A/N: Oh. My. God. My internet is driving me insane. The connection completely disappeared on Wednesday morning, only THIRTY FRIKKIN SECONDS after I started watching Grilled Cheesus! I was SO pissed. ANYwho. I have another several chapters written for this one and they will (hopefully) be up soon, depending on how the internet fares. Apparently the modem's fried. I dunno, I'm not a techie. Anyways. Enjoy.
Chapter Twenty
After Puck left, it was safe to say that Kurt was fairly freaked out. He'd been unable to focus on reading the rest of his Vogue magazine, nor had he been able to concentrate on any of his homework, and when he and Mercedes went to the mall in the afternoon, he'd been absent-minded and she'd ended up asking him three times if there were alien parasites in his brain or if he needed a breathalyzer test.
"Sorry," he'd said, shifting his bag on his shoulder. "I guess I'm just not feeling the vibe today."
"Not feeling the vibe?" she'd echoed. "Boy, are you sick?"
So now, it was almost five-thirty and he'd come home from the mall empty-handed for the first time since grade school. Finn was dead asleep on the couch, having got back from Columbus early, and Kurt was sitting in the armchair aimlessly flipping through channels. One of the (many) disadvantages to living in the suburban Midwest, though, was that there was rarely anything on television unless it was sports, news, reality TV, or How I Met Your Mother. Kurt sighed and settled for the last option. Neil Patrick Harris wasn't that bad to look at, after all.
Finn muttered something in his sleep, drawing Kurt's attention away from the screen for a moment. Even in forcibly induced sleep, Finn looked stretched and worn out, and Kurt was afraid that soon he was going to simply drop dead from lack of rest. He sighed and turned back to the television.
"Hey, Kurt," Carole appeared from the kitchen, holding a plate of leftover lasagna. "You hungry?"
"Ooh, thanks," he said, taking the plate from her. Anything Carole made always tasted amazing, even after it'd been reheated. "Where's Dad?"
She took a seat in the other armchair. "He's working on a particularly problematic Prius."
"Oh, Carole! What alliteration!" Kurt said with a grin.
"Okay, that's the last time I watch The Producers with you."
Kurt giggled. As much as he missed his mom, Carole defied every stepmother stereotype in the books, and now he found it hard to picture life without her around.
The light mood they'd created evaporated when Carole glanced at her sleeping son and jumped when she saw that his eyes were wide open. "Finn?" she said, leaning forward. "Are you awake?"
Kurt put his dinner on the coffee table with a startled frown. Only a few moments ago, Finn's eyes had been closed. "His meds couldn't have worn off already, could they?"
"I – I don't think so," Carole said, waving her hand in front of Finn's face. His eyes didn't move. "Finn!"
Kurt knelt next to his stepbrother and shook his shoulder. "Finn," he said loudly. There was no response. "Some people sleep with their eyes open," Kurt stated weakly, not believing for a second that the scenario applied to Finn.
"Finn!" Carole cried, cupping his face so that he was looking directly at her. His eyes remained wide and unfocused, staring at nothing, almost as if he'd suddenly vacated his body. "Come on, honey, say something."
"Come on, Finn," Kurt chimed in, reaching for his wrist and feeling for a pulse. If Kurt had to judge only by Finn's heartbeat, he wouldn't have guessed that anything was wrong – it was pulsing at a steady, reassuring rate and giving no indication at all that something had gone awry. "He's breathing," Kurt said, half for Carole's benefit and half for his own.
Abruptly, Finn sat straight up, making Carole and Kurt yelp simultaneously. He was still staring, like someone had replaced him with a mannequin when they weren't looking "F-Finn?" Carole stammered. "Finn, can you hear me?"
Finn's only response was to swing his legs onto the floor and stand up, brushing by them without so much as a blink. His movements were odd, almost robotic, as he walked quickly from the living room towards the kitchen.
"I…I don't think he's awake," Kurt said, exchanging a frightened glance with his stepmother.
Carole circled around the couch and followed her son, Kurt trailing behind her. Finn went through the kitchen and into the garage, heading straight for Burt's desk. "Finn!" Carole called after him, making Burt lift his head from behind the hood of the car he was working on.
"What's going on?" Burt called.
"Finn, what are you doing?" Carole said desperately, a hand on Finn's shoulder as he started ruffling through the stacks of bills and paperwork.
"Burt can make an extra three thousand a year," Finn said without looking up. Kurt's eyes widened. Finn had spoken in a tone that was flat and monotonous, and it was without a doubt the scariest thing Kurt had ever heard.
"Finn, look at me," Carole begged, grasping his shoulder and pulling him around to face her. "Tell me what's happening. Sweetie, please, talk to me."
"The average person says over one hundred thousand words per day in everyday conversations," Finn recited.
"Kurt? What's going on?" Burt appeared beside his son.
"I…I don't know," Kurt managed. "He – he was asleep and then he just started…sleepwalking or something."
"When someone is sleepwalking, do not wake them up," Finn responded. "You might induce a panic attack as a result of the subject's disorientation."
"Jesus Christ," Burt breathed.
"Born zero A.D. He preached and healed throughout Palestine in the early decades of the first century. Died by crucifixion in Jerusalem. Also known as the Messiah, the Son of God, and Jesus of Nazareth."
Kurt didn't know which was more disturbing – Finn's vacuous behavior and expressionless responses, or the fact that he hadn't moved since Carole had turned him around. Burt reached up and waved his hand in front of Finn's nose, snapping his fingers a couple of times. Finn didn't notice.
"What should we do?" Kurt asked, at a loss. He would've known what to do if Finn was having another seizure, but if Finn was non compos mentis… The doctors hadn't given them any instruction for that scenario.
"Maybe he really is just sleepwalking," Burt said, sounding hopeful but not convinced. "We give him a few minutes and he goes back to bed."
"I think we should call the hospital in Columbus," Carole said quietly, her voice shaking slightly. "I don't want this turning into something worse."
Burt nodded brusquely and disappeared into the kitchen, and a couple seconds later they could hear him talking on the phone. Carole stepped forward and looped an arm around Finn's back. "Come on, honey, let's go back in," she urged gently, and Kurt could tell that she was putting a considerable amount of effort into not breaking down from sheer panic. Wordlessly, Finn allowed himself to be ushered back into the kitchen, past where Burt was on the phone, and towards the living room. However, when they passed the door down to the basement, Finn took a swift turn and was heading downstairs before Carole could pull him back. Kurt hurried after him, Carole on his heels.
"Finn, what are you doing?" Kurt pleaded, grabbing hold of Finn's arm as he reached towards his desk. "Come on."
"Honey, come back upstairs," Carole interjected. "I can make you some of that chicken soup you like."
"Don't count your chickens before they're hatched," Finn said, and in any other situation, Kurt would've laughed at him.
Finn turned back to his desk and snatched a Sharpie from the pencil holder, striding across the room to a blank space on the wall and, before Kurt or Carole could realize what he was doing, began to scrawl across the grey paneling.
By the time Burt thought to call Mr. Schue, the bedroom walls were covered in Finn's crazed scribbles, turning the bedroom into a place that looked like it belonged to a deranged schizophrenic instead of two teenage boys. Several pieces of the furniture had been overturned, and Kurt's vanity mirror had been smashed on the floor as Finn blindly shoved things aside to make more room to write across the walls. When Mr. Schue finally arrived and came down with Burt, Kurt had long since given up on trying to get Finn back upstairs, and was standing in the far corner watching his stepbrother frustratedly try to solve the problem of Dysnomia's trajectory.
"Oh my God," Kurt heard Mr. Schue say as he absorbed the scene.
"He's been like this all night," Kurt said.
"All night?" Mr. Schue repeated, astonished and more than a little afraid.
"Since about five," said Burt grimly.
Kurt heard Mr. Schue take a deep breath before he strode forward, kneeling next to his unstable student and speaking too softly for Kurt to pick up. Several tense minutes passed and Mr. Schue stood back up, returning to where Burt and Kurt were watching. "Has anything like this happened before?"
"Not this badly," Kurt said, trying to keep his voice from shaking as he watched Finn clench his jaw and cross out something. "I mean, pretty much at the same level as what he's been doing in school and Glee, but I've never seen him like this. This is new."
"If he gets any worse, I'm calling the hospital again," Burt declared gruffly. "Goddamn doctors, keep saying just to give him rest—"
"Mr. Schue?" Finn interrupted, swaying slightly on his feet.
"Yeah?"
Finn raked his ink-covered fingers through his hair. "I…I can't sleep."
Kurt shrieked when Finn's knees suddenly gave out and he keeled over, slamming into the ground hard. The three of them simultaneously rushed to Finn's side, and Burt rolled him over. "Finn! Finn, come on, buddy, look at me," he coached. Finn was breathing hard and his eyes were reeling, and Kurt gasped when he noticed that Finn's hand was clutching his own with a viselike grip that was probably cutting off his circulation.
"Seven-hundred forty nanometers," Finn snapped, not seeming to realize that what he was saying had absolutely nothing to do with anything taking place. "Two-hundred ninety-nine thousand, seven-hundred ninety-two kilometers per second."
Mr. Schue froze, his eyes widening. "He's bleeding."
Kurt's gaze snapped up to follow Mr. Schue's, and he felt his heart skip. Burt lurched to his feet. "I'm calling 911," he said before rushing back upstairs.
A dark tendril of blood was dripping from Finn's ear, winding its way down his neck and onto the floor. Kurt swallowed the panic bubbling in his throat and squeezed Finn's hand tighter.
"Finn, can you hear me?" Mr. Schue asked loudly, leaning over him.
Finn's eyelid twitched and he growled something in a different language.
"Was that Chinese?" Mr. Schue said, stunned.
"Finn, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand," Kurt urged him. "Come on."
Finn's only response was to twist his head rigidly to the side, the muscles in his neck tense and the tendons sticking out. Blood continued to slowly ooze from his ear.
Mr. Schue suddenly flinched and swore very loudly.
"What?" Kurt demanded, trying to ignore just how small his voice sounded.
"There – there's something wrong with his eyes."
Kurt leaned over to see what Mr. Schue was talking about, and almost screamed when he saw that Finn's left eye was still moving rapidly around the room, but his right eye had stopped moving completely and the pupil had blown, swelling over most of the iris.
Mr. Schue gulped audibly. "I don't think we can wait for the ambulance to get here. My car's out front."
A/N: Aaaaaand we've come full circle, folks. Leave a review!