the contents like a wine connoisseur. "You don't understand – you need alcohol to make it through a Berry Party. Otherwise it's just being in a confined space with Rachel Berry for hours on end, playing Charades and talking about your feelings." He shuddered like a man with too much experience for his liking, and poured the alcohol into the punch. Using the neck of the bottle to stir it in, he also poured in the wine, making the originally green punch turn a very strange shade of brown.

Do you know what it reminded me of?

If it begins with a 'd' and ends in 'iarrhoea', then you need your brain sorted out.

I was actually going to say 'chocolate', but yes, now that you mention it, it did look like diarrhoea.

...That's... no, you know what, I won't even respond. I just hope this shows Kurt and Blaine's children that you're a freak.

"Puckerman, I don't see why you need to put two bottles of wine in the punch, I'm sure one would have sufficed..." Rachel, wine in hand, paused, and stared at the punch. Her eye started to twitch, and then she shrieked,

"Noah Puckerman, what did you do to my PUNCH? That punch, mister, was the perfect blend of limeade and lemonade, with just a hint of lime sherbet and rum, and you've turned it BURGANDY!"

"I've also turned it into alcohol, Berry, so now your party won't suck ass. You can thank me later, when you go up slightly in the cool rating. Now, give me the wine bottle." Puck managed to snatch it from Rachel's hand – probably because she'd gone into a daze, mouthing the word 'cool' to herself repeatedly. He poured it in, and then smirked at the room.

"Drink's up, guys."


"Alright, Blaine, truth or dare?" Mike said, swaying slightly from his spot on the floor. Blaine, who hadn't been affected by the alcohol yet, grinned.

"Truth."

"Drink up then, Blainey boy!" David said happily, a slightly absent grin on his face. Blaine rolled his eyes, and knocked back a shot of the killer alcoholic punch.

"The other day... I can't really remember what day it was... Tuesday? No, couldn't have been Tuesday, because today's Tuesday... Wait, today's not Tuesday, is it? It can't be, because then mom would've made me stay at home for dinner... What was the question?" Mike looked around curiously.

"Truth or dare, honey." Tina said, giggling happily. Mike smiled.

"Dare."

"No, you asked Blaine, dear, and he said 'truth'. So now you ask him a question, remember?" Mike opened his mouth into an 'oh' shape, and smirked at Blaine.

"Right. The other day, when you met Kurt on a date, did you have rambunctious sex? Only, well, we all thought you did." Kurt flushed to the same colour as the punch, and Blaine released a very weird noise that sounded like a mixture of a squeak and a moan.

"What? No! Not that, you know, sex with Kurt would be bad – it'd probably be great – fantastic, even... I - I'm going to shut up now." He took another shot of punch, studiously avoiding my, David's and Kurt's eyes, and then span the bottle. "Santana, truth or dare?" He said hurriedly.

"Dare, of course. What d'you take me for?"

"Uh... Go... Give Tina a lap dance." Blaine didn't catch the looks everyone gave him, because he was whispering frantically in Kurt's ear. Halfway through their whispering – everyone was staring at them, but they were oblivious to it – Kurt gulped, downed a shot, took Blaine by the hand and dragged him out of the room. There was silence, and then Santana said,

"Do I still have to do the dare?"


"Wes? Wes. Wes, I think the people are turning blue, Wes. Why is the sky blue, anyway? I like the sky, it's pretty. Where's Kurt and Blaine? Surely they can't still be doing whatever they're doing. Unless... No, wait, there they are. Over there. Huh. They're not blue. Why aren't they blue?" Ah, the joys of being designated driver. Drunk people seem to sniff you out and ramble at you for hours on end.

I wasn't that drunk.

David, you don't even remember most of the night, that's why you made me write it up!

Everyone had given up on Truth or Dare without actually coming to that conclusion and, true to Puck's word, everyone had paired off almost exactly as he'd said – except Santana was in a corner, crying hysterically, and it was just David and Mercedes giggling; I was watching everyone get steadily more and more drunk.

"I just want everyone to know..." Blaine shouted suddenly, standing up unsteadily and grinning inanely. Kurt giggled loudly. "I love Kurt. Very, very, veeery much. One day, I'd like to have his babies." He nodded his head solemnly, and I repressed a snigger.

"Dude, is this normal behaviour for him?" Sam said, with a very similar resigned expression on his face as was on mine – a fellow designated driver, it seemed.

"He's always been one for public displays of affection, but usually they're more eloquent and involve bursting into song..."

"And now, I'd like to dedicate a song to my beautiful Kurtsie, which is called 'Baby Got Back'."

"Huh. Apparently, some character traits don't recede with drunkenness," I said, taking a sip of Coke and sitting back to watch Blaine serenade Kurt with Sir Mix A Lot. Kurt seemed to enjoy it, too – either that, or he was just swaying appreciatively from being drunk. Luckily for them, only Sam and I seemed to be paying attention – everyone else was either as intoxicated as they were, or more so. Finn was actually passed out on the floor, while Quinn poked him with her foot angrily.

"Blaine, I want to tell you that, even though your hair smells like Mr Shushe... Suest... Mr Will Glee Club, which would normally put me off, I would love you to have my babies. We should go make some right now, in fact." Kurt's face fell. "Oh, wait, we can't. Finn told me we can't have sex when we're drunk, because it doesn't work."

"Really?" Blaine said, leaning forward worriedly. "When does it start working again?"

"The sad thing is," Sam said thoughtfully, swilling his limeade around in its cup. "We'll be the only two who remember anything from tonight. And who's honestly going to believe us when we say Kurt and Blaine believed that sex doesn't work when drunk?" I grinned evilly, and pointed to Rachel.

"I happen to know that Rachel owns a camcorder – Kurt told me that she made a music video before or something. So, we just ask if we can borrow it. She's not going to ask why, she's spinning on the spot and praying to the fairies." Sam raised his eyebrows.

"I still don't understand why you Warblers have such controlled performances – you're all evil as hell." I shrugged.

"We hold back the crazy during performances, which makes us weirder in everyday situations. Rachel?" I said, poking Rachel. She stopped spinning abruptly and squinted at me.

"Wes? Or are you David? Are you spying on my performance?"

"I'm Wes, and no, I'm not. Can I borrow your camcorder? I want to make a music video." I gave the first excuse that popped into my head, and Rachel squealed.

"I love music videos! Can I be in it? Actually, I demand to be in it, because it's my house, and my punch, and I'm so extra specially talented. Go get it right now, in fact – it's in that drawer over there." She pointed wildly to the other side of the room.

"Thanks, Rach. And don't you think it'd be a better idea if we all stayed the night? Then no one's likely to get hurt," Sam said reasonably. Rachel nodded, and went back to spinning. Sam turned to me. "This way, I can head home now and grab my laptop, while you start filming. No one's gonna be awake before midday tomorrow, so we can hook the film up, burn it onto a disk and play the film when everyone's sobered up a little." I stared at Sam in shock.

"Why've I been told you're stupid?"

"Because I am." He shrugged whilst grinning. "That doesn't mean I can't be an evil genius, you know. I just lack common sense."


"It's done. It's... brilliant. Sam, have I told you how amazing you are?"

"You could mention it more often."

I can't believe you two were bromancing while I was unconscious. I feel cheated on.

This is precisely why I haven't told you until now – you'd get jealous. If you hadn't gotten drunk out of your head, you could've joined in, making it the most epic bromance since the Bee Gees.

...They are brothers, twat.

And that's precisely why the bromance would be epic.

"Oh, bloody hell why's that light so bright?" A torrent of swearing erupted from the pile of hungover people at the other side of the room. Sam ejected the disc, turned off his laptop and threw painkillers in that general direction.

"Morning, sunshine. How's your head?" I said, smiling cheerily at the bleary eyed Mercedes; she covered her ears.

"Why're you shouting so loud? I'm only over here. Why's Berry sleeping on my legs?" She pushed Rachel off with a hard shove, causing her to squeal and roll off – disgruntled moans followed.

"Rachel, for once in your life, shut your ungodly mouth," Tina said irritably, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"What happened? Was there an earthquake? Are we dead? Where's Candy Mountain?" Brittany said confusedly.

"We're not dead, hun, just severely hungover," Artie said, rubbing his face. "Although, I don't remember anything after I started drinking that punch."

"The last thing I remember," a voice I recognised as Blaine's said, although I couldn't actually see him. "Was Mike asking me something in Truth or Dare..." He crawled out from behind the sofa and sat up slowly. "And then Kurt and I..." He flushed bright red. "I don't remember anything else." Lies, Blaine. Lies.

"Who said my name? Whoa, sweet grilled Cheesus... Damn it, Finn, why did you make that so catchy?" Kurt had sat up too quickly, and was forced to bend over and clutch his head. Blaine rubbed his shoulders soothingly – although, the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that Blaine looked like he was going to throw up at any second.

"Warblers, you rock! I haven't been this hungover in months!" Puck said, entirely too cheerfully for someone supposedly hungover.

"Wait, what do the Warblers have to do with our hangovers?" Lauren said, popping up next to Puck. I waved my hands frantically at Puck, but he was entirely oblivious.

"Well, David and Wes specifically. They helped me spike the punch with really strong vodka. Help spice things up, you know?"

"You spiked the punch?" Kurt said slowly, glaring at the comatose David and me for a few minutes. "I..." He deflated. "I can't even bring myself to get angry at the moment, it's too much effort. But I assure you, I will. Eventually. Somebody kick David, would you?" Quinn, who was closest, nudged him gently with her toe, resulting in him rolling over onto his back and staring at the ceiling.

"God, this is... Damn. Did somebody hit me round the head with a crowbar? Or run me over at all with a tractor? Because this isn't a hangover, it's hell."

"Is everyone awake, and feeling somewhat alive? Wes and I have something to show you all." Sam said, waving the CD in the air. Everyone looked at us, half-confused, half-suspicious.

"If this is anything Broadway, I will literally cry. I can barely stand Rachel crooning to Broadway songs while I'm sober." Santana said, shuffling into a sitting position against the wall. I sniggered.

"Broadway makes an... appearance, you could say. Rachel, you wouldn't happen to have a projector we can hook the DVD player up to, do you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. My dads and I like to watch the Oscars on a bigger screen, so as to appreciate the dresses in a much clearer detail." She tottered unsteadily over to the DVD player, fiddled with the wires for a few minutes, and then held out her hand for the CD, which Sam handed over.

The screen was black for a few minutes, and then Sam's face appeared on the wall that the DVD player was being projected onto. Everyone looked at it curiously.


"Is it on?" Sam said – my voice could be heard muttering in the background. "Okay. Good morning, guys. I really hope none of you are dead, but I hope you've all got the hangovers from hell because trust me, after the amount you've been drinking, you'll deserve it. Some... interesting things have been happening, that Wes and I feel you're not going to believe when you're all in your right minds." The camera shook as it was passed over, and then my face filled the screen.

"So, in the interests of truth and friendship, we've decided to record your antics, so you can appreciate them sober, like Sam and I have had to. Oh, and another thing... Anything you witness here – you did yourselves. Sam and I had no say in it. At all. This all came from your drunk little minds. Enjoy, guys!" The picture fades to black – thank God for Sam's computer skills – and then refades into a picture of Artie and Mike giggling like small children, their backs to the camera.

"Artie, Mike, what're you doing?" They turn around guiltily, hiding the wall they had been facing with their backs.

"Uh... Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"We promise." Apparently they were unaware of the camera, because they looked at each other, sniggered again, and moved away from the wall with a flourish.

"We found some lipstick in Brittany and Tina's bags, and Mike said 'These look like pens!' Then I said 'But they're not pens, because you can't write with them.' So Mike said we should try it, but we couldn't find any paper, so we thought we'd use Rachel's bathroom wall instead." There, covering her wall, were the type of doodles you find in any teenage boys notebook – but on a much bigger scale. Penises, boobs, crude drawings of cars, more penises, and a huge table, rating the New Direction girls' asses.

"You know, Rachel might not like this, guys," Sam said, the camera shaking slightly from where I was silently laughing whilst holding it.

"...She won't mind... Though we should up her ass rating, just in case." Mike nodded decisively, and rubbed at the number by Rachel's name with his sleeve, leaving a dark red smear on the white tile. The screen faded to black again, and cut to a picture of Santana crying.

"Santana? Are you okay?" I asked – Sam was holding the camera. She nodded, shook her head, nodded again, and then shrugged.

"Maybe. What's the camera for?"

"We're making a movie," I said simply. "Of everyone here. We're all going to watch it in the morning." Santana stared into the camera for a few seconds. Suddenly, she blurted out,

"I love you guys. Very much. I know I say I hate you, but I love you all lots. Except Berry. I do actually hate you. But not as much as I used to. So, does that mean I love you? Yes, I love Rachel Berry, in a I want to pull your brains out through your nostrils kind of way." She stopped crying, stood up quickly and shouted, "Now who wants an ORGY?" Rather than the camera fading out to the next scene, however, the camera just span around and moved through the dancing bodies, eventually stopping in front of Rachel.

"Hey, Rach, what're you doing there?" Rachel looked up from her phone and blinked slowly for a few minutes.

"I'm texting?" She questioned. She looked down at her phone again. "Yeah, I'm texting."

"Who're you texting, then?" I said, leaning over to have a look – she pulled the phone away possessively.

"Finn. He needs to know that our love is real, and if he wants, I'm totally ready for him to have his wicked way with me. Only I can't remember how to spell 'I'. Is it like eye?" She poked herself in the eye, but didn't seem to notice. "Or is it like 'aye', as in Scottish people?" The camera shook, and then Sam appeared at Rachel's side; he held out a hand for the phone, which she passed over without argument.

"What do you want to say, Rachel? I'll type it out, and then you can read it to make sure it's okay."

"Type in 'I love you, and you need to have sex with me.'" Sam didn't bat an eyelid, but just typed it in and handed it back to her. She squinted at the screen, nodded and pressed send – well, I assumed she pressed send.

Finn suddenly appeared onscreen, brandishing his phone like a weapon.

"It vibrated! Why's it vibrating, Rachel? Is my phone breaking? Are we all going to die?" She gasped.

"I don't know, Finn! But now your phone's broken, you're not going to get my text which proclaims my love!" Finn sighed.

"We need to fix my phone. I know if you hit a nail with a hammer it fixes things, so maybe if we hit my phone with a hammer?"

"Brilliant plan... Oh, wait, my dads don't have a toolkit. Would a mallet work?" Finn looked confused.

"Why would Puck's hair help?"

"That's a mullet, Finn. I think. And I didn't know Puck had a mullet, I thought he had a Mohawk." If you listened to the video very carefully, you could hear drunk singing in the background, and an occasional snort of laughter from Sam. Finn shook his head knowledgably.

"No, it's definitely a mullet. See?" He reached out of the camera shot, and pushed a very drunk looking Puck up close to the camera. "Muuulllllllett. Huh. Mullet. It sounds weird if you keep saying it over, like it's not a word, you know? Mullet. Mullet mullet mullet mullet-"

"Where'd Lauren go? Damn it, she was going to let me touch her knockers!" Puck swore loudly. "I hate you all! You all suck! I wish I'd never come to this god damn party, and Lauren won't let me into her enormous pants, and I'm going to be a celebrate monk for the rest of my life!" Lauren suddenly appeared, sniggering cruelly.

"You mean shelibate. Sella-butt. Shelly-bait? Whatever. Come on, Puckerman, let's go not touch my boobs." Puck looked appeased at the mention of the word 'boobs', and was pulled off camera as the picture turned black again.

"It's very dark in here..." A voice whispered on screen. There was giggling, and then shushing.

"David, don't let them hear us, we're hiding!" Another giggle. Then, the sound of fumbling on the camera, and the picture changed into the traditional green of night vision. The camera angle was very low, almost as if...

"Sam," I muttered to him. "Were you filming this from the floor?" He nodded.

"Under the bed, actually. While you were looking for Kurt and Blaine." I grunted in acknowledgement, and went back to watching the film.

"Mercedes? Why aren't they coming to find us?" Mercedes shrugged.

"Dunno. Maybe they've forgotten us. We should play a game while we wait – I spy with my little eye, something beginning with 'd'."

"Uh... Dark?"

"Yes! Your turn!"

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with... 'D'."

"Hmm... Oh, dark!"

"Hooray!" The film started to move quicker, the timer on the bottom of the screen flying through the seconds. The picture eventually faded to Sam, on his own, holding the camera up so he could talk into it.

"Because I care about you lot, I won't make you sit through the half an hour I did of 'I Spy Darkness'. But Mercedes and David have summed up a very important theory – simple amusements for simple minds." He grinned wickedly and turned the camera off. A few seconds later, it turned back on, this time with me commentating.

"We've finally managed to track down the elusive Quinn – and let me tell you, it wasn't easy. I feel like a nature documentary narrator... Anyway, come on, Cameraman Sam." Sam trotted after me as I opened the door to the kitchen, where Quinn was raiding the fridge.

"Quinn?" She turned rapidly on her heel, and glared wide eyed at the camera, one eye twitching.

"What? What do you want? My food!" She hugged the fridge possessively. To my credit, I didn't even bat an eyelid.

"How're you feeling?" She growled like a wild animal, baring her teeth in a scowl.

"MY food!" I held up my hands defensively.

"Okay, Quinn, your food. Please don't kill me!" Sam and I backed out of the room, with the distinct sounds of Quinn muttering 'Food, I love food, still getting cravings, so hungry...' The camera spun around to an accidental close-up of Brittany, who was walking around clad only in her underwear and one of Rachel's lampshades on her head.

"Hey, Brittany," I said dubiously. I'll be honest, I was scared of Brittany on normal, sober days. There was no telling what she'd be like drunk.

"Wes, have you seen Tina? We're acting out Harry Potter, and I've lost my wand, so if she finds me she'll probably kill me – she's Voldemort, you know." She nodded wisely, and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wasn't liable to kill us, like Quinn probably would.

"No, I haven't... Wait, isn't that her, with bits of plant stuck to her arms?" Sam said, his hand appearing on camera to point at what was most definitely Tina, sneaking along with 'camouflaged' arms – the hilarious thing was she was pressing herself up against a white wall. Brittany just looked at her blankly, then threw her head back and let out a high-pitched squeal, before rushing out of the room, closely followed by Tina.

"Well..." I said slowly. "That was weird. Even for drunken behaviour."

"But it was Brittany," Sam added wisely.


The movie shuddered to a halt, and I heard Kurt and Blaine breathe a distinctive sigh of relief. I merely smirked as the movie jumped back into life, revealing a shot of both Sam and me.

"Bet you thought we'd forgotten you, huh, Klaine?" Sam turned to look at me and mouthed 'Klaine?' "Yeah, it's quicker than saying 'Kurt and Blaine' all the time." He nodded as if his life was suddenly so much easier. "So, rather than just including a clip of your antics – and trust me, guys, what you've seen so far was just clips, we couldn't possibly film the whole night – we followed you around for most of the night, and just edited in the best bits."

"Unfortunately," Sam said sombrely. "We missed the chance to film the 'Baby Got Back' serenade, but you'll just have to believe us when we say that it was epic in all its entirety."

"Never fear, though," I said happily, waving my arms with a flourish that Sam mimicked (I'll admit, we rehearsed it). "Klaine is here!"


"Hey, Blaine – Wes and Dav... Hey, you're not David!" Kurt said irritably, poking Sam repeatedly in the arm.

"Yeah, where's David, Wes?"

"Contrary to popular belief, we aren't joined at the hip." Kurt giggled.

"I want Blaine joined to my hips." Blaine waggled his eyebrows in what I can only assume was supposed to be sexy.

"Just name the time and place, baby." He was so very drunk.

"Right here, right now?" Blaine gasped.

"But... They're watching, Kurt!"

"Let them watch," Kurt all but growled, practically pouncing on Blaine. The screen went black, and then Sam's voice came over the speakers.

"If we'd shown you any more, this would be classed as soft porn, so we'll just skip ahead, shall we?"


"I, Blaine, take thee–"

"So, guys, what're you up to now?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe. Blaine sighed in exasperation.

"We're practicing our wedding. If you feel you must watch, then just be quiet!" He coughed. "Anyway, I, Blaine, take thee, Kurt, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to... uh, have sex with, to make breakfast for and pin against the wall for very hot morning sex, to buy shoes with and take showers together for extremely hot shower sex, and to watch 'Wicked' with you on repeat from this day forward." Kurt smiled widely, and then sang,

"Kiss me too fiercely, hold me too tight,

I need help believing, you're with me tonight.

My wildest dreaming, could not foresee,

Lying beside you, with you wanting me."

"This is bloody surreal," Sam muttered from behind the camera.

"Why, because you know it could happen in reality, or because you're feeling all choked up at a pretend wedding?"

"...Both."


Kurt and Blaine were staring avidly at a blank piece of paper. Before Sam or I could even ask what they were doing, Kurt sighed in frustration.

"No, Blaine. I know what you're thinking, and the answer is no."

"I bet you don't know what I'm thinking at all," he replied smugly, folding his arms behind his head.

"Ooh, reeeeaally?" Blaine nodded. "You're thinking that 'Elvendork' is a perfectly acceptable name for our child, aren't you?" Blaine fell backward off his chair, hitting his head on the kitchen floor. "Blaine, for the last time, J. K. Rowling, as talented as she is, has not written a code we should live our lives by!"

"Are they..." Sam said slowly. "Are they planning their kids' names? This doesn't fit into any drunken archetype!"

"Really? The distinct lack of clothing doesn't fit into the 'gets naked while drunk' archetype, no?"

"...To be honest, I hadn't even noticed. I think I'm becoming immune to people in their boxers after seeing Finn in his."

"I... You know what, I don't want to know."


"Is that... Blaine, Kurt, why're you wearing Rachel's clothes? You realise she will kill you in the morning?" Kurt snickered.

"But we look so pretty! The cat on Blaine's sweater really brings out the colour in his eyes."


The movie came to an abrupt stop. There was silence in the room, and then Kurt said,

"I don't know whether to be mortified at that, angry as hell that you filmed it, or grateful that I didn't do anything too heinous."

"We figured you wouldn't want some of the more... adult rated stuff filmed." Blaine spluttered, and Kurt squeaked,

"We... You... Did you watch?"

"What did we do?" Blaine said quickly, and Kurt smacked him on the arm. "What? You don't remember, I don't remember – we might've had sex without realising it!"

"Trust me, Blaine – there was no sex. Do you honestly think anyone would still be here if you two started getting your 'groove' on?"

"Well, you stayed even though Lauren and I-"

"Puckerman, we didn't have sex. We didn't even kiss."

"I – what – damn it!"


...I hate you.

Still? Really? Admit it, you'd have done exactly the same thing.

Oh, yeah, I know, and I don't hate you for that. What I hate you for is indulging in another bromance without me!

David, you know ours is the most epic bromance out there.

Thank you, that's all I wanted to hear. Kurt and Blaine are weird drunks, kids, so don't let them go out. Or drink alcohol. They start getting all horny and sentimental, which is a bloody freaky combination.

Speaking of sentimental...

Oh, god, you're right, the ultimate sentimental fest was coming up. Graduation. And you've left it to me to write. Dick.

Think of it as payback for making me designated driver that night. That alcohol looked awesome.


Author's Note: I feel I should say something before I get down on my knees and thank you all profusely for the love you've shown me.

Some of you, at the end of a chapter, get worried that I'm just going to leave it there and not continue. Trust me, guys, I'm seeing this through to the end. And don't worry, I'll make the end painfully obvious. The last chapter will probably be called 'The Final One', or something equally unimaginative. There'll be fanfares and tickertape and balloons and such. And if that doesn't work, I'll change the story status to 'complete' XD

So, moving on... Thank you thank you thank you thank you! These reviews, favourites, alerts, reads... Wow. I didn't know people could be so awesome. Never doubt your awesomeness, guys, seriously.