In Earnest
Welcome back to another installment of Wake! We're in for a long chapter this time, which I feel is due for the short chapters we've been having lately. Blaine is back and we have some Brittana in store for us. We also have some Klaine action this chapter!
Also, we have some AVPMS references in store for this chapter!
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or Wake, I wouldn't be here if I was.
Words: 8,525
Previously on Wake:
Kurt attacks the back door of the school gym and finds himself in a heavy cloud of smoke. He realizes he's found the Goths hangout. Who knew?
"Oof," someone grunts. He keeps walking, muttering sorry to whomever it was he hit with the flying door.
After a mile wearing Rachel's dads a little too small shoes, his feet are killing him. He takes off the shoes and walks in the grassy yards, watching the houses evolve from nice to nasty as he goes along. The grass is already wet with dew, and the yards are getting messier. His feet are freezing, his thin socks not giving him much protection.
Someone falls in step beside him, so quietly that he doesn't notice him until he's there. He's carrying a skateboard. A second and third follow suit, then lay their boards down and push off, hanging slightly in front of Kurt.
"Jeez!" he says, surrounded. "Scare a guy half to death, why don't you."
Blaine Anderson shrugs. The other guys move ahead. "Long walk," says Blaine. "You, uh-" he clears his throat "okay?"
"Fine," he says. "You?" He doesn't remember ever hearing him speak before.
"Get on." He sets his board down, taking Kurt's shoes from his hand. "You'll rip your feet to shreds. There's glass and shit on the ground."
Kurt looks at the board, and then up at him. He's wearing a knit beanie with a hole in it. "I don't know how."
He flashes a half grin. Shoves a long golden lock of hair under the beanie. "Just stand. Bend. Balance. I'll push you."
He blinks. And then gets on the board.
Weird.
This is not happening.
They don't talk.
The guys weave in and out the rest of the way, and take off at the corner by Kurt's house. Blaine pushes him to his front porch so he can hop off. He sets his shoes on the step, picks up the board, nods, and catches up with his friends.
"Thanks, Blaine." Kurt says, but he's gone in the dark already. "That was really sweet." he adds, to no one.
They don't acknowledge each other, or the event, for a very long time.
February 1, 2010
Kurt is sixteen.
A boy named Sam Evans falls asleep in English class. Kurt watches his head nodding from across the room. He begins to sweat, even though the room is cold. It is 11:41 A. M. Seven minutes until the bell rings for lunch. Too much time.
He stands, gathers his books, and rushes for the door. "I feel sick." he says to the teacher. The teacher nods understandingly. Santana Lopez snickers from the back row. Kurt leaves the room and shuts the door. He leans against the cool tile wall, takes a deep breath, goes into the girls bathroom, and hides in a stall. The girls do not mind when he walks in. They know the boys will not allow him in theirs.
Nobody ever sleeps in the bathroom.
Flashback
May 18, 2003
Its Kurt's tenth birthday. Brittany Pierce falls asleep in school, her head on her pencil box. She is floating, gliding. And then she is falling. Falling into a gorge. The face of a cliff streams by at a dizzying speed. Brittany looks at Kurt and screams. Kurt closes his eyes and feels sick. They startle at the same time. The fourth graders all laugh.
Kurt decides not to hand out his precious birthday treat, after all.
That was after the train ride and the man in the underwear.
Kurt's had only a few close calls in school before high school. But the older he gets, the more often his classmates sleep in school. And the more kids sleep, the more of a mess it makes for Kurt. He has to get away, wake them up, or risk the consequences.
A year and a half to go.
And then.
College. A roommate. He hopes he could room with Rachel.
Kurt puts his head in his hands.
He leaves the bathroom after lunch and goes to his next class, grabbing a Milky Way bar on his way.
For two weeks afterward, Santana Lopez and her rich friends make puking noises when they pass Kurt in the hall.
June 15, 2010
Kurt is seventeen. He's working his ass off, taking as many shifts as he can.
Old Mr. Wyane is dying at the nursing home.
His dreams grow constant and terrible.
He doesn't wake easily.
As his body fades, the pull of his dreams grows eerily stronger. Now, if his door is open, Kurt can't enter that wing.
He hadn't planned for this.
He makes an odd request on every shift. "If you cover the east wing, I'll take the rest."
The other aides think he's afraid to see Mr. Wyane die.
Kurt doesn't have a problem with that.
June 21, 2010, 9:39 P. M.
Lima Home is short-staffed. It's summer. Three patients on the cusp of death. Two have Alzheimer's. One dreams, screams, and cries.
Someone has to empty bedpans. Hand out the night meds. Straighten up the rooms for the day.
Kurt approaches with caution. He stands in the west wing, looking into the east wing, and memorizes it. The right-hand wall has five doorways and six sets of handrails. The last door on the right is Mr. Wyane's. Ten steps farther is a wall, and the emergency exit door.
Some days, a cart stands between doorways three and four. Some days, wheelchairs collect anonymously between doorways one and two. A stretcher often rests in the east wing, but usually it's on the left side. Kurt would have to get a glimpse before entering the hallway, no matter the day. Because some days, most days, people travel up and down the hallway without pattern. And Kurt doesn't want to run into anyone in case he goes blind.
Tonight, the hallway is clear. Kurt noted earlier that the Thomson family came for a visit in the fourth room. He checks the record book and sees that they signed out. There are no other visitors recorded. It grows late. For Kurt, it's either get the work done, or get fired.
He enters the east wing, grabs the hall bar, and nearly doubles over.
9:41 P. M.
The noise of the battle is overpowering. He hides with old Mr. Wyane in a foxhole on a beach that is littered with bodies and watered with blood. The scene is so familiar, Kurt could recite the conversation even the beat of the bullets by heart. And it always ends the same way, with arms and legs scattered, bones crunching underfoot, and Mr. Wyanes body breaking into tiny bits, crumbling off his trunk like cheese being grated from a slab, or like a leper, unraveling.
Kurt tries walking normally down the hallway, gripping the handrail. He cannot concentrate enough to remember his count of doorways, the dream is so intense. He keeps walking, reaching, walking, until he hits the wall. He's losing the feeling in his fingers and feet. Wants to make it stop. He backs up eight, ten, maybe twelve steps, and falls to the ground outside Mr. Wyane's door. His head pounds now as he follows Mr. Wyane into battle.
He tries to find his door so he can close it. He tries, and he can't feel anything. He doesn't know if he's touching something, or nothing. He is paralyzed. Numb. Desperate.
On the bloody beach, Mr. Wyane looks at him and beckons him to come with him. "Behind here. Well be safe behind here," he says.
"No!" He tries to scream, but no sound comes out. He can't get his attention. "Not behind there!" He knows what will happen.
Mr. Wyanes fingers drop off first.
Then his nose and ears.
He looks at Kurt.
Like always.
Like he's betrayed him.
"Why didn't you tell me." he whispers.
Kurt can't speak, can't move. Again and again, he fights, his head feeling like it might explode any moment. 'Just die, old man!' he wants to yell. 'I can't do this one anymore!' He knows it's almost over.
And then, there is more. Something new.
Mr. Wyane turns to him as his feet break free from his ankles and he reassembles on his stilty legs. His eyes are wide with terror, and the battle rages around them. "Come closer," he says. Fingerless, he shrugs the gun into his arms. His arm breaks off his shoulder as he does it, and it crumbles to the beach like powder. And then he starts crying. "Help me. Help me, Kurt."
Kurt's eyes widen. He sees the enemy, but he knows they can't see him. He is safe. He looks at the pleading eyes of Mr. Wyane.
Lifts the gun.
Points.
And pulls the trigger.
10:59 P. M.
Kurt is curled on a portable stretcher in the east hallway when the roaring gunfire in old Mr. Wyane's dream stops abruptly. He blinks, his vision clears slowly, and he sees two Lima Home aides staring down at him. He sits up halfway. His head pounds.
"Careful, Kurt, honey," soothes a voice. "You were having a seizure or something. Let's wait for the doctor, okay?"
Kurt cocks his head and listens for the faint sound of beeping. A moment later, he hears it.
"Old Mr. Wyane is dead." He says, his voice rasping. He falls back on the stretcher and passes out.
June 22, 2010
The doctor says, "We need to do some tests. Do a CAT scan."
"No thank you," Kurt says. He is polite, but firm.
The doctor looks at Kurt's mother. "Mrs. Hummel?
Kurt's mother shrugs. She looks out the window. Her hands tremble as she fingers the zipper on her purse.
The doctor sighs, exasperated. "Ma'am," he tries again. "What if he has a seizure while he's driving? Or crossing a street? Please think about it."
Mrs. Hummel closes her eyes.
Kurt clears his throat. "May we go?"
The doctor gives Kurt a long look. He glances at Kurt's mother, who is looking down at her lap. Then looks at Kurt again. "Of course," he says softly. "Can you promise me something? Not just for your safety, but for the safety of others on the road, please, don't drive."
It won't happen when I'm driving, he longs to tell him, just so he doesn't worry so much. "Sure. I promise. We don't have a car, anyway."
Mrs. Hummel stands. Kurt stands. The doctor stands too. "Call our office if it happens again, wont you?" He holds out his hand, and Kurt shakes it.
"Yes," Kurt lies. They walk back to the waiting room.
Kurt sends her mother outside to the bus stop. "I'll be right there."
Her mother leaves the office. Kurt pays the bill. It's $120, pulled out of his college stash. He can only imagine how much a CAT scan would cost. And he's not about to spend another cent just to hear somebody tell him he's crazy.
He can get that opinion for free. Thank you very much.
Kurt waits for his mother to ask what that was all about. But he may as well wait for flowers to grow on the moon. Kurt's mother simply doesn't care about anything that has to do with Kurt. She has never really cared.
And that's fucking sad.
That's what Kurt thinks.
But it sure comes in handy, sometimes.
June 28, 2010
There's something about a doctor telling a teenager not to drive that makes it so important to do so. Just to prove him wrong.
Kurt and Rachel go see Jesse at the body shop. He sees them coming. "Here she is, kiddo." Jesse says, indicating the beautiful car next to him, patting her hood affectionately. He calls Kurt kiddo because Rachel is five months older than him. But he's taller than her, that's for sure.
Kurt nods and smiles. He runs his hand over the hood lightly, feeling the curves. It's the color of chocolate. It's older than Kurt. And it's beautiful.
Jesse hands Kurt the keys, and Kurt counts out one thousand, four hundred fifty dollars cash. "Be good to her," he says wistfully. "I started working on this car when she was seventeen years old and I was thirteen. She purrs now."
"I will." Kurt smiles. He climbs in the '77 Nova and starts her up.
"Her name's Ethel," adds Jesse. He looks a little embarrassed.
Rachel takes Jesse's oil-stained hand and squeezes it. "Kurt's a really good driver. He's driven my car a bunch of times. Ethel will be fine." She gives Jesse a quick kiss on the cheek. "See you tonight." She says with a demure smile.
Jesse winks. Rachel gets into her Tracer and Kurt slides behind the wheel of his new car. He pats the dashboard, and Ethel purrs. "Good girl, Ethel." he croons.
June 29, 2010
After the incident with Mr. Wyane, the Lima Home director made Kurt take a week off. When Kurt shuffled and hemmed about taking that much time off, the director promised him shifts on July 4 and Labor Day, where Kurt gets double pay. He is happy.
Kurt drives his new car on his first day back to work. He gives sponge baths and empties a dozen bedpans. For entertainment, he sings a mournful song from Les Miserables, changing the words to Empty pans and empty bladders.
There's a grief that can't be spoken
There's a pain goes on and on
Empty pans at empty bladders
Now my friends are dead and gone
Here they talked of revolution
Here it was they lit the flame
Here they sang about tomorrow
And tomorrow never came.
From the table in the corner
They could see a world reborn
And they rose with voices ringing
I can hear them now!
The very words that they had sung
Became their last communion
On the lowly barricade..
At dawn.
Oh my friends, my friends forgive me.
That I live and you are gone
There's a grief that can't be spoken
There's a pain goes on and on
Phantom faces at the window
Phantom shadows on the floor
Empty pans at empty bladders
Where my friends will meet no more.
Oh my friends, my friends, don't ask me
What your sacrifice was for
Empty pans at empty bladders
Where my friends will sing no more...
Miss Sylvester, a schoolteacher who taught for forty-seven years before she retired, laughs for the first time in weeks. Kurt makes a mental note to bring in a new book to read to Miss Sylvester.
Miss Sylvester's only visitor is her younger sister, Sue, who is also the cheer coach at Kurt's school. Coach Sylvester calls Kurt Porcelain because of his flawless skin.
Miss Sylvester is also blind.
That just might be why she's Kurt's favorite.
July 4, 2010, 10:15 p. M.
Three Lima Home residents in their wheelchairs and Kurt, in an orange plastic bucket chair, sit in the dark nursing home parking lot. Waiting. Slapping mosquitoes. The fireworks are about to begin at Lima Park, a few blocks away.
Miss Sylvester is one of the residents, her gnarled hands curled in her lap, I. V. drip hanging from a stand next to her wheelchair. All of a sudden, she cocks her head and smiles wistfully. "Here they come." She says.
A moment later, the sky explodes in colour.
Kurt describes each one in detail to Miss Sylvester.
"A green sparkly porcupine," he says.
"Sparks rising from a magicians wand."
"A perfect circle of white light, which fades into a puddle and dries up."
After a brilliant burst of purple, Kurt jumps up. "Don't go anywhere, you three! I'll be right back." He runs inside to the therapy room, grabs a plastic tub, and runs back out.
"Here," he says breathlessly, taking Miss Sylvester's hand and carefully, gently, stretching out her curled fingers. He puts a Koosh Ball in the old woman's hands.
"That last one looked just like this."
Miss Sylvester's face lights up. "I think that's my favorite." She says.
August 2, 2010, 11:11 P. M.
Kurt leaves Lima Home and drives the four miles to his house. It's wicked hot out, and he chides Ethel mildly for not having air-conditioning. He rolls the windows down, loving the feeling of the hot wind on his face.
11:18 P. M.
He stops at a stop sign on Waverly Road, not far from home, and proceeds through the intersection.
11:19 P. M.
And then he is in a strange house. In a dirty kitchen.
A huge, young monster-man with knives for fingers approaches.
Kurt, blind to the road, stomps on the brake and flips the gearshift into neutral. He reaches to find the emergency brake and pulls, before he becomes paralyzed. This is a strong one.
He pulls a vinyl-seated chair across the kitchen floor, picks it up, and whirls it around above his head.
But it isn't the emergency brake. It's the hood release.
And then he lets go of the chair. It sails toward Kurt, clipping the ceiling fan.
Kurt doesn't know it's the hood.
He looks around frantically to see what it will hit. Or who.
Kurt is numb. His foot slides off the brake pedal.
His car rolls off the road.
Slowly.
But there is no one else. No one else but the monster-man with finger-knives, and Kurt. Until the door opens, and a middle-aged man appears. He walks through Kurt. The chair, sailing in slow motion, grows knives from its legs.
The car misses a mailbox.
It strikes the middle-aged man in the chest and head. His head is sliced clean off and it rolls around on the floor in a circle.
The car comes to rest in a shallow drainage ditch in the front yard of a tiny, unkempt house.
Kurt stares at the large young man with knives for fingers. He walks to the dead man's head and kicks it like a soccer ball. It crashes loudly through the window and there is a blinding flash of light
11:31 P. M.
Kurt groans and opens his eyes. His head is against the steering wheel. He has a cut on his lip that is bleeding. And Ethel is decidedly not level. When he can see clearly, he looks out the windows, and when he can move again, he eases his way out his door. He walks around the car, sees that it is not injured, and that he is not stuck. He shuts the hood gently, gets into the car, and backs up slowly.
When he arrives in his driveway, he breathes a sigh of relief, and then memorizes the exact location of the parking brake by feel. He sees the keys dangling from the ignition. Duh, he thinks.
Next time, he will be ready.
Maybe he should have bought an automatic.
He hopes to God it doesn't happen on a highway.
12:46 A. M.
Kurt lies awake in bed. Scared.
In the back of his mind, he hears the distinct sound of knives sharpening. The more he tries not to think about whose dream that might have been, the more he thinks about it. He can never drive that street again.
He wonders if he will end up like his friend Miss Sylvester from the nursing home, all alone with no one visiting except for Rachel.
Or dead in a car crash, because of this stupid dream curse.
August 25, 2010
Rachel brings in the mail to Kurt's. Kurt is wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts. It's hot and humid.
"Schedules are here," Rachel says. "Senior year, baby! This is it! Then it's off to NYADA!" She says excitedly, bouncing on the heels of her feet like a three year old who has had too much sugar.
Excitedly, they open their schedules together. They lay them side-by-side on the coffee table and compare.
Their facial expressions go from excitement, to disappointment, and then excitement again.
"So, first period English and fifth period study hall. That's not terrible." Kurt says.
"And we have the same lunch," Rachel says. "Let me see what Santana has. I'll be right back." Rachel gets up to leave.
"You can call her from here, you know," Kurt says, rolling his eyes.
"I-I would, but..."
Kurt waits for Rachel to explain. Then it dawns on him.
"Oh," he says. "I get it. Caller ID. Sheesh, Rachel."
Rachel looks at her shoes, then slips out.
Kurt checks the freezer for ice cream. He eats it out of the carton. He feels like shit.
September 6, 2010, 7:35 A. M.
Rachel and Kurt drive separately to school, because Kurt has to work at 3 P. M. Kurt waves from the window when he hears Rachel's car horn beep. This is it, he thinks.
Kurt is only mildly excited to start his senior year of high school. And he is not at all excited to have study hall right after lunch.
He brushes his teeth and grabs his backpack, checking the mirror briefly before heading out the door. He is stopped by the flashing red lights of his former bus, and he smirks when he sees the noobs all climbing the steps to board it. Most of them are dressed in the styles of five years ago, hand-me-downs, or second-hand thrift clothing. Get jobs, and get the hell out of South Lima, Kurt mutters. At least there's strength in numbers.
Ethel purrs.
Kurt continues when the red lights stop. A block before the bad house on Waverly Road, he turns to take a detour. He's not taking any chances. He slows as he sees someone walking towards him along the road, wearing a ratty backpack. At first, he doesn't recognize him.
And then, he does.
He looks different.
He's not carrying a skateboard.
"You missed it," Kurt says through the open window. "Get in. I'll drive you."
Blaine eyes him warily. His features have matured. He's wearing eyeglasses that remind Kurt of the ones that Harry Potter wears. His jaw is decidedly angular. He looks both thinner and more muscular at the same time. His hair, wavy at shoulder length, is layered slightly, no longer red-gold or greasy, but a dark brown, almost black colour. His long bangs that hung in his eyes last year is styled in a neat fashion. And it looks freshly washed. He hesitates, and then opens the passenger door.
"Thanks." His voice is low and gruff. "Jesus," he remarks as he tries to fit his knees inside.
Kurt reaches down between his legs. "Grab yours too," he says.
He raises a triangular eyebrow.
"Your seat adjustor, you ass. We have to pull them together. It's a bench seat. As you can see." They pull, and the seat moves back a notch. Kurt checks the clutch to make sure he can still reach. He shifts into first as Blaine shuts his door.
"You're on the wrong street." he remarks.
"I know that."
"I figured you were lost or something."
"Oh, puh-leeze. I-I take a detour. I don't drive on Waverly anymore. I'm superstitious."
He glances at him and shrugs. "Whatever."
They ride in awkward silence for five minutes, until Kurt rolls his eyes inwardly and says, "So. What's your schedule?"
"I have no idea."
"Okaaay." The conversation fizzles.
After a moment, he opens his backpack and takes out a sealed envelope. He rips it open as if it's a chore of great difficulty and looks over his schedule.
"English, Math, French, Industrial Tech, Lunch, Study Hall, Government, P. E." He sounds bored.
Kurt cringes. "Hmmm. Interesting."
"And yours?" He says it too politely, as if he is forced to chat with his grandmother.
"Its, ah, actually," he sighs, "pretty similar to that. Yeah."
He laughs. "Don't sound so fucking excited, Hummel. I'll let you cheat off my papers."
He smiles wryly. "Yeah, right! Like I'd want to."
He looks at her. "And your GPA is?"
"Four point oh." He sniffs.
"Well, then, of course you don't need help."
"What's yours?"
He shifts in the seat and shoves his schedule into his backpack. "I have no idea."
That was the most Blaine Anderson had ever spoken to Kurt in all the years he'd known him. Combined. Including the three miles on the skateboard.
12:45 P. M.
Kurt meets up with Rachel in Study Hall. Seniors have Study Hall in the library so they can access the books and computers and hopefully do actual work rather than sleep. Kurt hopes for the best and finds a table in the far corner of the room.
"How's it going?" Kurt asks.
"Decent," Rachel says. "The only class I have with Santana is English. Hey, did you see the new guy?"
"What new guy?"
"In English class."
Kurt looks puzzled. "I didn't notice."
Rachel looks around sneakily. "Oh, shit!" she whispers. "Here he comes."
Kurt glances up. Rachel is staring at him, not daring to turn around again. He nods in her direction. Kurt waves his fingers at him. To Rachel, he says, "Oh, you mean him?"
"You did NOT just wave to him."
"To who er, whom? Yeah, that's it. Whom?"
"The new guy! Aren't you listening to me?" Rachel bounces in her chair.
Kurt grins innocently. "Watch this." He gets up, walks to the table where the new guy sits, and pulls up a chair across from him so he can see Rachel watching.
"I have a question for you," Kurt says.
"I thought you didn't need my help." He replies, rummaging through his backpack.
"It's not that kind."
"Go ahead, then."
"Are you getting a lot of strange looks today, by any chance?"
He pulls his notebook out of his backpack, takes off his outer button-down shirt, leaving on a loose, white T-shirt. He folds the button-down haphazardly, sets it on top of his backpack, scoots his chair back, and lays his head on the shirt. His newly muscular arms reach around this makeshift pillow.
"I hadn't noticed," he says. He takes off his glasses and sets them off to the side.
Kurt nods thoughtfully. "I see. So you don't know what classes you have, you don't know your GPA, you don't notice all the girls drooling over your new look."
"That's bullshit," he says, closing his eyes.
"So what do you pay attention to?"
He opens his eyes. Lifts his head from his pillow. He looks at Kurt for a long time. His eyes are bright hazel. He's never noticed them before.
For a split second, Kurt thinks he sees something in them, but then it's gone.
"Pfft. You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he says.
Kurt flashes a crooked smile, shrugs, and shakes his head slightly, feeling warm. "Try me."
Blaine raises a skeptical eyebrow.
"You know sometime," Kurt says finally. He picks up his shirt and refolds it so the buttons turn in. "So you don't get a button impression on your face." he says.
"Thank you," Blaine says. His eyes don't leave his. He's searching them. His brow furrows.
Kurt clears his throat lightly. "So, uh, shall I break the news to Rachel that you're not a new guy?"
Blaine blinks. "What?"
"Half the girls in the school think you're a new student. Blaine, come on. You look a lot different from last year."
The words trail off his tongue and they sound wrong.
He gives him a confused look.
"What did you call me?"
Kurt's stomach lurches. "Um, Blaine?"
He isn't smiling. "Who do you think I am?"
Maybe he's in somebody's weird dream and he doesn't know it.
He panics.
"Oh, God, no," he whispers. He stands up abruptly and tries to get past him. Blaine catches Kurt's arm.
"Whoa, time out," he says. "Sit."
Tears pool in Kurt's eyes. He covers his mouth.
"Jesus, Kurt. I'm just playing with your mind a little. I'm sorry. Hey," he says.
He keeps hold of his wrist, lightly.
He feels like a fool.
"Come on, Hummel. Look at me, will you? Listen to me."
Kurt can't look at him. He sees Rachel, half-standing, peering over the bookshelves, a concerned look on her face. Kurt waves her away. Rachel sits down.
"Kurt."
"What, already," he says, growing hot. "And will you please let go of me before I call security?"
He drops his wrist like a baked potato.
His eyes widen.
"Forget it." He sighs. "I'm an asshole." He looks away.
Kurt walks back to his table and sits down miserably.
"What was that?" Rachel hisses.
Kurt looks at her and summons a calm smile. He shakes his head. "Nothing. The new guy just told me that," He stalls, pretending to search for a pen. "That, uh, I'm doing the advance math equations completely wrong. You know me. I hate to be wrong. Math's my best subject, you know." He pulls out a sheet of paper and opens his math book. "Now I've got to start all over."
"Sheesh, Kurt. You looked like he just threatened to kill you or something."
Kurt laughs. As if.
1:30 P. M.
Blaine tries to catch Kurt's eye in government class. He ignores him.
2:20 P. M.
P. E. is same sex this year. The students play rotating games of five-on-five basketball.
Kurt commits the most egregious foul Lima High School has ever seen. When he is able, the new guy stands up and insists it was his fault.
The P. E. Staff confer, and decide that it was indeed Kurt's fault. Coach Karofsky gives Blaine a hard look. He returns it, with interest.
2:45 P. M.
Kurt dries off hurriedly after his shower and slips into his scrubs for work. He's able to make it out of there before any of the football guys come in. The bell rings. He takes his stuff and jumps in his car so he's not late for work.
8:01 P. M.
Life is blissfully calm at Lima Home tonight. Kurt finishes his paperwork and his other duties on the floor early, so he can go to see Miss Sylvester.
Coach Sylvester is leaving for the night. She came in to visit Jean a few hours ago.
"See you tomorrow at school, Coach." Kurt says to her.
"The same to you Porcelain." She replies as she coos to her daughter that laid in her car seat.
He shuffles his feet and clears his throat so Miss Sylvester knows Kurt is there.
"It's me, Kurt. Are you up for a few chapters of Jane Eyre?" Kurt asks.
Miss Sylvester smiles warmly and turns her face toward Kurt's voice. "I'd love it, if you have the time."
Kurt pulls the visitor chair closer to the bed and begins where they left off last time. He doesn't notice when Miss Sylvester drifts off to sleep.
8:24 p. M.
Kurt is standing on a street called Center Street in a small town. Everything is in black and white, like an old movie. Nearby, a couple strolls arm and arm, window-shopping. Kurt follows them. The store windows are filled with simplicity. Saws and hammers. Yarn and material. Baking sheets and metal tins. Dry goods.
The couple stops at the corner, and Kurt can see the young woman has been crying. The young man is wearing a military uniform.
He pulls the young woman gently around the corner of the building, and they kiss passionately. He touches her breast and says something, and she shakes her head, no. He tries again, and she moves his hand away. He pulls back.
"Please, Jean. Let me make love to you before I go."
The young woman, Jean, begins to say no. Then she turns, and looks at Kurt with complete regret in her eyes. "Not even in my dream?" she says.
Jean waits for Kurt to respond.
Kurt looks at the young man. He is frozen, momentarily, gazing adoringly at Jean. Jean pleads with her eyes locked on Kurt. "Help me, Kurt."
Kurt, startled, shrugs and nods, and Jean smiles through her tears. She turns back to the young man, touches his face, his lips, and nods. They walk through the alley, away from Kurt. Kurt takes a step to follow them, but he doesn't want to see any more of this dream, it's too intimate.
He grips the chair in Miss Sylvester's room with all his might, concentrates, and pulls himself back into the nursing home.
Its 8:43 P. M. Kurt shakes his head to clear it. Surprised. Slowly, a grin spreads across his face. He did it! H e pulled himself out of the dream. And he's not getting sucked back into it. Kurt chuckles quietly to himself.
Miss Sylvester sleeps peacefully, a smile on her thin, tired lips. It must be nice for poor old Miss Sylvester to have a good dream.
Kurt leaves the book on the table and exits the room quietly. He turns off the light and closes the door, giving Miss Sylvester some intimate time alone with her soldier.
Before he dies.
And she never has the chance again.
September 9, 2010, 12:45 P. M.
"Why didn't you tell me the new guy was Blaine Anderson?" Rachel demands.
Kurt looks up from his book. He sits in the library at their usual table. "Because I'm an asshole?" He smiles sweetly.
Rachel tries to hold back a laugh. "Yes, you are. I see you're driving him to school."
"Only when he misses the bus," Kurt says lightly.
Rachel gives her a sly smile. "Yeah, well. Anyways, I made yearbook staff, so I'll be gone a lot during Study Hall, okay? I gotta go there now for the first meeting."
Kurt waves, distracted by the play he's reading for English. "Have fun. Play nice." He slides down in his seat and plops his feet on the chair opposite his. He's reading Camelot in preparation for next month's senior English trip to Stratford, Canada.
Every now and then he peers over the bookshelves to see if anyone is looking sleepy nearby. He figures he can handle anything outside a twenty-foot radius, unless it's a nightmare, and then the distance jumps dramatically. Luckily, most school-day dreams tend to either be the falling dream, the naked presentation dream, or something sexual. He can usually get a handle on those without doing a full pass-out-on-the-floor reaction.
It's the paralyzing, shiver-and-shake nightmares that are killing him.
12:55 P. M.
The book disappears in front of him. Kurt sighs and sets it on the table. He lays his head in his arms and closes his eyes.
He is floating. Not the falling dream again, he thinks. He is sick to death of the falling dream.
The scene changes immediately. Now, Kurt is outside. It's dark. He's alone, behind a shed, but he can hear muffled voices. He's never been alone before, and he doesn't know how people can have dreams that they are not in. He is curious. He watches nervously, hoping this isn't somebody's nightmare about to explode through the wall of the shed, or from the bushes.
From around the corner comes a hulking, monstrous figure, outlined by the moonlight. It thrashes its arms through the bushes and lifts its hands to the sky, letting out a horrible yell. Kurt feels his fingers going numb. He tries to get out. But he can't.
The figures long fingers glint in the moonlight.
Kurt leans back against the barn. He is shaking.
The grotesque figure sharpens his knife-fingers on each other. The sound is deafening.
Kurt, against the barn, squeaks.
The figure wheels around. He sees Kurt.
Approaches him.
He has seen this character before.
Right before he and Ethel ended up in a ditch.
Kurt stands up, tries to run. But his legs won't move.
The figures face is furious, but he has stopped sharpening his knives. He's five feet away, and Kurt closes his eyes. Nothing can hurt me, he tries to tell herself.
When he opens her eyes, it is daylight. He is still behind the barn. And the horrid, menacing figure has turned into a normal, human young man.
It's Blaine Anderson.
A second Kurt steps out from Kurt's body and walks to Blaine, unafraid.
Kurt stays back, against the barn.
Blaine touches the second Kurt's face.
He leans in.
He kisses him.
Kurt kisses him back.
He steps out of the embrace and looks at the Kurt against the barn wall. Tears fall down his cheeks.
"Help me." he says.
1:35 P. M.
The bell rings. Kurt feels the fog lifting, but he cannot move. Not yet. He needs a minute.
1:36 P. M.
Make that two minutes.
1:37 P. M.
When he feels the hand on his shoulder, he jumps.
A mile, a foot, an inch, he doesn't know.
He looks up.
"Ready?" he says. "Didn't know if you heard the bell."
He stares at him.
"You okay, Hummel?"
He nods and grabs his books. "Yeah." His voice is not completely back yet. He clears his throat. "Yes," he says firmly. "Are you? You have a dent in your cheek." He smiles shakily.
"Fell asleep on my book."
"I figured."
"You too, huh?"
"I, uh, must've been really tired, I guess."
"You look freaked. Did you have a bad dream or something?"
Kurt looks at Blaine as they walk through the crowded hall to government class. He slips his hand onto the small of his back so they stay together as they talk. It sends goosebumps down throughout his body.
"Not exactly," he says slowly. His eyes narrow. "Did you?" The words come out of his mouth like gunshots.
He turns sharply into the doorway as the bell rings and he sees the look on his face. He stops in his tracks. His eyes narrow as they search his face. He can see his eyes are puzzled. His face flushes slightly, but Kurt's not sure why.
The teacher comes in and shoos them to their seats.
Kurt looks over his shoulder, two rows back and toward the middle of the room.
Blaine is still staring at Kurt, looking incredibly puzzled. He shakes his head just slightly.
Kurt looks at the chalkboard. Not seeing it. Just wondering. Wondering what the hell is wrong with himself. And what is wrong with him, that he has dreams like that. Does he know? Did he see him in that one?
And then it dawns on Kurt, that Blaine Anderson just may be gay. And that makes him smile.
2:03 P. M.
A wad of paper lands on Kurt's desk. He jumps and slowly looks over to Blaine. He is slumped in his seat, doodling on his notebook, looking a little too innocent.
Kurt opens the paper.
Smooth's it out.
Yeah, maybe. -B
That's what it says.
September 29, 2010 2:55 P. M.
Leaning against the hood of Kurt's car is the lanky, longhaired figure of Blaine Anderson. The one who dreams about monsters, and kissing him all in the same dream. His hair is wet.
"Hey," Kurt says lightly. His hair is wet too.
"Why are you avoiding me?"
Kurt sighs. "Am I?" He knows it sounds fake.
He doesn't answer.
He gets in the car.
Starts the engine. Pulls out of the parking space.
Blaine stands there, looking. Arms folded across his chest. His lips are concerned.
He leans over and rolls down the window. "Get in. You've missed the bus by now."
His expression doesn't change.
He doesn't move.
Kurt hesitates, one more minute.
He turns and starts walking toward home.
Kurt watches him, sighs exasperatedly, and guns it. His tires squeal around the corner. Idiot.
October 10, 2010, 4:57 A. M.
On a thin piece of paper in the cave of his own dream, Kurt writes:
I keep to myself.
I have to.
Because of what I know about you.
And then he crumples it up, lights a match, and turns it into ash. The charcoaled remains shrivel up and the wind takes them down the street, across the yards. To his house. He steps on them as he saunters to catch the bus. The ash is softer than the crisp Halloween leaves that gather and huddle around the corners of his front step. Under the weight of his footstep, the ash disintegrates. The wind swallows it. Gone.
7:15 A. M.
Kurt wakes up, running late for school. He blinks.
He has never had a dream before, not that he can remember.
He only has everyone else's.
At least he can sleep during his.
He gives his wavy brown hair a lesson with a wet comb, brushes his teeth at top speed, shoves two dollars in the front pocket of his jeans, and grabs his backpack, searching wildly for his keys. They are on the kitchen table. He grabs them, saying good-bye to his night gowned mother, who stands at the sink eating a Pop-Tart and looking aimlessly out the window.
"I'm late," Kurt says.
His mother doesn't respond.
Kurt lets the door slam, but not angrily. Hurriedly. He climbs into the Nova and zooms to Lima High School. He's ten long strides from his English classroom when the bell rings, just like half the class. Sliding into his desk, the back seat in the row nearest the door, he mouses unnoticed through the class, except for a sleepy grin from Rachel.
"Kurt, can I talk to you for a minute?" The teacher asks him. Kurt gets up and walks over to the desk.
"Yes?" he asks her.
"Some of the boys have expressed that they are uncomfortable being in the same room as you because you are gay."
"That's an understatement." He says clearly, waiting for her to finish her train of thought.
"Do you mind if you roomed with the girls?" she asks.
"Not at all, I rather be in a room full of girls than a bunch of homophobic Neanderthals." He replies. The teacher nods and dismisses him.
Kurt stealthily finishes his math assignment as the teacher drones about the upcoming weekend senior trip to Stratford.
Blaine's back is to him. He has an urge to touch his hair. If he could reach him, he might. But then he shakes his head at himself. He is very confused over his feelings about Blaine. It's more bizarre than flattering to know he dreams about him. Especially when he does it after being that horrid monster-man. Kurt may even admit to being a little afraid of him.
And now he knows where he lives.
Just two blocks from here.
In a tiny house on Waverly Road.
"Your room assignments," Mrs. Purcell drones, waving fluorescent yellow papers like sun rays above her head before tossing handfuls at the first person in each row. "No changes allowed, so don't even try."
Kurt looks up as titters and groans fill the room. The boy in front of him doesn't turn around to hand him the paper. He tosses it over his shoulder. It floats, hovers, and slides off the slick laminate desk before Kurt can grab it, whooshing and sticking under Blaine Anderson's shoe. He kicks it towards Kurt without acknowledgment. His hair swings lightly around his shoulders.
The list places Kurt in a room with three rich snobs from the ritzy Hill section of North Lima: Santana Lopez, who hates him, Santana's friend Brittany Pierce, who hates him by default, and the captain of the celibacy club, Quinn Fabray, who pretends Kurt doesn't exist. He sighs inwardly. He'll have to sleep on the bus on the way.
But he's curious to know if, after all these years, Santana still dreams about Rachel with ginormous boobs.
So! I do so hoped you liked it! In case you don't know, Mr. Wyane is the leader of The Hipsters. Hmmm, so Santana and Brittany are in the same room, with Kurt. Things could not get any better! Brittana woot woot! Thank you.
So please leave me a wonderful little review by clicking that little button down below.
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