Chapter warnings: Mentions of suicidal behavior.
Door Slam
The night is eerily silent, and Kurt's entire body is fizzing with adrenaline as he finally puts down his own can of blue paint, takes out the brush and dips it inside. He's still having a hard time believing they listened and agreed with him, and it feels surreal to be up here in the village, so shortly after the attack, in the dead of the night covering their walls in blue eyes. He frowns as he paints the first one. Wrinkling his nose, he considers that it looks like some kind of Egyptian symbol – but then again, it's not like they'd recognize it, is it?
They'd hardly waited before doing this on the very night Kurt suggested it. It's not like they have anything to lose, and if there's an all-time low on the number of guards in town, it's the day after a sweep.
They're working in pairs and Kurt can appreciate how they're observant enough not to partner him up with Blaine, despite how obvious that choice would have been two days ago. And yet, Quinn's quiet presence next to him isn't as soothing as he'd thought. He's so confused by the whole thing, as he paints, that he barely notices when she suddenly walks away. He turns to remind her they're not supposed to do that, when he finds Blaine taking her place and finishing the eye she'd been painting.
"Oh." Kurt clenches his jaw and turns back towards the wall. He ignores the way his hands are itching to touch Blaine and his heart is eager to forget everything and just hug him already.
"I was three years old when Cat found me," Blaine starts, his voice calm and quiet. "I was playing in the snow – I wasn't even supposed to be there, but my brother would sometimes get us away from the nannies and take me outside…"
This is clearly a very private conversation, one not many people are privy to. He moves his brush against the wall as he speaks, moving further and further down the street while Kurt merely watches him, gaping slightly and trying to reboot his brain into paying attention. Blaine isn't sparing many details as he goes through the years of his life and its events – Cat, Cooper, Isabelle, finding out the kind of man his father was, growing up with very little friends and still losing those, his fights with his brother and the way he so clearly grew to resent Blaine for his gift.
Kurt may have wanted to know it, but as Blaine goes on and on, his chest feels tighter and tighter and tighter, and he realizes that it's guilt stirring up inside of him. This isn't some stupid detail about himself that Blaine had refused to mention out of embarrassment, or because he didn't trust Kurt – god forbid anything be about someone else other than me… Kurt thinks acidly.
And now Blaine's telling him everything because he thinks he has no other choice. Because he thinks he has something to prove to Kurt.
"And I just knew – I knew he'd told them. I had to leave, just like that." He snaps his fingers as illustration, "I didn't even get to say goodbye to anyone…
"The next day the papers were filled with the news of my death. I was reportedly killed by an enchanter. It was the perfect excuse for them to intensify the war on enchanters. They put out a warning with pictures of Cat, which I'm pretty sure Cooper took while I was still living in the castle, of course, telling people and guards to look out for a small maroon cat, because it was my killer's totem – Guards are instructed to capture any cat like that that they find, and I guess Cat escaped before they could the other day, but still, they plastered the place with pictures, the ones from three years ago. I don't know if whoever saw her knew better than to assume she was just a regular cat, or if they just saw it and thought it would be better to report it to their superiors, as it's supposed to happen, and they just decided to attack this place as a shot in the dark… Anyway, I was stupid, either way. I kind of thought she'd be safe around these parts, where guards aren't particularly focused on catching that single wizard who supposedly killed me, you know? But I guess not. All it takes is one second of bad luck." Blaine sighs and shakes his head. "Anyway, using my death as the catalyst for it, two months later they were locking up every single registered enchanter they could find and moving them to camps. When I finally managed to find the Resistance, it took a lot for them to trust me. Wes, who recruited me, was the only person who truly trusted me for months."
Blaine is still diligently painting blue eyes on the wall, some small, some bigger, a flare here and there, but it's clearly something to keep him from looking at Kurt.
"Being part of the resistance, even when most people didn't trust me, was the first time in my life I felt like I was doing something worthwhile. I could breathe… I could… I don't know… But even then it took me a long time before I felt close to okay… Most of the time I just… I didn't know how to deal with anyone around me, look them in the eye knowing that they thought they knew anything about me. That they thought I was just a spoiled little brat who didn't get his way so he decided he'd turn on his daddy. How some of them would make bets on how long it would be before I ran back home with my tail between my legs. It just… it took me a lot to shut them up, and to find people willing to stand up for me." He sighs, his voice having broken a few times. "Santana showed up and, for some reason I don't quite know yet, she believed me, and then bullied everyone else into trusting me too. We both started out in the Dalton cell, but a couple of close calls made it vital that I move somewhere farther, and I was still determined to find Kitty, so when I heard they were opening a cell exclusively to deal with the camps, I made it my mission to come here, and help out with that."
Kurt still has no idea what to say to that, and he's never felt so cold even as he wraps his coat tighter and tighter around himself. A strange sort of silence settles until Blaine speaks again, a sad little chuckle punctuating the awkwardness.
"Anyway… that's my story… I think." He shrugs. "But, huh, let me just… What else should I tell you?" He frowns and purses his lips in concentration. "Oh! Right!" he startles, remembering something, "So, I had a crush on Sam for a while there, but he likes girls, so… we became best friends instead," Blaine chuckles softly. "After that, Rachel joined us, and when she and Finn were sorting things out, we may have had a little thing, but… yeah, that was a lapse in judgment – she was just kind and made me feel like… I don't know, like I didn't have to apologize for anything – but I never liked her that way, I was just confused." He laughs, "But yeah, anyway… hm, I know it's embarrassingly obvious, but if we're in the spirit of honesty I might as well just get it out in the wide open," he takes a deep breath and steels himself for something, cheeks red and hand finally fumbling around the paintbrush. For the first time since he started talking, Blaine looks at Kurt. "You've been here for a couple of months now, and I'd say I've been into you since, like… day one, and it's really not just a harmless crush anymore… it's something that I… I've never felt like this for anyone before, so you'll have to forgive me if I make some mistakes, because I just have no idea what I'm doing. I don't even know if I should be doing anything. You're going to leave, so…"
"Blaine…" Kurt breathes.
"So that's... that's all. That's me. Everything worth telling." He shrugs, small and shy. "I'm sorry I made you feel like I didn't trust you. I do. I promise I do. But this wasn't about you…" he says, finally dropping his brush into the can and crossing his arms over his chest, his shoulders hunched as he looks away, "The thing is… My father had your parents killed, Kurt. My father would have you killed if he got the chance. He's responsible for hundreds of deaths every year. He's destroying lives… And I just… I want to feel like I'm enough, you know? Like maybe I'm enough to be more than just… someone related to him… I want to feel like I'm just… me. Just Blaine. But there's so much…"
"Blaine…!"
"It's barely been a year since I've managed to stop crying myself to sleep every night – I still do it sometimes, actually… I just… I can't walk down the street without feeling like I owe every single person something, some kind of… I don't know – an apology at the very least."
"You don't owe anything to anyone." Kurt steps closer, "Not even to me."
"Yeah…" Blaine breathes, chuckling sadly, "I know that… rationally. I just… can't stop feeling the opposite. I – there were so many things I could've done to stop him, from inside the castle, and instead I ran away."
"You didn't just run away…" Kurt rolls his eyes fondly, "You protected yourself. Anyone would've done that. And if you hadn't left, you wouldn't have found the Resistance. How could you have helped them, then?"
"I… sometimes I just… I don't know," Blaine shrugs, "I could've ended this such a long time ago… I could've… I knew where he slept, you know?"
"Blaine!" Kurt's heart stops for a moment with the weight of such an implication, "He's your father! And you were a kid – you still are. I don't think anyone would blame you for not killing your own father."
Blaine smiles feebly and shrugs, "I don't know… It's kind of what we're trying to do now, isn't it?"
"Not necessarily, no, and I don't think people expect you to do it, anyway. Blaine, come on, as horrible as he might be I think it's understandable that you didn't kill your father in his sleep when you were fifteen." Kurt smiles gently, before adding in a lighter, easier tone, "Although, it would also be understandable if you had."
Blaine does chuckle, thankfully, not bitter or strained, just subdued – Kurt can live with that, so he smiles and lets his body rest against the wall, tension evaporating into thin air.
"Anyway…" Blaine rolls his eyes and turns fully towards Kurt, "I'm sorry I kept it a secret from you. I promise there are no more secrets between us – not from me, anyway. Can we at least go back to being friends, now?" His smile is easy and relaxed as he offers a hand to shake.
"I… of course!" Kurt gasps, throwing his arms around Blaine and completely ignoring his hand. Blaine's breathy laugh in his ear is heaven, compared to the steely silence of the last day, "I'm sorry I snapped. I had no right to."
"It's fine." Blaine nods against his shoulder but doesn't pull away. Kurt can feel his own heartbeat slowing, his breath easing and lets his eyes close and his lips stretch into a peaceful smile.
They hold each other close for a long time, until the approaching voices of Rachel and Finn startle them back to reality.
They spring apart and busy themselves straightening their clothes and looking around. Kurt feels his cheeks burning, and lets the realization that Blaine is definitely, openly gay and interested in him hit him. It's a delicious impact as his chest swells with something like hope. It feels like the air in his lungs is lighter somehow, maybe tinted pink, or sparkling with pretty bubbles. It feels like the tips of his fingers are alight, and the midwinter night wind smells like daisies.
The moment might be tinted by the rest of Blaine's confession, but that one wonderful part is enough to make Kurt press his lips together to keep from laughing. Instead, he scratches the back of his neck, looks back to Blaine and says, "We should probably get back to work."
"Probably." Blaine nods, smiling sheepishly and scratching the bridge of his nose adorably, just as Finn and Rachel turn the corner.
"Everything alright?" Finn calls.
"Yeah. So far, so good." Blaine calls back.
"Ok, we're heading west. Will will come get you for the town square once he and Emma are done over at Rose Street, Blaine."
"Sure thing." Blaine nods, turning back towards his materials and picking his brush up, as Rachel and Finn hurry away.
Kurt watches Blaine for another moment before he can pull himself together and get his own things, setting to work on his side of the street, significantly less blue than Blaine's. They work in silence for a long time, sometimes exchanging glances and giggling as they look away, until approaching footsteps call their attention once more. They watch in anticipation as finally Will emerges, and the both of them sag visibly with relief.
Blaine wordlessly nods towards Will before he turns to Kurt, eyes flicking towards the eye he'd been painting, gigantic and right in the middle of a peeling, grey wall. With a smirk, Blaine says, "You missed a spot," and proceeds to lean over Kurt's shoulder, swiping his own brush over the still grey spot amidst the blue iris.
As he leaves, Kurt is left still breathing in the sweet scent of vanilla and cinnamon that he's come to recognize as Blaine's. He closes his eyes for a moment, ignoring as Puck takes Blaine's place with a casual "'sup."
The night is otherwise uneventful for Kurt. Quinn and Santana had a run in with guards that they had easily, quickly and expertly gotten rid of, going so far as chaining their unconscious bodies to the gallows on the main square. Blaine and Will had apparently made equally easy work of the guards that had been stationed there, anyway.
Sam, Mike and Tina, surprisingly, received warm cups of tea from one of the houses they had been silently painting on, while Rachel had been busy keeping a handful of curious children silent.
As the group finally makes their way across the front door to the house, they're exhausted but mostly happy, knowing that the next day would mean renewed hope across the land. Most of them make their way to their bedrooms without much fuss, but the mood is drastically different than from the night before.
Kurt has his hand on his own doorknob when a soft hand travels across the back of his shoulders and a gentle voice says, "Sleep well". He turns to find Blaine, but doesn't have any time to say anything back before Blaine has lent in and pressed a quick kiss to Kurt's cheek, just as quickly turning away and walking quietly to his bedroom.
"Nausea," a voice drawls, and Kurt spins around, back colliding against the door, finding Santana with her arms crossed over her chest walking briskly behind Blaine.
Kurt opens his mouth to retort, but the memory of her anger not too long ago holds him back. After what she's been through in the last couple of days, he can probably deal with a few jabs. He watches her leave, until she's disappeared into her room, the giddiness of Blaine's sweet, chaste kiss now considerably dampened, and he finally slips into his own. He discards his clothes slowly, considering a shower before bed, but his muscles and brain alike are screaming for a deep sort of sleep he hasn't managed in days.
As soon as he's down to his underwear he crawls into bed, vowing to change the sheets the next morning, and hugs his pillow tight. A small cracking noise forces his eyes back open and he grins as he sees Cat squeezing through the ajar door, and gently padding into the bedroom. She gracefully climbs onto the bed and curls up at Kurt's feet, and Kurt finally understands what the fuss was all about at Christmas.
He'd read it, but somehow he hadn't registered that part of the information. Cat isn't just any cat that happens to be Blaine's and give him magic powers. Cat is Blaine's totem, with a very close and very specific relation and connection to him. She is a mirror to his soul and emotions. Cat is very trusting of people because Blaine is also very trusting. Cat likes Kurt, because Blaine likes Kurt.
And Cat sleeps next to Kurt, because… well…
-x-
Lips slide against lips. Eager hands explore sweaty, slick skin. Golden against ivory – tan against pale. Moans, groans, long sighs and choked off breaths. Backs arch and press into a forgiving mattress and rumpled sheets, legs entwine and arms hold tight. Fingers dig deep into thick, dark curls, while a tongue tastes salty beads of moisture off a jawline. "I want you so much," a hushed voice breathes, while the other replies, "I've been looking for you forever…"
Every inch of their bodies is on fire. Pleasure is running through their veins, unrestrained and unlimited, but not alone – feelings, so many feelings, of fondness, of care, of tenderness… of something else entirely different, entirely bigger and much scarier. It feels strange, foreign and new, but so, so good: every part of it, but especially that feeling without a name. Or a name that couldn't yet be spelled out for lack of definition. Seeing it in the blurry reflection of a fogged up mirror.
A pair of lips detaches from flushed, pink skin – there will be a mark for days.
"Kurt…" Blaine says. His eyes are practically golden, though there is no light around them. Kurt can still see every detail, each mesmerizing a hypnotizing. "Kurt,… we have to stop."
"What?" he gasps, pushing himself onto his elbows.
"You have to go," Blaine says gently.
Kurt's stomach drops – drops down to the pits of hell. "But don't you want me?" Kurt frowns, tears pooling in his eyes as he wraps the thick coat tighter around himself.
Blaine tilts his head and smiles, sad, sarcastic, fond, teasing, knowing altogether, "Why would that matter?"
"It matters," Kurt insists, the chill of freezing snow making his feet ache and his body tremble.
"But you have to go home, either way." Blaine shrugs, expressionless as he opens the plain wooden door on their right.
"I…" Kurt freezes as he sees the room behind the door. His old bed, bigger than the one on his left, his old shelves much fuller than the single one above the bare desk, his old wardrobe so incredibly enticing with all of its colorful and stylish contents, instead of the practically empty, barren one.
"Go on," Blaine says calmly. A chill threatens to defeat Kurt entirely and bring him to his knees.
"I… Blaine…?" Kurt breathes carefully, "Please. Don't you want me? Say that you want me!"
Blaine shrugs, "I told you, that doesn't matter," he says before he turns around and goes towards his own bedroom off in the distance, Cat trailing calmly after him.
Kurt doesn't move for a while. He watches as Blaine walks away until he's a small dot in the distance, and only then, terribly alone, can he finally turn back to his old bedroom. He steps forwards, the familiar smell of his collection of Vogue magazines, of car oil that somehow always got there even when Kurt made it his mission in life to eradicate it from every clothing item or object that entered his room, of his old detergent – the smell of his old bedroom already so enticing. He crosses the threshold.
Too many things happen at once. His bedroom smells of stale, rotting air, and everything's dissolving into dust and ashes. Without warning, a chilly waft brings over the feeble scent of vanilla and cinnamon and the sound of a sob makes him look back. He catches a glimpse of a broken Blaine, sobbing naked and shivering on the empty, vast snow when the door slams in his face, cutting him off forever.
-x-
Kurt wakes up with a start. He takes in the slightly stained beige walls completely bare, the old rackety desk and the frail accompanying chair, the ajar door of the wardrobe revealing a couple of white shirts and some folded pants. He breathes in the scent of dusty air and firewood drifting in from the living room. He listens to Cat's gentle breaths, and watches the rise and fall of her back.
He doesn't have the energy to stress or panic over the dream – nightmare, actually.
"No need for Freud with that one…" Kurt mutters, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his face. The light filtering through announces the breaking dawn, which means he's barely slept more than two or three hours. "Great!" he groans, throwing himself back onto bed, head burying against the pillow.
Cat stirs and meows, before opening her eyes and raising her head. She nudges the lump of Kurt's feet through the covers before she curls back into sleep, her message clear – stop moving, I'm trying to sleep here. He gives her a defying glare, but keeps still nonetheless.
"Figures…" he sighs, and Cat raises her head again, eyeing him carefully, "Just my luck – find a guy who I like and who likes me back, and I can't have him."
Cat tilts her head a little – her eyes seem unimpressed.
"What? I can't!" he shrugs, "Can I?"
She's apparently decided that the conversation has ended, as she tucks her head back into her body without another glance.
"You're useless," Kurt shoots. She doesn't so much as move.
For a long time, he tries to go back to sleep, but the light outside only gets stronger and stronger, and he can't make his brain shut up. It's not like he wants to have another nightmare, anyway. It's probably somewhere around ten o'clock when he finally gives up and goes for a shower. The warmth of the water and the fresh smells of body and hair lotions soothe him considerably, but his chest is still a little too tight by the time he makes his way to the kitchen and makes himself some tea.
With a steaming mug he curls up on the couch and drinks it slowly. The house is still quiet and he knows he's probably the only one up – he's not sure if that's a good thing or not. He could use a distraction from his thoughts, but he's also not sure he could keep himself from spilling out embarrassing questions like "Would you be with someone if you knew it was doomed to end whether you wanted or not?"
Somewhere in the house a door opens, and before Kurt can make a decision about leaving or staying, Finn and Rachel are spilling out into the living room. They're completely focused on each other though, and don't notice him at all. Rachel has Finn's hand in both of hers and she's laughing, while he grins and tells her, "Shh, you're gonna wake the whole house."
"You're such an idiot." Rachel swats him over the shoulder, as they turn into the kitchen, "You woke me up!"
Kurt can hear them move around the space, giggling and speaking in hushed voices, and he thinks of the first time he saw each of them. Finn as pale as death with blood pouring out of his leg, and Rachel completely hysterical over her fear of losing him. He wonders if there's a scar to remind them of how close their love came to being over, and, if there is, how many times do they stop to look at it?
He doesn't understand how someone can voluntarily give their heart up for so much pain. When his parents got married, they did so under the understanding that they would spend the rest of their lives together, and that that would be a long, long time. Nowhere was his dad warned her time would be so much shorter than his. Kurt had often wondered if he would have changed anything, had he known – if Burt would have still gotten married to Elizabeth, had he known she would die only eight years later and leave him along with a challenging kid. When Kurt was fourteen, he'd asked and Burt had quickly said "yes" with the kind of certainty Kurt only had when it came to choosing bowties. Kurt had felt warmer at the thought, but a little confused, and Burt had told him he would get it one day.
Since then, Kurt had asked himself the same question several times, but life had treated him with spectacular cruelty so far and he had to learn all about protecting his heart. Even if, having witnessed the way his parents loved each other, and having been all too caught up with Disney and Broadway musicals, made it farfetched for Kurt to let go of his hopeless romanticism, he at least taught himself to dream of a love that would be right, and easy, and that he'd know how to navigate at once. He taught himself to dream of something perfect with all of the butterflies and none of the drama.
And then had taught himself never to settle for anything in his life – it was the only way he could maintain any hint of dignity in all the hell he'd been put through high school – and had always applied that same idea to his love life. Dream high and accept nothing else. He'd never dreamed of a love that came with a catch - that came with an expiration date - so why would he ever accept it?
If in high school, he hadn't gone for the closeted classmate (Kurt wasn't anyone's dirty little secret), or for the boy who wanted his body but not his heart (Kurt wanted a relationship based on feelings, not lust), or even the boy that did like him but Kurt couldn't bring himself to like back – why did his body and soul itch for Blaine? Blaine and their numbered days.
He'd brought himself up to believe that love shouldn't come with pain. He'd promised himself he would never settle for anything less than perfect. He understands, of course, the unpredictability of life (at this point, he probably understands it better than anyone, actually), but that doesn't mean he can bring himself to accept that love should come with entirely predictable and inevitable pain.
And yet, as he listens to Rachel and Finn's hushed voices and giggles, he wonders if that's what it means to be a coward.
In the past it'd been so easy to talk himself out of boys. He'd become infatuated and as soon as he realized it was hopeless he would pick something, anything, and direct all his anger and disdain on that small detail until it grew and grew, and spread everywhere, and Kurt couldn't possibly do anything other than sneer at the boy and think "how did I ever want this loser?"
But how would he even begin to do that with Blaine? Not for lack of things to choose from, but for lack of… determination. He simply doesn't want to stop his feelings for Blaine.
Quite hopeless – all of it.
Before either Rachel or Finn can notice Kurt, he heads off towards his bedroom to get ready for a long, lone run. Running and exhausting himself works wonders to calm the growing stress of not knowing what to do or say the moment he'd see Blaine again.
Of course, the agreed upon was the reestablishment of their friendship, but even that had always had special undertones Kurt had tried very hard to ignore and now couldn't. It feels like there's, somehow, a decision to be made. Move impossibly forward or move impossibly backwards.
Worn out from the run, however, he's high on endorphins and feels enough like play-dough that he can walk by Blaine, as the other boy is having breakfast, and smile without it having to mean anything more while he announces he is famished from skipping breakfast. Blaine smiles back and tosses him an apple, but also urges him to go take a shower. Kurt sticks his tongue out as he takes himself and his apple out of the kitchen and into the bathroom.
By the time he returns, a little more grounded and a little less capable of facing Blaine, he's glad to see the kitchen is empty, except for Quinn, who's slowly making her way through a toast. He gives her a smile while he goes to make one for himself.
"Hey," she says, "Puck's out to the world, so I was thinking maybe instead of your usual hand to hand combat training, you could come with me and we could start seeing about shooting targets?"
"Oh?!" Kurt gasps – the opportunity to spend a few hours isolated from everyone else, with the most no-bullshit person in the house, practicing something that requires precision and focus, incredibly enticing. "I'd love that."
She smiles, "Pack some snacks so we can stay out there for a while, and don't forget a warm coat. This may be hard but it also implies standing still a lot."
He nods, wondering if maybe she reads minds and knows what's going on in his head, before he starts pulling food out of the cabinet for both of them.
The shooting practice area is definitely the furthest from the house, for obvious reasons, and it feels very liberating to see nothing but white fields and white trees around them. Quinn teaches him the basic, beginner's essentials, and Kurt is surprised to find he's a natural. He can't actually hit every single target, and especially not the moving target Quinn jokingly dares him to, but for a first timer, even Quinn is impressed.
"Of course, this is nothing like the actual situation you're going to be shooting in, but you need to perfect the technique as much as possible, so that shaking hands and rushed aiming don't really factor in as much as they normally would."
"Yeah…" Kurt breathes, thinking of the guard he'd shot at and completely missed at the camp.
"It just needs to be second nature to you, you know?"
"It needs to feel like an extension of my hand…" Kurt offers.
"Exactly…" she gives him a smile, "Sam's going to tell you the same thing about swords, by the way."
"You mean, like Puck said about the impact of my punch – look, Kurt, it has to feel like the strength and the determination of your movement will go past your hand, like an extension of it… You guys need to learn about originality." Kurt laughs.
Quinn shakes her head, "Noah has a knack for coming up with the most ridiculous explanations ever…" she shrugs, "But sometimes they make a little sense, you know?"
"At least to you, I'd hope," he adds, a little scared that he'd overstepped their tentative friendship.
She considers him for a moment before cracking a smile, "He always makes sense to me – even when it's frustrating."
"Does that happen a lot?"
"It's Noah Puckerman…" she scoffs, and Kurt tries to laugh.
Instead, he can't help asking, "What about scared? Do you ever get scared?"
"For him?" she frowns, "Or for us as a couple?"
"Both… I guess."
"We're not a perfect couple, not by a long shot, but we love each other, and… I do think we're soul mates. So… I guess aside from the whole cheating on Finn debacle, I've never once doubted my decision to be with him. So. For us as a couple? No, I don't think so… never. I always know we're right for each other. For him? All the time."
"That's, huh, that's nice," Kurt manages, but everything he'd managed to push away during these hours with Quinn is back, full force.
"Kurt…?" she frowns, edging a careful hand towards his shoulder, "Kurt, what's going on between you and Blaine?"
He shakes his head and laughs bitterly, "I don't know…"
She eyes him for a long time as he blinks back frustrated tears, before she finally says, "It's okay to not know what you want, Kurt." She holds his chin and makes him look at her, "But it's not okay to jerk around with people's feelings. Take it from someone who's been there."
"I don't know what to do…"
"Maybe tell him that? He might just be as confused as you… he might not. He might even have all the right things to say." She walks away to gather everything up, "Do you want to keep going? I'm going to head back."
"I'll… stay here, I think."
"Okay." She nods, without letting a stitch of judgment through her voice.
Alone, Kurt knows she's probably right, but he has to admit to himself at least that it's still a conversation he's not ready to have. How could he ever look Blaine in the eye and tell him he doesn't know if they should act on their feelings? No! The very moment he'd try that, he would probably do something completely insane like kiss him.
Instead, he stays, practicing his shooting until it's almost dark, and only then, when he's sure there won't be many chances to run into Blaine alone, he makes his way back.
Unlike anything he's ever seen, everybody is in the living room talking excitedly. As soon as Kurt has closed the front door behind him, there's an explosion of cheers. Feeling a little like a cornered animal, Kurt raises his hands and everybody laughs. Without warning, Puck grabs him by the shoulder and shakes him, "Long live the king!"
"What?" Kurt gasps, looking around him at the happy faces, he can't help grinning as well, "What's happening?"
"We just got a message from Sue…" Tina beams, "The blue eyes are spreading everywhere… In less than a day – people are excited!"
"Everybody's high on hope!" Puck laughs.
"Oh… okay," he breathes, looking around himself and paying a little more attention. Santana still looks upset, and she's sitting by the table picking on a piece of bread. Will doesn't look as eager as most of the others, Quinn seems to be a little lost in thought, leaning against the wall, and Blaine's quietly sitting on the couch alternating between returning smiles and chewing on his lip. "That's good, right?"
"The killjoys over there are worried about riots and backlash," Puck rolls his eyes, "But I think it's about time everybody starts standing up. I mean, fuck, people can make decisions for themselves – if they want to riot, they got a right to."
"They won't necessarily go into a riot, anyway," Tina interrupts softly.
"I still think we should spread the word to avoid it," Mike points out, "Tell them to hold their breath for just a little while longer. We could use them, but on our timing."
"We'll talk strategy tomorrow!" Sam groans, "Right now let's enjoy the good thing!"
"You're right, Sam." Emma smiles, "We need to enjoy the small victories, and giving people hope is one step in the right direction."
That night, when Kurt goes to sleep, it's late and he is tired, having artfully avoided Blaine's company or even attention as he went to bed while the other boy was deep in conversation with Mike. Hoping that tonight he'll be able to get some proper sleep, Kurt does his bed time routine carefully and calmly.
-x-
Kurt wakes up in a start again well before dawn. With a groan, he pushes his face against the pillow and forces his eyes shut. He manages to fall back asleep, but it's fitful and by the time he does give up on it, he feels less rested than before. Like the previous day, he's out of the house and running through the trails in the woods before anyone else is up. He feels a little guilty for abandoning Rachel, but he doesn't want to have to deal with her reading his mind and refusing to shut up about it. Once he's back, he gladly accepts Puck's invitation to practice, and after a remarkably late lunch, he's glad to hear it's time for a strategy meeting.
When he gets to the meeting room, he notices that the seat next to Blaine is empty, and he can't bring himself to bypass it and sit somewhere else, so he slides carefully into it and makes the effort of looking at Blaine without blushing or crying.
"Hey there, stranger," Blaine whispers at once. He's smiling but his voice is a little hesitant. How foolish of him to think Blaine wouldn't notice Kurt avoiding him.
"Hey…" Kurt breathes back, hoping his smile conveys his apology.
Looking around them and checking that they're still not ready to start the meeting, Blaine frowns and leans in closer, "Is everything okay?"
"I…" Of course, everything is not okay.
"Listen, I… I can't exactly just take back what I said the other night, about, you know, having feelings for you, but-"
"I don't want you to," Kurt interrupts before he can stop himself.
"You don't?" Blaine gasps, "But you've been… you've been distant, ever since, I just I thought-"
"Alright, guys, let's start this thing!" Will calls around the table, and Blaine immediately falls silent, pressing his lips together and breathing deep through his nose. "We need to think about the implications of last night, and what kind of effects that might have on people… But, most importantly, we need to figure out, how we can use that to our advantage."
Kurt can barely pay attention to anything that's being said because Blaine is not paying attention. He's just frowning as he stares blindly at his own hands, folded carefully on the table. Does Blaine regret admitting his feelings to Kurt? Is the lack of response from Kurt hurting him? Well, of course it is. Kurt could very much imagine how he would feel if he'd exposed himself in that way to Blaine and then not heard a word in reply for two straight days. Yet he can't bring himself to do more besides nudge Blaine's foot with his own and crack a small smile when Blaine looks up. He receives a questioning glance in return, but when the answer doesn't come, Blaine looks away and shakes his head, turning his attention fully to Will.
"Given the circumstances, I think it would be unwise to wait much longer before we go for it. For Anderson, I mean." Will is saying, "If people are truly getting worked up about it, it would be risky to test their impatience… We need them on our side, under our advisement. We can't afford to fight a two-front battle."
"Can we afford to fight a battle at all?" Kurt can't help asking, "I know there are other cells, but if they're all as populated as this one, you'd need what…? At least fifty cells to get enough people for one kind of small battle, wouldn't you?"
"No, of course we can't fight a battle… Anything we do needs to be covert, quick and efficient. It was just a figure a speech." Will shakes his head.
"Not necessarily," Quinn says, "If we mobilize the people, we can use them. Mike was right, we could use a well-timed, well-placed riot."
Will considers her words before twisting his nose, "That would endanger a lot of people."
"It would be their choice," she counters, "just like it's ours to be here."
"We wouldn't necessarily need a riot…" Blaine interrupts, "We would need the promise of one. If there's one thing Anderson values is appearance. If he knew there were plans for a riot, he would never, ever let it happen. He would do whatever it took to make sure it didn't happen in the first place, including deploying most of his troops wherever they need to be."
"We could play a diversion tactic!" Kurt gasps, catching onto Blaine's train of though, "We create the pretense of a situation big enough that he'll have to respond, so we make sure that the capital is the least guarded it'll ever be."
"And all the while, he will be trying to act like nothing is happening – he will be having functions and dinners – the kind of situation that gives us a chance to strike out as many big names, including his, if possible, with as little people as possible as well."
"Oh my god!" Kurt gasps, and he never once thought that having had to endure a Tarantino movie for the sake and amusement of his dad would play out later in life, "Oh my god… Yes! That's it! We need to create a function, something, that he will perceive as his idea, or at least of someone close to him, so that we can pull all the strings, and get our own people in there with legitimate reasons… I mean,-"
Blaine shoots him a small, fond smile before turning back to Will, "How long are we talking about here? How much time before it goes down?"
"I… I would say, two months… tops?"
"Okay, that's close to Cooper's birthday. You all know they throw a big, very official party. Every year it gets bigger. They'll probably start to pull it together at the end of next month. We can get some of our people hired as staff, right?"
"Maybe…" Will nods, "They've had the same staff in the castle since before you left, but maybe we could-"
"No, no, they will need the extra hands."
"Okay…" Will looks barely convinced, but around the table everyone is clearly fizzing with excitement.
"So we need to divide into two areas of work," Artie calls out from the other end of the table, "Half of us should start working on the function, the other on the phantom riot."
"Actually, we shouldn't forget the Branc camp." Tina points out.
"And maybe we can retry to get military support from Carmen?" Quinn offers, "Wouldn't it be ideal if we got her to threaten war on Anderson? We can leak her invasion date and site to be somewhere, say the riot will happen somewhere else and make the connection between the two believable – as it would make sense for people to want to fight alongside her troops. If we could pull that off it would be two diversions instead of just one, so that even if they called our bluff on one of them, we'd still got the other."
"Right…"
"Except that we've asked for her help like a gazillion times…" Santana shrugs.
"We have." Quinn nods before smirking towards Kurt, "He hasn't."
"What? He can't leave the house, it's too dangerous!" Will gasps.
"Oh please, he's left the house twice now. I'm not saying he should go backpacking through the kingdoms. It's not even a little bit dangerous if Blaine opens an international portal. Besides, I think it's something we can risk, if it means military support."
"An international portal is not reliable enough."
"If it's you opening it, sure it's not…" Quinn shrugs and suddenly the whole room is immersed in heavy, awkward silence. "Blaine opens international portals all the time for camp prisoners, and keeps them open for hours, why would you think he couldn't do it for the two of them now?"
Next to Kurt, Blaine is rubbing a hand over his face and taking a deep breath, while Will has suddenly gone a little pale, but somehow manages to plow through it. "Alright, so, say we get an international portal correctly opened, you know they trace those in seconds."
"Not if they go together – someone would have to anyway. If it's just the two of them, he barely needs to keep it open for longer than a second."
"Just the two of them?"
Blaine clears his throat softly and cringes as he gets out, "I think we should give it a shot. I, huh, I can do it, and Carmen already knows me from when I went with you, anyway, so…"
"Why don't we put it to a vote?" Quinn prompts when Will doesn't immediately respond, "Who thinks Blaine and Kurt should go?"
Most hands rise.
"It's decided."
-x-
That night, after the meeting, it's circumstances that keep Kurt from following Quinn's advice and just talking to Blaine. Due to two bad nights in a row, Kurt's eyes are falling shut every two seconds as he waits for Blaine to finish his intense-looking conversation with Quinn and Will, after dinner. Eventually, he can't help it, the couch is just so soft and velvety, it really feels like it was made for napping. And it's just a little nap. Just a small little nap, while he waits. He'll wake up in five.
He doesn't. He wakes up what feels like hours later (and it's probably just a couple), with a hand shaking his shoulder. He cracks an eye open to find Blaine looking back over his shoulder and saying, "You guys go ahead, I'll just get him to bed and go to sleep myself. Good night."
Kurt struggles to see who Blaine was talking to, his brain a little slow and mushy.
"Hey, Kurt, you should probably go to bed, no?"
"Mm, velvety." He murmurs pressing his cheek back into the pillow.
Blaine chuckles, "Yes, but not entirely ideal to spend the whole night on. You'll get a crick in your neck, trust me."
"Mm'kay," Kurt concedes and pushes himself to sit, and Blaine offers a hand to pull him up. They shuffle quietly towards the bedrooms and as he finally reaches his door, he frowns and says, "Wait, no." He turns back towards Blaine who was already continuing down the corridor, "We were, I-, we were supposed to talk," Kurt mumbles before yawning.
Blaine squeezes his shoulder warmly, "Maybe tomorrow? When you're, you know, awake."
"Yeah." Kurt nods sheepishly, "That might be better."
"Good night." Blaine waves with a fond chuckle, before turning and continuing towards his own bedroom.
Kurt strips carelessly and dives into his bed.
Exhaustion, it seems, is no free pass to get out of nightmares, and Kurt is wake within mere hours, panting again and hating the way the door slam always manages to scare the shit out of him. With a loud scream into his pillow, Kurt is determined to go back to sleep. Deciding that a glass of warm milk is his safest bet at a sleeping pill, he pushes himself off the bed and pads his way towards the kitchen.
He pours the milk into the kettle and lights the fire in the cooker, leaning his forearms against the counter as he waits.
"Let me guess," a voice drawls.
"AHH!" Kurt squeals and turns around, holding out a spoon as weapon.
Santana looks between him and the spoon and cracks a smile, "Interesting choice."
"Santana…!" he gasps, "You can't do that. Oh my god… My heart's racing."
She rolls her eyes, "You're having nightmares?"
"Yes. You?"
She shakes her head, "Insomnia. That's twice I've seen you out of bed in the middle of the night…"
"Yes. Well…" he shrugs and doesn't offer any more information. He's not sure she's the person he wants to be asking for advice about Blaine, right now.
"So you and Blaine made up," she comments, as she pours herself a glass of water.
"Kind of, yes."
She eyes him – it feels like an evaluation. "My first guess was spot on, I'll try a new one. Blaine was the one who apologized, even though he really didn't have much to apologize for."
"Not that you should be talking, Santana," he says pointedly and she rolls her eyes, "But yes, he was. How did you know? Did he tell you? Have you guys made up?"
"No," she says, short and clipped, "He didn't need to. I've talked that guy out of ledges, I think I know him pretty well."
"You've what?" Kurt gasps, as Santana's face goes expertly blank. She seems to have noticed her faux-pas a little too late, and maybe Kurt shouldn't push it, but he can't just leave it at that, "Has he… did… did he ever try to kill himself?"
She takes a long sip of water, adjusting and readjusting the position of the glass on the table as she swallows slowly and deliberately. "I can't speak for the time he lived in that castle" she starts, finally. "I didn't know him then, he doesn't like to talk about it and I don't push him to. After that… Not really, no… But… the first camp we ever raided – it was messy business. It didn't go as smoothly as we'd hoped, and it resulted in a lot of dead bodies, mostly camp prisoners. He didn't… take it too well. After that, he kind of threw himself into every mission he could get… He went through a phase where he'd put himself deliberately in harm's way."
"Oh no…"
"It was like he owed them his life, too. As if the only way he could make things right was if he died fighting for them." She shrugs, "I don't know, it was depressing. I slapped him out of it and that's that."
"Oh my god…" Kurt's head is in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, and it probably doesn't help that he hasn't had a good night's sleep in days.
"Kurt." She sighs impatiently, "Okay, I know you know I'm being completely blasé on purpose, but still. It's not a horror story. I mean, it was, but it's over for the most part. He was young, stupid and messed up at the time. There will probably never be a time when Blaine's not a little messed up, actually, but he's not some wilting flower that needs special care or protection. Trust me, he can handle himself just fine."
"Santana, you just told me he practically had himself killed."
"That was almost two years ago."
"It's not that long."
"Look – he might need a reality check every once in a while, but he's not gonna off himself if you tell him you don't wanna be together, or if you leave after you've been in gay heaven for a couple of months. Get over yourself. Just be real and stop jerking his feelings around – he's been honest, now's your turn."
"How can you be like that?"
"Your milk's steaming," she shoots back, rising from her chair and making her way out of the kitchen.
Kurt's left staring after her and feeling numb.
-x-
"You have to go home, Kurt." Blaine tells him, pulling the door open. His face is impassive and undecipherable. The complete absence of emotion is so wrong on Blaine.
"Blaine…"
"Go on," he insists, still horribly vacant.
"I… Blaine…?" Kurt breathes carefully, "Will you be alright?"
Blaine shrugs, "Sure. I'm not a wilting flower. I'll be fine. Get over yourself." He gives Kurt one challenging look, a quirked eyebrow, before he spins on his heel and goes back to his own bedroom.
Kurt watches him leave before he turns to the space in front of him. His bedroom is exactly how he wants to remember it. His hands itch to touch it. He steps forwards, and breathes in the scent – just like always, everything falls apart as soon as he does, and the smell is the worst it's ever been. He's already by his bed, covered in ashes and dirt, when a small whimper calls his attention back. Blaine curls up on endless snow, scarlet blood spreading and spreading around him as he sobs. "Blaine!" Kurt gasps and starts to run but his body won't move, "Blaine!"
The door slams, and Kurt wakes up.
"Fuck."