A/N: This chapter was strangely difficult to write, but I hope it doesn't disappoint. At one point there had been a Brotherly!Furt + Carole scene that got cut to a Brotherly!Furt scene, then taken out completely as it seemed to be baggage more than anything. But the trade off was this little insight into Jordan's household, which I was looking forward to and I hope provides some insight into his character. I suppose I should also mention that when I began writing I fully did not intend for there to be so many gosh-darn Beatles songs in this fic. They just have a perfect song for almost every occasion, and arguing with a muse is a completely futile practice.
Enjoy!
ELEVEN:
By the end of the week that began with that insane Monday Valentine's Day, Blaine had not heard any further news from Kurt. He had called him twice and texted him several times throughout the week with no reply. Blaine figured that in his condition, Kurt could hardly be expected to return phone calls, but that didn't prevent him from worrying. It was for the sake of not appearing overbearing that he refrained from actually going to the hospital to see for himself. If something had gone wrong, Burt would have alerted him. He was sure of this.
When he woke up Sunday morning, Blaine saw (Messages: 1) on his phone.
Sorry about the late reply – they didn't give me my things until they discharged me.
Something about the dangers of overexcitement in my oh-so-fragile state.
Got home last night though. See you Monday?
-K
Upon receiving that message, Blaine relaxed considerably. Kurt was alright, he was home. Even better, he would be at school the next day so Blaine could actually see him. He hadn't hoped for as much. What Kurt didn't know, however, was that Blaine had already been putting plans in motion for the day Kurt returned.
Absolutely. I have to see that you're alright with my own two eyes, after all.
-B
"…All alone! Whether you like it or not, alone is something you'll be quite a lot. And when you're alone, there's a very good chance you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants. There are some, down the road between hither and yon, that can scare you so much you won't want to go on."
The voice from within the recesses of fluffy bed sheets cleared her throat with a small squeaking noise. The teenage boy paused in his reading and glanced up at her, but she merely blinked at him with her large sapphire eyes.
The boy lowered his matching eyes to the book once more and continued to read. "But on you will go though the weather be foul. On you will go though your enemies prowl. On you will go though the Hakken-Kraks howl. Onward up many a frightening creek, though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak."
"But I don't like sneakers," the small girl complained. "I want to wear high heels, just like a grown-up lady like Mommy! Or a model!"
The teen sighed indulgently. This was a common occurrence – in fact, a nightly one. His sister insisted that she couldn't go to sleep without being read a Dr. Suess book. "Elsa," he whispered. "Hush, it's almost over." She burrowed down into her blankets and he continued. "On and on you will hike. And I know you'll hike far and face up to your problems whatever they are."
"Jordie," Elsa spoke again, whispering this time. "Do we have more problems than normal people?"
Jordan paused, wondering as he often did how best to explain things to a fragile five-year-old mind. "Everyone has problems, El. If you didn't…well, that would be a problem."
"But do we have more than most people?" She looked at him with her expressive round eyes and Jordan could hardly find his brave face. "Mommy said that we have too many problems. And when I asked her if that's why she goes away so much, she said that she didn't have time and left. Are…are we problems, Jordie?"
"Hey," Jordan said seriously, brushing some of Elsa's blonde, elfin hair away from her eyes. "I don't ever want to hear you say that again. You are nobody's problem, El. In fact, you might just be the best thing to ever happen to me."
The small girl giggled, clapping her hands over her mouth. "Reeeeaaalllly?"
"Oh yeah," he said with assurance. "Who would I talk to if I didn't have you around, huh?"
"What about the boys at the school with the funny jackets?"
She didn't know any better, Jordan reminded himself. "I don't think so, Elsie. Can I just finish this, El? It's getting late and we both have school tomorrow." She nodded and Jordan looked back at the book. "You'll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. You'll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go. So be sure where you step. Step with care and great tact and remember that Life's a Great Balancing Act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot from your left."
"Are you happy, Jordie?"
"Are you even listening?"
"I can think and listen at the same time," she responded sweetly, rubbing her tired eyes with a small fist. "And I know all the words."
Jordan smiled largely, as if the more teeth he could expose would be more proof of his happiness. "Look how happy I am," he said, pointing to his smile. "If I was any happier, my face would fall off completely."
"But you don't usually smile," she pursued. "Only when I smile first."
"That's because I have a lot to do, especially when mom and dad are gone."
"But they're here now, and you don't smile."
Jordan sighed and massaged his temples. The thing about five year olds was that they never let anything go. "Maybe because it's only dad right now, and he's leaving tomorrow morning anyways."
"You're gonna take me to school, Jordie?"
"As usual," he affirmed. "Well, it looks like we're never going to finish this tonight, so let's just put a hold on it, alright?"
Elsa nodded, blonde locks bouncing. Jordan tucked the blankets around her like a burrito and kissed her forehead before plugging in her pink nightlight and flicking off the main light in her room. "Night, El."
He walked down the polished hardwood floor of the hallway, stopping outside his father's study. Hesitantly, he inched the door open, knocking on it as he did so.
"No," sounded his father's voice from inside the room. "Valerie, if I've said it once, I've said it a million times, I don't – what? You're breaking up, it must be the rain. I – Valerie, hold on a second. What?" The last question was directed toward Jordan, who was still standing hesitantly in the frame of the door.
"I tucked Elsa into bed," he said. "I just wanted to say goodbye if we don't get a chance to see you before you leave tomorrow."
"I'll be back in a week or so." And those were the only words his father directed toward Jordan before clicking back into the call on his Bluetooth. "I'm back. No, you can tell them to go to someone else if that's what they think. They'll be crawling back in no time…"
Jordan shut the door once more, shutting out the sounds of his father's business call. He was not surprised by what had happened. In fact, it was a common occurrence around the Aaron household when speaking to either Marcus or Geraldine.
Jordan's parents had been the ones who got him into theatre in the first place; he was constantly telling people that. However, it wasn't mere coincidence that the children's theatre club had run every day after school until six o'clock at night. He would never go as far as saying that his parents didn't love him and Elsa – he was sure they did. They just loved their jobs far more. But in Jordan's reckoning, that was a good thing. That way he got the be the one to take care of his little sister, a job he wouldn't give up for the world.
At home, Jordan was forced into loftiness. That and his overwhelming sense of self-confidence were carefully crafted defense mechanisms. After all, if your parents didn't put confidence in you, who was left?
Once in his room, Jordan glanced at his phone again. He had a missed call from Kurt that was made earlier, and he'd been periodically returning to look at it over the course of the day, needing continuous proof that it was real. He'd tried to suck up the nerve to call him back but in the end he couldn't muster it. He communicated much more affectively in person; it was the benefit of being a stage actor.
He was just about to put his phone away when it buzzed, the signal for an incoming new message. Jordan was surprised when he saw who it was from.
We're going to do it at practice tomorrow.
He'll be there.
You good with your part?
-B
As much as Jordan loathed the thought of working with Anderson toward a common goal, they'd had an idea they needed to pursue and Jordan couldn't deny that the boy was talented. They'd exchanged numbers to choreograph the idea, and a couple of the other boys had even stayed after regular Warbler practice to hone their presentation.
It seemed that the one time the two boys were fine with working with the other was when the ultimate goal was a good will gesture for Kurt. The countertenor had been out of school for almost a week, and was still in bad shape, everyone knew that. Jordan couldn't help but feel like he'd played at least a small part in the accident, and though he still didn't know what had happened to make Kurt so upset, he was sure Blaine felt the same. They'd both needed this, as an apology if nothing else.
Ultimately they'd gone with Blaine's choice in song, but even Jordan had to agree that it was a perfect song to sing for Kurt as a welcome back.
Count on it.
-J
He set his phone on his nightstand again before sliding into bed and turning to look out of his second story window at the storm that had suddenly picked up outside. He'd thought about Kurt a lot over the week – too much. He'd never felt the need to pursue anyone before, which was what he was undoubtedly going to all this trouble for. Others had always pursued him first. Jordan was attracted to talent, he knew that. He also thirsted for a challenge, which in winning he could prove that he himself was worth something.
When he'd heard those sirens, the situation got launched quickly into reality. The way his heart had seemed to leap from his chest, the way his feet had begun to carry him away across the pavement without a second thought for more reasonable transportation, contrary to Blaine. He'd just wanted action. It was a foreign feeling to Jordan, to be protective of someone in that way. The young talent was finding that he rather enjoyed it.
A yellow burst of light shot in through Jordan's open curtains, throwing his room into electric relief, highlighting everything inside as if by the light of day. A few seconds later, a coursing rumble sounded, intense enough to make a picture on the wall shake. By the time it had ended a few seconds later, Jordan had already tiredly thrown open the side of his covers facing the door.
Sure enough, not a moment later his door squeaked open. Elsa's small silhouette was framed there for a minute before she scuttled in the rest of the way. "Jordie," she whispered. "The thunder man shook my room. I – I think he was trying to break in."
"It's just a thunderstorm, Elsie," Jordan said soothingly. "Are you scared?"
She lifted her small, five-year-old chin defiantly. "No," she said securely. "I just –" At that moment lightning lit the room again and Elsa had fled to the safety of her brother's bed in record time.
"Sure you aren't," Jordan said with a chuckle. "Just for tonight, 'kay?"
"M'kay." She paused for a moment in speech, though Jordan could feel her wiggling around to get comfortable. "Hey Jordie? Could you sing me a lullaby?"
Jordan sat up in the bed, surprised at her request. He'd sung to her when she was a baby, and he sometimes practiced his songs with her in place of the audience, but she didn't usually ask for lullabies. "Er…sure, El. Just close your eyes, alright? Pretend that the storm has gone away, pretend that it's summer and there are lightning bugs outside, like we had in Carolina. Do you remember that, El?"
"Mhmm."
"Maybe there's some in a jar on that shelf, over there. You wouldn't need a nightlight, then." Slowly, Jordan transitioned into the first song which came into his mind.
Now it's time to say goodnight
Goodnight, sleep tight
Now the sun turns out his light
Goodnight, sleep tight
Dreams, sweet dreams for me
Dreams, sweet dreams for you
Jordan heard his sister's breathing begin to even out into the low, even breaths of sleep.
Close your eyes and I'll close mine
Goodnight, sleep tight
Now the moon begins to shine
Goodnight, sleep tight
Dreams, sweet dreams for me
Dreams, sweet dreams for you
He paused in his quiet singing to peer over at Elsa, who was now sleeping soundly. Jordan chuckled, shaking his head before he settled back among his own pillows to fall asleep himself.
Kurt hobbled off of the bus to Dalton – a dreadful and common, but necessary mode of transportation to the chic, high-class school – fumbling to use both crutches without hurting his sprained wrist while also positioning his messenger bag in a way that didn't put stress on his braced neck. On second thought, Kurt sincerely wished that he had asked for a wheelchair. Perhaps a temporary assistant as well, who could carry his things and wheel him around – he'd done the wheelchair scenario in McKinley once before, and had needed to double the rigorous maintenance of his delicate hands for a month afterward.
At least he'd had the chance to add some desperately needed decorations to his bland cast yesterday. He was not having people sign it in the tacky styling of fifth grade. No, Kurt had meticulously bedazzled his knee-high cast. He'd even cut out small twirls and patters of fabric and carefully positioned them so that the atrocious thing on his leg was more like a work of art than anything else. If he was going to be forced to spend two months in a plaster prison, he might as well do it with style.
He hobbled through the school, people shooting him sympathetic looks or offering their well wishes and apologies, as if they had something to be sorry about. Thankfully, the door to Alcott's music class was open so he didn't have to fumble his crutches around to do it himself. To Kurt's immense surprise, Jordan was sitting in the front of the classroom, one seat away from Blaine. Kurt's usual seat – now empty – sat between them, though they were whispering together, seemingly in moderate spirits.
Jordan looked up to the door, face breaking into a grin when he saw Kurt standing there. Blaine then glanced up, though his expression wasn't nearly as gleeful. He looked more horrorstruck than anything, eye wide as they took in the brace and crutches.
Kurt didn't know what he'd been expecting if not this. Had he thought he'd heal magically over the week? On second thought, he wouldn't be surprised. That would be just like Blaine, always overly idealistic. He crutched his way into the room and struggled his way out of his messenger bag. It didn't take long for Blaine to jump to his feet and take over, sliding the strap over his head easily and lowering the bag gently to the ground.
"Glad to see you on two feet," Jordan said shrewdly.
Blaine cut him a sharp glance, but Kurt merely chuckled bitterly. "One peg leg though…so lame, I know. Pirates were totally 2003."
"It…doesn't look very pirate inspired, to be honest. It looks…like you got attacked by costume jewelry."
Kurt scoffed, as if injured. "This took all day, I'll have you know."
"I think it's a vast improvement," Blaine piped up, the first words he had spoken yet. He turned to Kurt, corner of his mouth tipping up in a smile. "You're alright, all considering, and that's what matters. I'm so glad you're okay – we all are." Blaine and Jordan exchanged a glance, causing Kurt to frown in confusion. When had this happened? "We – well, a bunch of the Warblers really – put something together for you."
"We asked the Alcotts if we could hold off solo auditions for one day, so we could…demonstrate how we feel," Jordan finished.
Kurt was caught completely off-guard, though certainly touched by this mysterious gesture. "I can't wait."
The rest of the day passed in a horrible, painful blur. By lunch break, Kurt's arms were hurting from crutching all over campus, and his neck was feeling strained in spite of the brace. His French teacher, in the last class of the day, seemed to take pity on him and didn't call on him to answer any of the questions. By the time that class was over, Kurt was more than ready to catch the bus home and sleep for years, but the mysterious draw of what Blaine and Jordan had choreographed proved too strong of a lure.
He was the last Warbler in the music hall of course, having had to slowly crutch there. It occurred to him then that he might just look as horrible as he felt, for Blaine's face contorted in concern. However, none of the other boys showed that same sentiment. It made sense – Blaine did know him better than anyone else ever had.
"Kurt," said Mrs. Alcott kindly, walking up to him and relieving him of his cumbersome shoulder bag. "I didn't get a chance to talk to you in class, I'm sorry. How are you? Doing alright?"
"Having the time of my life," he answered with a forced smile.
"Stupid question," the woman said softly, beaming at him all the while. "This should make you feel better though, I've heard them practicing after Warbler practices." She nodded at the group, who moved into formation.
Not all of the Warblers mobilized. There seemed to be an elite force that made up the singing group. They grouped together in orderly formation behind two wooden stools, which Blaine and Jordan would occupy shortly. Finally, the last two settled down, each with a guitar in hand.
"Kurt," Blaine started, fingers moving idly over the strings, producing a melody subconsciously. "You probably don't realize this, but you brought something to us when you came from the New Directions. I don't think anyone would be able to put a label on it, but the past week, it was notably absent." He paused, the Warblers murmuring in agreement, even the ones in the audience with Kurt.
"This isn't meant to make light of how serious your accident was – we're lucky that you're alive, really. This song is about finding hope in the darkest of situations. It's about looking past the little things that trouble you day to day," Blaine met his eyes meaningfully, "and recognizing the beauty and uniqueness of every moment for what it is."
The random ramblings of his melody began to weave themselves into a distinctive song, and though Kurt didn't recognize it, that only made him listen harder. Soon, Blaine's melody was joined by a different, yet complimentary one from Jordan. Together, they weaved themselves into an intricate array of sounds that rang out purely though the music hall. Jordan was the first once to sing, his rich voice echoing easily through the hall.
Yes, I'm being followed by a moonshadow
Moonshadow, moonshadow
Leaping and hopping on a moonshadow
Moonshadow, moonshadow
And if I ever lose my hands
Lose my plow, lose my lands
Oh, if I ever lose my lands
Oh if…I won't have to work no more
Kurt listened attentively, the song foreign yet familiar to him. It was simple, as so many songs produced today were not, so Kurt figured that it must be something older. He bit down gently on his bottom lip as he watched Jordan sang, grateful to be able to watch him without being prepared to look away at a second's notice.
He hadn't known that Jordan could play an instrument, though it didn't surprise him. He wasn't quite as adept at it as Blaine was, though that was hardly a fair comparison. Blaine could compose a melody in his sleep and sell it as a number-one hit. Blaine's familiar voice picked up where Jordan's had left off, the Warblers behind them kicking in with a series of calming backup vocals that were, as always, flawless.
And if I ever lose my eyes
If my colors all run dry
Yes, if I ever lose my eyes
Oh if…I won't have to cry no more
Yes, I'm being followed by a moonshadow
Moonshadow, moonshadow
Leaping and hopping on a moonshadow
Moonshadow, moonshadow
Kurt's eyes slid across the singing Warblers, each one of whom was looking directly at him and him only. He was feeling more self-conscious than he ever had before in his entire life, but it meant more to him than he could express. He hadn't thought that Dalton suited him. It had been too different from McKinley, too different from what he knew and loved so much. But different wasn't bad. It just took more getting used to than he'd anticipated. He was sure that it would, even now, take a while for him to feel completely comfortable in Dalton, but this small gesture was beginning to give him hope.
Jordan began to sing again, and Kurt wondered briefly if he felt the same. He was new to Dalton too, after all. Perhaps he'd mention it sooner than later.
And if I ever lose my legs
I won't moan and I won't beg
Yes, if I ever lose my legs
I won't have to walk no more
And if I ever lose my mouth
All my teeth, north and south
Yes, if I ever lose my mouth
I won't have to talk…
Blaine and Jordan remained sitting on the stools, but the other singing Warblers began to spread out around them, creating a fanned formation encompassing the breadth of the audience. Kurt glanced covertly to the two Alcotts to see them both beaming at the performers, interlaced hands swinging along with the music.
Blaine was looking out toward Kurt, fingers never making a false step. He smiled reassuringly and dipped his head in a nod as he and Jordan played a melody bereft of words for a moment. His voice was a tad rougher when he sang next, though in retrospect Kurt was able to convince himself that it was his imagination only.
Did it take long to find me?
I asked the faithful light
Oh, did it take long to find me?
And are you gonna stay the night?
Immediately, Jordan's voice joined Blaine's in startling harmony.
Oh, I'm being followed by a moonshadow
Moonshadow, moonshadow
Leaping and hopping on a moonshadow
Moonshadow, moonshadow
The two repeated the last line in turn, finally closing the song with a fading melody. None of the Warblers said anything, waiting for Kurt's reaction instead. "I…that was…I mean, you guys…" Quickly, Kurt cleared his throat, mentally reprimanding himself for the tight feeling in his chest and the slight teariness of his eyes. "It was…just perfect."
"Perfect enough for Regionals?" Mr. Alcott said with a chuckle, breaking the tension, which Kurt was glad for.
The Warblers broke into smatterings of laughter and various degrees of accordance. Behind the twittering veil presented by the Warblers, Jordan and Blaine interacted unnoticed by Kurt.
"Not bad at all, Anderson," Jordan acquiesced, holding out a hand.
"Can't sing a duet alone," Blaine responded properly, shaking his hand with just the right amount of force. "Thanks for doing that, though. For…Kurt."
"Right," Jordan said slowly. "About that. Look Anderson, I know what you're trying to do with him, a blind man could see that." The older boy paused. "I just thought it was fair to warn you that you aren't the only one who can get what he wants around here."
Blaine's face was serious. "This isn't a game, Jordan," he said quietly. "I'm sorry if that's all it is for you, but Kurt is a person that I care about, and I won't treat him as a prize to be won. I just won't."
"But you do have competition," Jordan insisted. "I won't sit back without trying to get what I want."
Blaine shook his head, as if he pitied the boy in front of him. "You just don't understand," he said, in the same even whisper that he'd been using. He turned to look at Kurt, who was talking animatedly with David. "You can't just…want something for the sake of wanting it, or depriving someone else of it. There's more to life than that."
Jordan clenched his jaw, but didn't say anything. Blaine was the one who didn't understand; no one understood him. He didn't know that Jordan had never wanted to make someone who wasn't himself or Elsa happy, ever. That he wanted to learn every joke in the book to get Kurt to smile, maybe even laugh. It wasn't about the game at all. Finally, he glanced side-long at Blaine. "Don't pretend to know me, Anderson."
Blaine contemplated Jordan as he walked away with his things, out of the musical hall even before Mr. Alcott called an official end to the shortened practice. As much as he absolutely loathed admitting it, Jordan's last words rang loud and true.
Goodnight - The Beatles
Moonshadow - Cat Stevens
