TRUTH OR DARE
Welcome to another installment of Wake. I know I've been away for a while. Life's been hectic. I'm sure you all know, AP testing was this week and I have a Human Geography test tomorrow, then it's the weekend and I get to sleep in.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Wake. Maybe if I save up the money I earn for babysitting maybe one day I can buy the rights to Glee. A girl always needs a dream.
Words: 11,117
Previously on Wake
Kurt is silent for a long time. "It's not as bad as it looks." He says.
"You're lying."
Kurt looks at him. "Yes," he says. "I suppose I am."
"Who else knows? Your mother?"
Kurt looks at his plate of uneaten pizza. Shakes his head. "Nobody. Not even her."
"You haven't been to a doctor about it or anything?"
"No. Not really. Not for help."
He throws his hands in the air. "Why?" His voice is incredulous. And then, suddenly, he knows why. "Sorry." he says.
Kurt doesn't answer. He's thinking. Thinking hard.
"You know, nobody's ever gone there with me, like you did." His voice is soft, musing. Kurt gives him a sidelong glance. "I don't understand that part. How did you get there too?"
"I don't know. All of a sudden it was like I had two different angles to watch from: one of them as an observer, the other as a participant. Like virtual reality picture-in-picture or something."
"And don't even tell me you'd believe a word of this if you hadn't come through it with me."
He nods soberly. "You're right, Hummel."
Its 10:21 p. M. When Blaine says good night at the door. He leans against the frame, and Kurt kisses him lightly on the lips.
Blaine hops off the step and starts walking home, but turns back in the driveway. "Hey, can I see you tomorrow night? Sometime around nine or ten?"
Kurt nods, smiling. "I'll be here. Just let yourself in. Rachel always does too. It's cool."
Blaine nods and heads in the direction towards home. Kurt closes the door and slides down it. He grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
October 16, 2010, 9:30 P. M.
It's Sunday. The house is clean. Kurt had the day off. He ran out for groceries in the morning, vacuumed, dusted, washed, polished, shined, and steam-cleaned.
Now, Kurt is asleep on the couch.
Blaine doesn't come.
Or call.
11:47 P. M.
Kurt is angry at Blaine.
He can't believe he fell for him.
And that makes him mad.
He gets up from his spot on the couch and goes into his room and falls asleep.
October 17, 2010 7:35 A. M.
Kurt grabs his backpack and heads out the door. He's pissed. And hurt. He thinks he knows why Blaine didn't show up.
On Ethel's windshield is a note, under the wiper. It's wet with dew.
I'm sorry, it says.
Blaine.
Yeah, well. Not as sorry as I am, he thinks.
He passes him on the way to school.
He looks up.
And eats his dust.
Blaine's late for school.
Kurt doesn't speak to him.
11:19 P. M.
He's sitting on Kurt's front step.
Kurt is pulling up to the house after work.
He gets out of the car, crunches over the gravel, and stands in front of him.
"Yes?" he says, his voice laced with annoyance.
"I'm sorry," Blaine starts out, holding out his hands in front of him in surrender.
Kurt stands there, tapping his foot. Searching for words. He blurts them out as they come to him. "So, you got freaked out. I'm a lunatic. An X File. I figured it would happen."
"No." he stands up.
"It's cool. No, really." He runs up the steps, past him, and fiddles for his key in the dark. "Now you know why I didn't want to tell anybody." The keys rattle in his fingers, and he cusses under his breath. "Least of all, you."
He drops the keys. "Goddamnit," he sniffs, picks them up again, and finds the right one.
"And if you tell anybody," his voice pitches higher as he gets the door open, "you'll learn a new definition of flagrant foul! You big fucking jerk!"
He slams the door.
11:22 P. M.
The phone rings.
"Asshole." he mutters. He picks it up.
"Will you let me explain?"
"No." He hangs up.
Waits.
Pours a glass of milk.
Drinks it.
Cusses.
Turns out the kitchen light, and goes to bed.
He is cursed for life. He will never have a boyfriend. Much less get married. Hell, he'll never be able to sleep with anybody.
He's a freak.
It's not fair.
Sobs shake the bed.
October 18, 2010, 7:39 A. M.
Kurt calls the school, pretending to be his mother, being grateful for his high voice. "He won't be at school today. He has the flu."
He calls the nursing home. "I'm sick," he sniffles. "I can't come in tonight."
Everyone is sorry. The secretary. The nursing home director. "Feel better soon, sweetie," the director says.
But Kurt knows there is no better. This is it. This is his life.
He falls back in bed.
12:10 P. M.
Kurt drags his ass out of bed and, sitting on his bedroom floor, does the homework he didn't do the previous night.
He can't stand getting behind in school.
He works ahead, even.
His mother shuffles around the house, oblivious to Kurt's presence. The sleaze-bitch. It's her fault for giving birth to me, he thinks.
He'd blame his father, too, if he knew who he was. Briefly, he thinks of his mother's kaleidoscope dream. Wonders if the hippie Jesus is his father. Wonders what happened that made his mother give up on absolutely everything. He'll probably never know.
Maybe it's better this way.
2:55 P. M.
The phone rings. Kurt's mother answers it.
"He's at school," she slurs.
Kurt didn't know his mother ever answered the phone.
4:10 P. M.
Kurt sits wrapped in a blanket on the couch, a roll of toilet paper next to him, watching Wheel of Fortune. Rachel lets herself in.
"Hey, bitch," she says cheerfully. "You missed a good one today. You sick?"
"Hey. Yeah." Kurt blows his nose loudly in some toilet paper to prove it.
"You look like hell," Rachel says. "Your nose is all red."
"Thank you for the compliment." Kurt says sarcastically.
Rachel sits on the couch next to Kurt.
"Funny, Blaine looks like hell too," she says lightly. "You sure you don't have something you want to tell me?" She eyes him with a strange look and a raised eyebrow.
"Pretty sure, yeah."
Rachel pouts. Then she ruffles through her backpack and pulls out a folded piece of paper. She tosses it on the coffee table. "This is from him. You don't have AIDS or something, do you?"
Kurt looks at Rachel. "Ha-ha."
"Well, jeez. Whatever it is, it's got to be a big deal to keep you home from school. You haven't missed a day since eighth grade. And, sorry to say, you might look like shit, but I don't think you're sick."
"Think what you want," Kurt says dully. "I think you have to have sex in order to get AIDS, last I heard."
"Aha, so it's a sex thing!" Rachel shouts triumphantly.
"Go home, Rachel." Kurt says, shooting her his famous bitch face.
Rachel grins. "You know where to find me. For sex tips and advice just holler out the window."
Kurt holds back an urge to strangle her. "Good-bye," he says pointedly.
"Okay, okay. I can take a hint." She heads to the door and turns back to Kurt, a curious expression on her face.
"This, by chance, doesn't have anything to do with Blaine messing with drugs this weekend, does it?" She blinks rapidly, grinning.
"What?"
"He's sort of a dealer, I guess or, you know. One of those guys who works as a go-between. Whatever they're called. So Quinn danced with him at a party Sunday night. She was really high, though. I heard he got busted. Is that true?"
Kurt's stomach twists and shreds.
He's going to be sick.
"No," Kurt says slowly, "it doesn't have anything to do with that." Tears well up in the corners of his eyes and he presses them back with his fingers.
Rachel's face falls. "Oh, shit, Kurt. You didn't know."
Kurt shakes his head numbly.
He doesn't notice when Rachel leaves.
October 19, 2010, 2:45 A. M.
Kurt lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Arguing with himself. He knows he shouldn't do it. But he has nothing to lose.
Feeling like a total creep, he gets dressed and slips out of the house. Runs softly through the yards, avoiding the houses with dogs.
Sneaks up to Blaine's house and sits outside his bedroom window, in the bushes. He leans up against the house and waits. The bricks snag his sweatshirt. It's chilly. He puts his mittens on.
His butt falls asleep.
And his legs.
He gets terribly bored.
5:01 A. M.
He slips away while it's still dark, feeling like a criminal.
A criminal who walks away with nothing.
7:36 A. M.
He gathers his schoolbooks from the coffee table. The note is still there, where Rachel left it. He hesitates, and then opens it.
We really need to talk, Kurt. Please. I'm begging you. -Blaine.
That's all it says.
7:55 A. M.
Kurt waits for the bell and slips into school. He gets to English class just before Mrs. Purcell closes the door. "Feeling better, I presume, Mr. Hummel," she intones.
Kurt presumes it's a rhetorical question and ignores her.
He can feel Blaine's eyes on him.
He won't look at him.
It's torture, is what it is.
Every damn class, of every damn day.
Torture.
12:45 P. M.
Blaine gives up.
Kurt dreads Study Hall. But Blaine gives up. He sits in the opposite corner of the library, removes his glasses, and rests his head on his arms.
He notes with satisfaction that he does, indeed, look like shit. Just as Rachel said.
Rachel plops in the chair next to him.
If Blaine dreams, Kurt doesn't pick it up. Instead, he lays his head on his arms and tries to take in a nap. But he's sucked into yet another falling dream. This time, it's his own.
And then he's pulled awake and Rachel is there. Or, rather, Kurt is with Rachel. And Jesse.
Kurt watches with curiosity.
Rachel looks like shes enjoying it.
A lot.
Four times.
Once was enough for Kurt.
And he really doesn't think Jesses dick could possibly be that large. He could have never fit behind the wheel of ol Ethel with that thing.
Now Kurt knows what else he's missing. He grunts when Rachel nudges his arm.
Gets up.
Two more classes.
Kurt is weary. And he has to work a full shift tonight.
Apparently things get worse before they get better.
If they ever get better.
Kurt's doubtful.
10:14 P. M.
Miss Sylvester is in a coma.
Hospice is in her room all evening.
Kurt hovers anxiously.
Coach Sylvester arrives, having left her daughter over at Mr. and Mrs. Schuester's house.
Coach's fingers dig into Kurt's porcelain skin as they sit on chairs next to Miss Sylvester. Everyone knows that Kurt is a close friend to Miss Sylvester. So they leave him with Coach.
And then Miss Sylvester dies. Right there in front of Kurt and Coach.
Kurt cries. Coach cries. Kurt has never seen her cry before. Kurt's not exactly sure why he's never cried over a residents death before. There was just something special about this one.
But he's glad Miss Sylvester got to make love with that nice young soldier, even if it was just a black-and-white dream.
The head nurse sends Kurt home a little early. She says Kurt still looks a bit under the weather. Kurt is numb. And exhausted. He's been awake since 2 A. M.
He says good-bye to Miss Sylvester. Touches her cold, gnarled hand and gives it a little squeeze.
He gives Coach Sylvester a hug goodbye and they walk to their cars together.
10:31 P. M.
Kurt drives home slowly, windows rolled down, hand ready on the parking brake. He takes Waverly. Past Blaine's house.
Nothing.
He falls into bed when he gets home.
There are no notes, no phone calls, no visits. Not that he was hoping for anything, of course. That bastard.
October 22, 2010
Kurt works the day shift. It's Saturday. He is assigned to the arts-and-crafts room. This makes him happy. Most of the residents at Lima Home don't sleep through the craft.
At his lunch break, the director is there, even though it's a weekend. She calls Kurt into her office and closes the door.
Kurt is worried. Has he done something wrong? Has someone caught him in a dream and thought he was slacking off? He sits down tentatively in the chair by the directors desk.
"Is everything okay?" he asks nervously.
The director smiles. She hands Kurt an envelope.
"This is for you." She says.
"What is it?" Kurt asks.
"I don't know. It's something from Miss Sylvester. We found it in her belongings after the coroner came. Open it."
Kurt's eyes grow wide. His fingers shake a little. He breaks open the seal and pulls out a folded piece of stationery. When he opens it, a small piece of paper flutters to the ground. He reads. The handwriting is barely legible. Crooked. Written with a blind hand.
Dear Kurt,
Thank you for my dreams.
From one catcher to another,
Jean Sylvester
P. S. You have more power than you think.
Kurt's heart stutters. He draws in a breath. No, he thinks. Impossible.
The director picks up the small rectangle of paper from the floor and hands it to Kurt. It's a check.
It says, for college, in the memo line.
It's five thousand dollars.
Kurt looks up at the director, whose face is beaming so hard, it looks like it's about to crack. He looks down at the check, and then again at the letter.
The director stands and gives Kurt's shoulder a squeeze. "Good job, honey," she sniffles. "I'm so glad for you."
3:33 P. M.
There is a phone call for Kurt.
He hurries to the front desk. What a strange day.
It's his mother.
"There's this hippie on the porch, says he ain't leaving until he talks to you. You coming home soon? He wants to know, and I'm going to bed."
Kurt sighs. He writes his schedule down every week on the calendar. But he is amused. Maybe because he got a check from Miss Sylvester. Maybe because his mother calls Blaine a hippie.
"I'll be home a little after five, Ma."
"Do I need to worry about this character on the porch, or can I go to bed?"
"You can go to bed. He's, ah, not a rapist. That I know of, anyway." They hang up.
5:21 P. M.
Blaine is not on the porch.
Kurt goes inside. There's a note on the counter, underneath a dirty glass, in his mother's scrawl.
Hippie said he couldn't stay. Be back tomorrow.
Love,
Mom.
It said, Love, Mom.
That was the most notable thing about it.
Kurt rips the note into shreds and throws it in the overflowing garbage can.
He changes his clothes, pops a TV dinner in the oven, and pulls out his college applications.
Five thousand. Just a drop in the bucket, he knows. But it's something.
Just like Miss Sylvester's note.
That was really something.
Kurt can't wrap his mind around that one yet.
He looks over everything in his piles of papers. It all looks foreign to him. Financial aid forms, scholarship applications, writing a request essay? Jeez. He needs to get moving on this.
He has to really think now. What would he do if he didn't get into NYADA? Their Glee Club had been cut his Freshmen year. He tried the football team as a kicker, but that didn't go to well because of his sexuality. He joined the Cheerios only because Coach asked him too. But those all lasted for a second and half.
But science, math, maybe research. Maybe dream research.
Or not.
He really wants to forget that part of his shitty, shitty life.
He calls Rachel. "What are you doing?"
"Sitting home. Alone. You?"
"I'm wondering if there's a party somewhere at one of your rich friends' houses."
Rachel is silent for a moment. "Why?" Her voice is suspicious.
"I don't know," Kurt lies. "I'm bored. Can't I get in with you? As your date or something?"
"Kurt."
"What."
"You don't want to go there."
"What? I'm just bored. I've never been to one of those organized Hill parties. You know, where the parents are gone and leave all the booze and shit for the kids to drink."
Rachel is quiet again. "You're looking for him, aren't you. I'm coming over." She hangs up.
Rachel arrives ten minutes later with her sleeping bag. "Can I stay over?" she asks sweetly. "We haven't had a sleepover in forever."
Kurt looks at her skeptically. "What's going on?" He asks. "Just tell me."
Rachel throws her stuff on the couch. "You got munchies? I haven't eaten." She sniffs the air and opens the oven. "Eww. Can't we cook something real?"
"Fine," sighs Kurt. He rummages around in the kitchen. The refrigerator is surprisingly full today. "Fajitas okay?"
"Perfect," says Rachel gleefully. She mixes two vodka tonics, adds a splash of orange juice, and hands one to Kurt.
"Would you stop that, please?"
"Stop what?"
"That whole syrupy sweet-talk thing. It's really grating on me."
Rachel blinks. "I don't know what you're talking about. Anyway, give me some friggin' veggies to chop."
They work up a meal, making guacamole from scratch and everything. Kurt takes the TV dinner, wraps it in tinfoil, and puts it in the refrigerator. His mother will probably eat it. Cold. For breakfast or something.
By the time the fajitas are ready, Kurt is buzzing from his second drink and Rachel is doing shots from the bottle.
They move into the living room and flip on music videos.
"So, are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on, or not?" Kurt says.
Rachel sighs and gives him a sorrowful look. "Oh, Kurt. Are you still thumping for Blaine or what?"
Kurt takes a swallow of his drink, and lies. "I-I'm getting over him. I'm not speaking to him."
"I saw him here, on your step this morning. Were you working?"
"Yeah. I guess he was here all day. Ma calls him the hippie." He laughs.
Rachel takes another shot. "Whooo!" She says when it goes down. "Sheesh. Um, yeah. Blaine. Well, he's at Santana's tonight. With Quinn," she adds.
"Well, duh, he wouldn't be with Santana." Kurt says, trying not to think about Blaine and Quinn.
Rachel gives her a curious look. "Why not Santana?"
Kurt's feeling a bit reckless from the effects of the alcohol. "Rachel! Santana's a lesbian. Didn't you know?"
"What?"
"It's true!" Kurt said.
"How do you know?" Rachel asks.
"She and Brittany had sex in the bathroom while we were in Stratford. They're really loud." He says, still buzzing from his drink.
Rachel looks at him, confused.
Kurt sits, stone-faced.
And then Rachel bursts out laughing. "Holy shit, Kurtie. You got your funny back."
Kurt echoes Rachel's laugh. "Gotcha," he says shakily.
Rachel takes a tentative bite of her fajita. "Hey, it's good, kiddo."
Kurt rolls his eyes. Now Jesse has Rachel calling him that. "Anyway," prompts Kurt.
"Hunh?" Rachel asks with a mouthful of fajita.
"Blaine?"
"Ohhhh. Right. Well, since you dumped him, he's been going whole hog on the rich girls. I thought he was gay? Maybe he's bi, that usually happens when gay guys get to high or drunk. I know my dads both had days like that. And right now he's got Quinn wrapped around his little finger."
"Even though he supposedly got busted at her party?"
Rachel giggles. "Who do you think he's working with? Her father! They have a little arrangement. Quinn told me. How hilarious is that. Talk about a family business. And we're not talking just pot."
Kurt shovels food in his mouth.
Rachel continues. "Quinn told Santana she slept with him." She slaps her hand to her mouth. "Oh, my God. I did not just say that."
Kurt is numb. And strangely begging for more. He wants to hate him. "Naw, its cool," He says smoothly. "I'm so over that guy. He's a big fake. Right? He's gay and sleeping with women. He probably just thought he was gay and I was experiment. I really don't give a shit anymore." He eggs Rachel on.
"He IS a big fake," shrieks Rachel, nearly upsetting the vodka bottle. She fills Kurt's glass. "No wonder he has all those new clothes, and finally got a cell phone. Sheesh. He's making some bucks. I think its crack. But that's just a guess."
Kurt can't believe it.
"He said he doesn't drink. Doesn't do drugs." Kurt says, remembering their conversation.
He thought he couldn't stand Quinn Fabray.
"What a liar." Rachel says, taking another sip of her drink.
"All the dealers lie, I suppose," Kurt says.
Rachel nods, over-animated by the liquor. "They are pretty smooth. I just couldn't believe it when I found out what Blaine was doing. But I knew he was a pothead three years ago, back after he flunked into our grade. I guess it goes on from there."
"Was he really a pothead then?"
"I bought from him," Rachel whispers.
"You did?"
Rachel nods again. "A lot."
Kurt stands abruptly and takes the dishes to the sink. He begins washing them as the flurry of information sloshes around in her brain. He had sex with Quinn? Kurt's whole body stings.
When Kurt comes back to the living room, Rachel's eyes are glazed. She stares at the TV.
Kurt sits next to her. "So if Blaine is hot for Quinn, why did he sit on my step all day, and why does he keep trying to talk to me?"
Rachel looks at Kurt. "Maybe he doesn't want to lose you as a future customer. Or a good lay. Face it, baby, you're looking hot these days. You have a bubble but. A very cute bubble but. Jesse doesn't have a bubble but. How do you get a bubble butt?"
Kurt feels his stomach churning.
He excuses herself to the bathroom.
When he returns, Rachel is lying on the couch, passed out.
Kurt turns off the TV. He cleans up the mess and gets a drink of water.
October 23, 2010 1:34 A. M.
He leaves Rachel on the couch, sprints through the yards to hide in the stand of trees near Blaine's house. There's a light on inside, so he waits. After a while, a car pulls into his driveway. It sits there for five minutes, maybe more. Finally, Blaine gets out and goes inside. When he sees all the lights go out, he deposits himself in the bushes under Blaine's window, stepping carefully around the crunchy leaves that insist on falling constantly the past few days.
Luck is on his side when he cracks the window open an inch. He hears him now, and Kurt's heart breaks as he sighs and rustles around in the dark. Kurt can hear his bed creak when he lies down, and he can hear him punch his pillow, getting settled for sleep.
Kurt wonders what he wears to bed. He is more than tempted to look.
But he will wait.
He must wait.
He waits.
2:15 A. M.
Blaine doesn't snore.
3:04 A. M.
Kurt, asleep in the bushes, is jolted awake. Painfully. His body is paralyzed almost immediately, and he is sucked into his mind. Into his fears. His dream.
It lasts two hours.
The same scenes, on an endless loop.
The middle-aged man, spraying lighter fluid, and then flicking a cigarette at Blaine. The monster-man in the kitchen, flinging a knife-pointed chair, hitting the ceiling fan, decapitating the middle-aged man. And a new one. Quinn, the rich girl cheerleader, in handcuffs, hooked to a bed. Smiling.
Kurt thinks she looks dreadful.
Naked.
As Blaine climbs in bed with her.
And Kurt can't pull himself away.
He feels himself become ill, but he cannot move.
He can't pound on the window to wake him.
He's frozen. Paralyzed.
And he thought school was torture.
It's absolutely the worst dream he ever been stuck in. By far. He passes out. Unconscious. Drained. Right before the scene changes. And ends.
6:31 A. M.
He opens his eyes.
On his belly, facedown, in the stones and branches.
He can hardly move.
But he must.
The sun is coming up.
7:11 A. M.
Kurt limps home. He ignores the barking dogs.
7:34 A. M.
Kurt crawls in the door, closes it, and falls on the carpet next to Rachel, who is still lying on the couch. He sleeps.
8:03 A. M.
Oh, God. Kurt's in the forest. Again, again, again. So tired.
When they see the girl, bobbing in the water, Jesse appears next to Rachel.
The grin.
The struggling.
The plea. "Help her."
And Kurt can't help her.
He can never help her.
Jesse reaches over the water, but he cannot help either. Jesse makes love to Rachel as she is crying for the girl, Beth.
The girl is bloody, lost, gone with the shark.
As always.
Kurt cries. For Beth, for Rachel. But mostly for himself. He feels like he's about a hundred years old.
9:16 A. M.
Rachel nudges Kurt.
"I gotta go," she says.
Kurt grunts. His body aches.
Rachel closes the door softly, and Kurt sleeps.
The carpet scratches his face.
11:03 A. M.
There is a soft knock, and a lets-himself-in noise of the door. Kurt thinks he's dreaming.
Blaine checks to make sure Kurt is alive, on the floor. Then he sits on the couch and waits.
Kurt's mother walks by.
And walks by again, the other way, carrying a tinfoil-covered tray and a glass bottle.
12:20 P. M.
Kurt rolls.
Groans.
Curls up in a ball on his side, clutching his belly.
"Oh, God," he moans, eyes closed. his head aches. His muscles scream every time he moves. He is weak and empty. Light-headed.
Exhausted.
And Blaine is there, picking him up. Taking him to his bed. Covering Kurt with blankets.
Blaine closes the door.
Sits on the floor, next to Kurt.
12:54 P. M.
Blaine goes to the kitchen. Makes Kurt a cold chicken sandwich. Pours milk. Pours orange juice. Puts it on a plate. Takes it to his room.
Waits.
1:02 P. M.
Until Blaine gets scared because Kurt's sleeping so much. And he wakes Kurt up.
Kurt groans and slowly sits up.
He drinks the juice and milk.
Eats the sandwich.
Doesn't look at Blaine.
Or speak to him.
1:27 P. M.
"Why do you keep coming here," He says dully. His voice is rough.
Blaine measures his words. "Because I care about you."
Kurt chuckles morosely. "Right."
He looks at her helplessly. "Kurt, I'm-"
He gives him a sharp look. "You're what? Dealing drugs? Fucking Quinn Fabray? Tell me something I don't know."
He puts his head in his hands and groans. "Don't believe everything you hear."
Kurt snorts. "You're denying it?"
"I am not fucking Quinn Fabray." He shudders. "Last time I checked I was gay and I don't fuck chicks."
"Oh, really. Only in your dreams, then." He turns to the wall.
He stares at the back of Kurt's head.
For a painful amount of time.
"You didn't," he finally says.
Kurt doesn't respond.
He stands up. "Jesus, Kurt." He spits the words.
Stands there, accusing.
"Maybe you should leave now," Kurt says.
He moves to the door, opens it, and turns back to look at her. "Dreams are not memories, Kurt. They're hopes and fears. Indications of other life stresses. I thought you of all people would know the difference." He walks out.
November 21, 2010
Kurt and Blaine don't speak.
Kurt goes about school and his job mechanically, feeling emptier than he's ever felt before in all his life. The one person who knows about the dreams, the one person he really started to care about, feels like his worst enemy. Kurt spends a lot of time thinking about being an old maid forever, like Miss Sylvester. Preparing himself for a very lonely life.
Working at the nursing home.
Commuting to college.
Living with his mother.
Forever.
At school, the number of sleeping students increases with the waning of daylight hours and the onset of colder weather.
As Thanksgiving approaches, in one especially rough study hall that follows too light a lunch, a science geek girl named Tina Cohen-Chang takes a rare nap.
She's driving an out-of-control car with a rapist in the backseat for almost the entire class period. Fifteen minutes into it, Kurt is already fully paralyzed.
Luckily, Rachel is not there to notice when Kurt falls off his chair and shakes on the carpet, back in the corner of the library.
Luckily, Blaine notices.
He picks Kurt up, sets him back on the chair.
Rubs Kurt's fingers a bit until they move.
Pulls a king-size Milky Way bar from his backpack and sets it next to his hand before Blaine leaves for government class.
Distracts the teacher when he slips in late.
Doesn't look at him.
Kurt swallows his pride along with the candy bar. Writes something in his spiral notebook in a shaky hand. Rips the paper off the spiral.
Crumbles it into a ball.
Hits him in the back of the head with it.
He picks it up and opens it. Reads it.
Smiles, and puts it in his backpack.
On Ethel's windshield after school is a section of newspaper: the classifieds. Kurt looks around suspiciously, wondering if it's some sort of joke. Seeing no one, he pulls it out from under the wiper and gets in the car. He gives it a cursory glance, first one side, and then the other. And then he finds it. Highlighted in yellow.
Having trouble sleeping? Nightmares? Sleep disorders?
Questions answered. Problems solved.
It's a volunteer sleep study. Sponsored by the University of Ohio. For scientific research.
And it's free.
When he gets home, he calls immediately and signs up for Thanksgiving weekend, at the North Lima Sleep Clinic location near school.
November 25, 2010
It's the day after Thanksgiving. Kurt worked Thanksgiving Day and today, for double pay. He has tomorrow off, anticipating trouble at the sleep study tonight. Wondering if this is going to be a repeat of the bus ride to Stratford. Wondering if this is going to turn into another big mess.
10:59 P. M.
Kurt grabs an overnight bag from the backseat of his car and walks into the sleep clinic. He removes his coat and registers under a fake name at the desk, Richard Schwartz, combing two of his favorite Broadway actors names, Richard Blake and Chandra Lee Schwartz. Through the tinted glass window, He can see a row of beds with machines all around. There are people already in some of the beds.
This is a very, very bad idea, he thinks.
The door to the sleep room opens, and a woman in a white lab coat stands there, looking at a chart. Kurt stumbles. Puts his hands to his face. Grimaces. He reaches blindly for a chair before his body goes numb.
11:01 P. M.
He is on a street in a busy city. It's raining. He stands under an awning, not sure who he's looking for. Not yet. He doesn't feel compelled to follow anyone passing by. Eventually, his stomach lurches. he sighs and rolls his eyes, and looks up.
Here he comes, he thinks.
Through the awning.
It's Mr. Figgins, the principal of his high school.
11:02 P. M.
His vision defrosts. The lab-coated woman has moved into the room and is staring at him.
Kurt stares back, just to freak her out. Kurt looks around the room at the others who sit there, waiting for their names to be called. They all look at the floor as his gaze passes from one to the next. He knows what they're thinking. There's no way they want to be in that room with me, the freak.
Kurt sets his jaw.
He's tired of crying.
Refuses to make any further scenes.
When the feeling returns to his fingers and feet, he stands up, grabs his coat and overnight bag, and stumbles to the door.
His voice is hoarse when he turns to speak to the receptionist. "Sorry. I'm not doing this." He goes outside into the parking lot. The air is crisp, and he sucks it into her lungs.
The woman in the lab coat chases out the door after her. "Sir?"
Kurt keeps walking. Tosses his bag back into the car.
Over his shoulder, he yells, "I said, I'm not doing this."
Kurt climbs behind the wheel. Leaves the lab-coated woman standing there as he drives away. "There has to be another way, Ethel," he says. "You understand me, don't you sweetheart."
Ethel purrs mournfully.
11:23 P. M.
Kurt pulls into his driveway after the incident in the sleep study waiting room. Wonders if he should have given it a try. But there is no way on earth he wants to know what his principal, Mr. Figgins, dreams about.
Ew.
Ew, ew, ew.
This is not the right way to fix it, he decides. However, what is the right way? Because it's time.
Time to stop crying, time to get his act together and do something. Time to move beyond the pity party.
Before he loses his mind.
Because there's no way on earth he's going to make it through college unless he grows some serious balls and turns this train wreck around.
He goes into the house and digs through his papers on his bedside table. He finds it: Miss Sylvester's note. Reads it again.
Dear Kurt,
Thank you for my dreams.
From one catcher to another,
Jean Sylvester
P. S. You have more power than you think.
11:36 P. M.
What does it mean?
11:39 P. M.
He still doesn't know.
11:58 P. M.
Nope.
November 26, 2010, 9:59 A. M.
Kurt waits at the door of the public library. When it opens for business, he meanders through the nonfiction section. Self-help. Dreams.
He pulls all six books from the shelf, finds a back corner table, and reads.
When a group of sleepy-looking students comes in and sets up at a nearby table, he moves to a different section of the library.
He waits patiently for the computer in the corner to open up. Spends an hour there. He can't believe what he finds with Google's help.
Of course, there's no information on people like him. But it's a start.
5:01 P. M.
With four of the six books in tow, Kurt drives home. He is fascinated. He makes dinner with a book in his hand. He reads until midnight. And then he takes a deep breath and talks to himself as he gets ready for bed.
"I have a problem," he says quietly, trying not to feel like a dork. "I have a problem, and I need to solve it. I would like to have a dream about how to solve this problem."
He concentrates. Climbs into bed, closes his eyes, and continues in a calm voice. "I would like to dream about what I can do to block out other people's dreams. I want-" he falters. "I mean, I would like to help people, and I also would like to live a normal life. So their dreams don't fuck up my life forever."
Kurt breathes deeply. He stops speaking, and instead focuses his mind on his problem. Until he remembers. "And I would like to remember the dream when I wake up," he adds out loud.
Over and over, he repeats the words in his head.
He peeks at the clock quickly and chides himself for messing with the mojo.
12:33 A. M.
He focuses again. Breathes deeply. Lets the thoughts float around and meld together in his mind.
Slowly, he feels the thoughts filling the room. He breathes them in. They caress his skin. He lets his mind be free, allows his muscles to relax.
And he lets the sleep in.
Nothing happens at first.
Which is good, he discovers.
Lucidity comes late.
2:45 A. M.
Kurt finds himself in the middle of a dark lake. He treads water for what seems like hours. He grows weary. Panics. Sees Blaine on the shore with a rope. He waves frantically to him, but he doesn't see him. He can't hold on. The water fills his mouth and ears.
He submerges.
There are many people under the surface of the water: men, women, children, babies. He looks at them with panic, his lungs bursting. They stare at him, eyes bulging in death.
He looks around frantically. The pressure in his lungs is overpowering. Everything dims, and goes black. He feels his eyeballs bulging, and hears the haunting inner laughter of the floating bodies around him.
Kurt gasps and sits up. Its 3:10 A. M.
He breathes hard. Writes down the dream in a spiral notebook.
Tries not to feel bad that he failed. He expects this.
It's not over, he tells himself, lying back down.
Let me dream it again, he thinks, calmly. And this time, I won't drown. I will breathe underwater, because this is my dream and I can do what I want with it. I will swim like a fish. Because I know how to swim. And, and I have gills. Yes, that's it. I have gills.
He repeats this to himself as he lies down.
3:47 A. M.
He doesn't have gills.
He rolls over and groans, frustrated, into his pillow. Repeats the mantra.
4:55 A. M.
It begins again.
When Kurt slips under water, exhausted, his lungs burning, he looks around at the others who are floating under the surface.
He begins to panic.
The bulging eyes.
And then.
Miss Sylvester blinks at him from under the water. She smiles encouragingly. She is not one of the dead.
Floating next to Miss Sylvester is another Kurt, who nods and smiles. "It's your dream," he says.
The drowning Kurt looks from Miss Sylvester to Kurt. His vision dims.
He grows frantic.
"Concentrate," Kurt says. "Change it."
Drowning Kurt closes his eyes. Falls farther under the water. He kicks his feet as he loses consciousness, struggling to move, to get back above the water.
"Concentrate!" Kurt says again. "Do it!"
Gills pop from the drowning Kurt's neck.
He opens his eyes.
Breathes. Long, cleansing breaths, underwater. It tickles. He laughs in bubbles, incredulous.
He looks up, and Miss Sylvester and Kurt are smiling. Clapping, slow motion and soundless, in the water. They swim over to him.
The formerly drowning Kurt grins. "I did it," he says. Bubbles come out of his mouth, and the words appear individually above his head when each bubble pops, like a cartoon.
"You did it," Kurt says, nodding, his hair swishing like silk.
"Let's swim now," Miss Sylvester says. "Someone's waiting for you on the shore."
Kurt and Miss Sylvester swim partway with the formerly drowning Kurt, and then they stop and wave him on.
He nears the shore, and when he surfaces and can stand, the gills disappear. He walks out of the water, streaming wet in his pajamas boxer shorts and a T-shirt.
Blaine is there. He's wearing boxer shorts too. His muscles ripple in the sunlight. His body is tan. It glistens.
It looks like they are on a deserted, tropical island.
He doesn't move.
He doesn't have a rope anymore.
He's sitting in the sand.
He waits for him to do something, but he doesn't move.
Remember, it's your dream, he hears. It's his other Kurt speaking, the one who is aware that he is dreaming.
Kurt hesitates and approaches Blaine. "Hey, Blaine."
He looks up. "I care about you," he says. His eyes are golden, like the sun.
Kurt wants to believe him. And so he does.
"What about Quinn?" He asks.
"Dreams aren't memories," he says. "Please talk to me."
6:29 A. M.
Kurt smiles in his sleep. He watches over himself in the dream, and plunges back into it, taking it in different directions, starting over at various spots to make it fun, or sexy, or beautiful, or silly.
November 27, 2010, 8:05 A. M.
The alarm clock rings. Kurt keeps his eyes closed and reaches to turn it off. He lies in bed, going over the dream in detail, remembering it. Memorizing it.
When he has it solidly in his mind, he sits up and writes it in his journal.
He can't stop smiling.
It's a small step. But it gives Kurt hope.
He studies the books all day, until it's time for work.
9:58 P. M.
It's quiet at the nursing home. The residents are all tucked in their beds, doors closed. Kurt fills out charts at the front desk. He is alone.
The call panel is dark, until a white light flashes from the room Miss Sylvester once occupied. A new resident is there now. His name is Victor Schuester. He thinks it's the Spanish Teacher's, Will Schuester's, father. But he can't be sure.
Kurt sets down his pen and goes into the room to see what he needs.
But Mr. Schuester is asleep.
He's dreaming.
Kurt grabs hold of the wall as he goes blind.
9:59 P. M.
They are in the basement of a house. It's lit moderately, and it's not very cold down there. Kurt sees gray leaves blowing and piling up outside the venting window. Everything is in black and white, he realizes after a moment.
Mr. Schuester is perhaps twenty years younger. He stands at the bottom of the stairs with a young man, whom he calls William. The Spanish Teacher William. The one who watched Coach's daughter when Miss Sylvester died.
They are yelling.
Hateful things.
Mr. Schuester looks horrified, and William storms up the stairs and out of the house, slamming the door.
The old man tries to follow, but he can only move in slow motion. He tries speaking, but no words come out. He is mired by the weight of his feet, sinking through the steps.
He looks at Kurt, his face cracked and broken, lined with tears. And then he looks past Kurt.
Kurt turns around.
Miss Sylvester is standing behind her, watching. Waiting. For something. She smiles encouragingly at Mr. Schuester.
His face is anguished.
Fresh tears fall from his eyes.
He is sinking into the steps, and now he can't move at all.
Miss Sylvester stands patiently, watching him, compassionate. She closes her eyes, and her brow furrows. She holds deathly still.
"Help me," he finally cries, as if its forced from his lungs.
Miss Sylvester glides over to Mr. Schuester.
Holds her hand out.
Helps him out of the stairs, which magically repair themselves. But instead of guiding him up the stairs, she brings him back to the starting spot of the dream.
Miss Sylvester glances at Kurt and nods, then turns back to the old man and tells him something that Kurt cannot hear.
They stand there, Kurt looking on, for several moments. And then the dream begins again.
Mr. Schuester and William are yelling.
Hateful things.
Mr. Schuester looks horrified, and William turns toward the stairs.
Miss Sylvester says something to Mr. Schuester again. The scene pauses.
Mr. Schuester reaches for Williams sleeve.
"Don't go," he says. "Please. There's something I have to tell you."
William turns around slowly.
"Son," the old man says. "You're right. I'm wrong. And I'm so sorry."
William's lip quivers.
He opens his arms to his father.
Mr. Schuester embraces the young man. "I love you," he says.
Miss Sylvester whispers a third time to Mr. Schuester, and he nods and smiles. He puts his arm around his son, and they walk up the stairs together.
Miss Sylvester smiles at Kurt and fades away. Kurt stands for a moment in the basement. He is surprised that he's not compelled to follow the old man. He looks around and sees bright green grass and petunias growing outside the venting window, and the basement walls have turned a soft yellow.
Strange.
Kurt closes his eyes and concentrates, and he pulls himself easily from the dream.
He's still standing. He blinks Mr. Schuester's dark room into view once again. Her fingers are barely tingling.
How bizarre.
But nice to see Miss Sylvester. That's for sure.
He turns to leave. Out of the corner of her eye, he notices his call button.
It's on the floor.
Out of reach of the bed.
Kurt hesitates, and then picks it up and connects it back to its clip on the wall. He turns the blinking light off.
He looks around the room quickly, hackles raised.
Closes the door behind him.
Shakes his head, mystified.
At the front desk is Carole Hudson, yeah, Finn Hudson's mom, the head nurse. "I finished your charts, hon," she says. "Where'd you disappear off to?"
Kurt points down the hall. "Mr. Schuester's light was flashing. He's all set now. I just turned it off." His voice is pure and smooth, and it catches him by surprise.
Carole gives Kurt a curious look. "His light wasn't flashing, Kurt." She goes to the light panel, picks it up, and jiggles it. "Hmm," she says. "Maybe it burned out."
"That's odd," Kurt says lightly.
He puts the charts away, grabs his coat, and punches out. The stamp says 11:09 P. M. "Welp, gotta go. School tomorrow."
He drives home, a fresh song in his heart.
November 29, 2010, 12:45 P. M.
Kurt is obsessed with learning more about dreams. He wills people to sleep in class. And study hall, as always, is full of excitement.
Kurt practices on everyone he can.
Most of the time, he fails.
He still hasn't figured everything out.
But he will.
By God, he will.
Because now he has his very good friend Miss Sylvester to help him. He suppresses the urge to skip down the hallways.
December 5, 2010, 7:35 A. M.
Blaine parks his new car next to Kurt's as he arrives at school.
It's not a brand-new car. Just new to him.
But it is a Beemer.
People on the south side of Lima do not drive Beemers. Well, maybe the 1976 variety. Definitely not the 2000 variety. Kurt's mouth opens, and then he presses his lips shut. Shakes his head and walks toward the building.
He's right behind him. "It's ten years old, Kurt. Come on."
Kurt's eyebrow are permanently raised as Blaine tries to keep up with him on the way in to school.
He loses him when he slips and flips on the icy sidewalk.
Kurt finds Rachel by the doorway to English class. "What's the scoop on the pimpster wheels out there?" Kurt asks her.
"I don't know, amico. He must be making some big cake. I can't believe he hasn't been expelled yet."
"Has he actually been arrested?"
"No. Quinn's daddy worked it out with the cops. Blaine was at all the parties this weekend with her."
"And now he's driving that." Kurt says,
"It's a friggin' 323Ci convertible. Jesse says seventeen grand at least for one of those, used."
Kurt's blood boils. "This is just, just-" The anger swells, and he can't come up with a word. Rachel is giving him the evil eye.
"Unbe-fucking-lievable?" Comes a voice from behind him.
Kurt takes a quick breath, watching Rachel's eyes grow wide. Shit. He turns around and there's Blaine.
"S'cuse me, please," he says politely, and squeezes past them into the classroom. Kurt catches a whiff of the cologne he's wearing. His stomach flips against his will.
Rachel's eyes sparkle. She giggles. "Oops."
Kurt rolls his eyes and laughs reluctantly. "Yeah."
12:45 P. M.
For days, Kurt's been in other people's dreams during study hall, with minimal success in helping them change the dreams. He is still puzzled by one thing.
Make that two things.
First, how did Miss Sylvester get Mr. Schuester to ask her for help? And second, what was she saying to him to get him to change his dream?
Sorry. Make that three. Three things.
How the hell can Miss Sylvester see in the dreams, when she's blind? And how can she be there when she's dead? Okay, that's four. Kurt knows. There are probably more than that, even.
This is so frustrating.
He knows he needs to work harder.
And he's losing weight. Rapidly.
He was already thin enough.
Now his cheeks look caved in, like his mothers. And he has dark circles under his eyes, from getting up so often in the night, working on his own dreams.
He finds Milky Way bars in the strangest places.
(He knows they are from him.)
(He wonders if they are laced with pot.)
Blaine has been sitting in his old spot again the past few weeks. But he doesn't sleep.
He reads.
Kurt sort of wishes he would fall asleep. But he also worries what he might see.
Exams are coming. He opens his math book and studies it. Every now and then, he glances at Blaine, whose back is to him. From what Rachel said, he was at the Hill parties again all weekend. With Quinn. And a lot of drugs. Kurt sighs. Pulls himself out of the threatening misery and focuses on the math book again. Refuses to go there.
1:01 P. M.
Blaine's head nods, and jerks back up. He shakes his head swiftly and glances over his shoulder at Kurt. Kurt looks down. Then he slouches in his chair and puts his chin in his hand. His hair falls softly around his shoulders and over his eyes. Kurt reluctantly admires his profile as he turns a page in the book.
His head nods.
The book slips from his fingers.
It doesn't wake him when it thumps on the table.
Kurt feels his energy.
He concentrates, and slips into his dream slowly. Another positive step he's learning to control the speed of his arrivals and departures. It's much easier than before.
1:03 P. M.
Blaine is sitting in a dark jail cell. Alone. Above his head is a sign that says, Drug Pusher.
Kurt watches from outside the cell.
Blaine's head is down.
The scene changes abruptly.
He's in Kurt's room, sitting on the floor, writing something on a pad of paper. Alone. He looks up at him, beckoning him with his eyes. He takes a few steps forward.
He holds up the notepad.
It's not what you think.
That's what it says.
He tears off that sheet of paper. Below it is another sheet in his handwriting.
I think I'm in love with you.
Kurt's stomach lurches.
He looks at the tablet for a long moment. Then he turns to Kurt and rips off one more sheet. He watches Kurt's face as Kurt reads it.
How do you like my new trick?
Blaine grins at him, and fades.
The scene changes again. Back in the jail cell. The sign above his head is gone.
He is alone. He watches from outside. His head is down. Then he looks up at him.
A ring of keys floats in front of him.
"Let me out," he says. "Help me."
Kurt is startled. He moves automatically and unlocks the cell. Blaine walks to him, takes Kurt in his arms. He looks into Kurt's glasz blue eyes. He sinks his fingers into his hair and kisses him.
Kurt steps out of himself as he's kissing Blaine. He walks away into a dark hallway and eases himself back to awareness in the library.
Kurt blinks.
Sits up.
Looks at him.
He's still asleep at his table.
He rubs his eyes and wonders:
How the hell did he do that?
And.
Now what?
1:30 P. M.
He slides into the seat across the table from Kurt. His eyes are moist with sleep and mischief. "Well?"
"Well what," he mutters.
"It worked, right?"
Kurt squelches a grin. "Poorly. How the hell did you do that?" He demands.
His face sobers. "It's the only way I could think of to get you to talk to me."
"Okay, I get that. But how did you do it?"
He hesitates. Glances at the clock. Shrugs. "Doesn't look like I have time to explain right now," he says. "When would you like to go out with me so we can talk about it?" A grin flirts with his lips.
He's got Kurt cornered.
And he knows it.
Kurt chuckles, defeated. "You are such a bastard."
"When?" he demands. "I promise, all my heart, I'll be your house elf for the rest of my life if I fail to meet you at the appointed date and time." He leans forward. "Promise," he says again. He holds up two fingers.
The bell rings.
They stand up.
Kurt's not answering.
He comes around the table toward him and pushes Kurt gently against the wall. Sinks his lips onto Kurt's.
He tastes like coffee.
Kurt can't stop the flipping in his stomach.
He pulls back and touches Kurt's cheek, his hair. "When?" He whispers. Urgently.
Kurt clears his throat and blinks. "A-a-after school works for me," he says.
They grab their backpacks and run. As they slip in the doorway of government class, Blaine shoves a Power Bar in Kurt's hand.
Kurt sits at his desk and looks at it. He raises his eyebrow at him, from across the room.
Protein, he mouths. He gestures like a weight lifter.
Kurt laughs out loud.
Opens it.
Sneaks bites when the teacher isn't looking.
It's not as good as a Milky Ways.
But it'll do.
In P. E. , they're playing badminton.
"I'm watching you," he growls as they change sides. "Don't you dare sneak out of here without me."
Kurt flashes him a wicked grin.
After school, Kurt exits the locker room and looks around, then heads for the parking lot. Blaine's standing between their cars. His hair, dripping, has a few tiny icicles attached.
"Aha!" he says when he sees Kurt, as if he's foiled Kurt's escape plans.
Kurt rolls his eyes. "Where to, dream boy?"
Blaine hesitates.
Works his jaw.
"My house," he says. "You lead the way."
Kurt freezes. His stomach churns. "Is...is he..?" He swallows hard. He's not sure how to ask his question.
Blaine squints in the pale sunlight and reads the question in his voice. "Don't worry, Kurt. He's dead."
Finally! Right! Wow, long chapter, but I really hope that it's worth it! Please tell me what you think by reviewing!
Don't forget to vote on my poll whether or not you want Rachel and Finn together, or keep it Rachel and Jesse.
Never play with Shadows,
LatinMagicWriter is on fire