Title: Keeping the Balance
Author: sun_and_rain
Rating: PG-13
Warning: deals with issues of consent, homophobia, semi-sexual situations, and memory loss
Summary: No one recognized the name when Kurt first spoke it–a name he'd found buried somewhere in his dreams–but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was important: "Blaine". Whatever had been taken from them had something to do with Blaine.
Chapter Summary: You can just feel the details. The bits and pieces you never bothered to put into words.
A/N: I'm back in the real world! I am so sincerely sorry for the wait, Ladies and Gents. But I am now successfully moved, and I've got a fairly steady job, so I can finally get back to writing. Good news, though: we're only a chapter away from getting real, actual, concrete answers. I know, crazy, right? In the meantime, visit here (sunandrainfic. tumblr tagged/ left-over-headcannon) if you want to know any of my headcanon for this 'verse. Also, I've been collecting a playlist for the whole series that you can find here(sunandrainfic. tumblr tagged/ left-over-soundtrack). I've been adding to it sporadically. :)
Thank you all for the amazing support and for sticking with me! I'll do my best to reply to all of you now that I'm back on the wagon. And now: Here is (finally!) the latest chapter of Keeping the Balance.
Chapter Six A: Always Get A Receipt
Kurt and Mercedes stood in silence in the empty choir room, looking at the wall and the chalkboard, respectively.
Kurt cleared his throat, and shifted in his chair. Mercedes crossed her arms.
"So…" he said, drawing out the word like taffy. He watched her out of the corner of his eyes, fiddling with his fingers.
Mercedes' lips were tight.
"Sorry," she finally said, "I don't think I got what you were trying to do. Was that supposed to be your version of an apology?"
Kurt chanced to take a quick look at her expression. (Yes, just as he thought: she was angry.) Chewing on his lip, he tried to figure out the best way to answer that question without pissing her off more.
"…Yes?" he asked carefully, watching her eyebrows raise.
She tilted her head, as if waiting for him to say something else. Kurt let his lip fall out of his teeth, unsure what else he was supposed to say. He had been talking for the past ten minutes—there wasn't really anything to add.
Mercedes uncrossed her arms and then, huffing out a breath, crossed them again.
"So, this imaginary boy you see in your dreams, he told you to talk to Karofsky," she began, and Kurt opened his mouth to protest. "-and the only reason you're even talking to me right now is because he told you not to talk to him alone," she finished, holding up a hand to curb his speech. "Am I getting that right?"
Kurt clenched his jaw. "Not exactly," he began.
"And this past week," she interrupted, "the week where you were ignoring me and snapping at me and basically being a shit friend—that was because you were angry at me for doing something you can't even explain to me, because you don't even know what it is I did exactly. But whatever I did, it had something to do with this imaginary boy who keeps coming to you in your dreams—and there's no way I would remember doing it because we've all had our memories wiped, so I just have to trust you when you say I did this horrible thing I don't remember doing. Am I good so far?"
"Mercedes—"
"And instead of talking to me about all of this like a best friend should, you've been getting yourself sick because you're not eating, and you're sleeping too much, and you're not doing your work. And even though everyone in the choir room has been worried crazy about you since you got back from winter break, you've been so busy obsessing over this imaginary boy and acting like no one can tell you're not okay that you can't be bothered to get your head out of your ass and get some help. Did I get that part right?"
Kurt's heart thumped angrily in his throat as he tried to form words. "No—"
"No? So, you didn't ignore me every time I tried to sit down next to you?"
"That's not—!"
"What, you haven't been oversleeping and skipping meals and not paying attention in class?"
"I'm not-!"
"And you just tell me you need me to help you? You don't even say sorry for how you've been treating me? You don't even apologize for blaming me for something you don't even know if I did, all for some imaginary boy who—"
"He's not imaginary—!"
"I know he's not imaginary!" she exploded. The room echoed her words back to her.
Kurt stilled, feeling like he had been punched in the gut.
"…What?" A weird, twisted kind of hurt wrung his heart. Was she saying what he thought she was saying?
Mercedes looked like she was going to cry.
"You're not the only one who can feel that something's wrong, Kurt," she reproved, angry tears shimmering in her eyes. "Rachel hasn't come to school once without crying since we got back from break. Tina keeps remembering glee club practices that everyone else thinks never happened. Finn keeps looking behind you whenever you walk into the room, like he's waiting for someone else to follow you in." Kurt's insides slowly shrunk to nothing as Mercedes stared him down. He had noticed those things, of course, he just hadn't… he hadn't thought about them that way. "Whatever happened didn't just happen to you, Kurt," she continued. "It happened to all of us."
She took a trembling breath.
"I know there's a boy. You wanna know how I know? Because I remember you coming to my house and crying about him. I just didn't think it was actually real until you came in here and started attacking me about it."
She huffed wetly and, as if someone had cut her strings, collapsed down into a seat.
"…I wasn't attacking you," Kurt protested quietly.
Mercedes sniffed and looked away, hugging her arms closer. "Yeah, well," she shrugged limply. "That's what it felt like."
Every organ inside of his body had tiptoed away. He blinked hard at the hollow aching their leaving left him with. It did nothing to make him feel better.
"Why didn't you tell me?" was all he could ask, voice small.
Mercedes sent him a watery look. "I would've," she said. "But every time I sat next to you, or even just tried to talk, you'd shut me out. You've shut everyone out. I don't know, I thought you'd actually want to talk to your best friend about something like this, but I guess I was wrong."
Kurt's throat was clogged with too much guilt. He swallowed it back, unsuccessfully, and then tried to breathe it out. Shakily, he took another breath and tried to speak. His voice clung to his throat stubbornly. Setting his jaw, he searched the ceiling for words.
"I was scared you'd think I was crazy," he finally said.
And then, letting his eyes fall back to the floor, he added: "and I… didn't want to share him."
Mercedes sniffed pathetically. Kurt didn't remember ever feeling as horrible.
"I'm sorry," his voice cracked, strained from holding back tears. "It's just… I've never had anyone fall in love with me before. I didn't think anyone would, not until a long time from now, but someone is, and he's this—this attractive, romantic, perfect dream boy that—I mean, he's not perfect, but—but he's in love with me, and—and I think I love him, too, I think I might be in love with him too, but someone took him away, and, and now I don't know if I do because I can't really remember—" Helplessness stuck to his words and they stuttered out of his mouth, everything that had been bothering him for the past week bucketing out of him like water out of a broken tap. "I feel like I had something once, like I had some extra limb attached to me and someone's chopped it off and taken it away, and I know what that sounds like, I know I sound crazy, I, I don't even know him, but you haven't seen him, Mercedes! He's in so much trouble, and I think he's dying, and he loves me, and he needs me to help him and to remember all this stuff, but all I can remember is stupidthings, like what m-movies we watched together, or how his eyes looked after I kissed him, or—or things that don't help him at all, and I know we're running out of time, but I don't even know how I know that, or what happens when we do, or how—someone's going to die if I don't help him, and I'm so scared that it's going to be him, that the one guy who's ever loved me is going to die and I'm going to be left alone to live in a creepy old house with a million cats because I'll have lost the one boy who's ever loved me and I can't—"
Arms were suddenly encircling him and he was pulled into a fierce hug. He gasped and clung back. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep talking like that, I'm sorry," he sobbed out through tears that refused to stop falling. "I meant to just apologize. I'm so sorry, Mercedes, I was horrible to you and I'm so sorry!"
"I know," Mercedes hushed, raining just as hard on his shoulder and holding him tighter. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. Thank you for apologizing. I just want my best friend back."
"You have him," Kurt pulled away to give her a watery smile. "I'm sorry. I promise I'll try to tell you things from now on. I wasn't thinking."
"It kind of sounds like you were thinking too much," Mercedes said weakly.
"I don't actually blame you for Blaine being taken away," he told her quickly. "I don't. It was just a stupid excuse for me not to tell you about him. I'm sorry for making you feel like I was attacking you."
"I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you can't trust me enough to tell me things."
"I was just getting stupid and paranoid about everything—"
"And I'm sorry for not letting you talk—"
"No, I—!" they both started, and their voices in unison surprised a laugh out of them both.
Kurt breathed in and was relieved to find that it felt easy again.
"Kurt, you don't need to do everything by yourself," Mercedes told him quietly, expression raw. "I don't know what's going on, not really, and it sounds beyond scary… but of course I'm gonna help you with it. If you ever need help, boo, you just have to ask."
"I did ask," Kurt protested. "I needed you to come with me to talk to Karofsky."
"That's not what I mean," she said seriously. "I mean telling someone you're having trouble. You're not ever by yourself unless you wanna be."
Kurt met her eyes briefly, before looking away. Last year, it would have been easy to nod and agree and make promises for an elusive 'next time'.
But last year, he hadn't spent the majority of his time being tormented by a closeted jackass while everyone else went on with their lives, ignoring it.
"It's hard to believe that right now," he said.
Mercedes deflated. "You didn't tell me about Karofsky," she said. "You didn't tell any of the people that mattered: the glee club, your dad… You always try to handle things on your own."
"I've always found that's the only way I'm allowed to handle them," Kurt challenged, his heart beginning to rise up to his throat. Mercedes gave him a look.
"That's not true. I was there for you when you came out, wasn't I? And so was your dad, and so was Tina, and so was…most of the glee club." A smile snuck onto his lips. Last year had been hard, but it had also been incredible. It had given him something he hadn't thought he'd ever receive, not at McKinley. And suddenly, there they were: friends. His dad. People who loved him for who he was. "And I don't remember too much about him, but I know that boy was there for you this year. It was one of the things you told me when you were crying." A vague memory of a confrontation in a hallway—in pastels and faded ink—came to the forefront of his mind.
"I'm jealous that you're so good at handling things on your own, Kurt," Mercedes continued, grabbing his hand. "Seriously, I'm beyond surprised sometimes at how much you can handle. But you can't do everything by yourself. No one can handle all of that and still be okay afterwards."
Kurt chewed on the inside of his cheek, processing her words. "I don't know what you want me to say to that," he finally said.
Mercedes shook her head. "I don't want you to say anything," she said. "I just wanted you to know that."
He looked at her, truly, for what seemed like the first time in months. God, he'd missed her.
"And I also want to hug you again," she announced. A small laugh made its way out of his mouth.
"No arguments here," Kurt said, reaching out and holding tight as she followed through on her intentions.
He let out a hum as she hugged tighter, squeezing once before letting go.
"Okay!" she huffed out, brushing the wetness from underneath her eyes with a finger and standing up. Kurt followed suit delicately, sniffing back postscript tears. "Okay."
Curling her arm around Kurt's, Mercedes let out a shaky breath.
"Come on, let's go talk to Encino Man before we end up flooding the choir room."
"That would be unfortunate," Kurt said, stealing himself in preparation. They could do this. It would be fine.
And afterward, he would have a lot to think about.
Finding Karofsky was easier than Kurt had thought it would be. He and Mercedes had waited until lunch to start looking for him, and the first place they looked after they couldn't find him in the cafeteria (the gym), they found him. He was lifting weights, glancing around in that self-conscious, I'm-only-doing-this-in-case-someone-might-be-watching way that did nothing to stop the thrill of sudden fear that shot down to the base of Kurt's stomach. Squeezing Mercedes' hand painfully, he stopped, still a fair distance away.
Shit. Shit, this was a bad idea.
Karofsky had told Kurt he would kill him if he told anyone. Kurt had forgotten about the death threat amidst all of the weirdness that Karofsky had been happily demonstrating during Glee club, but now... it was like a sign that had previously been turned off was loudly and abruptly revealed to him in bold, flashing lights: Stop! Caution! Yield! This was a bad idea. He hadn't told Mercedes about Karofsky's Narnian status, but what if it looked that way? What if Karofsky assumed he did tell, and decided to forgo the tea and biscuits and instead jumped straight to the Passion of the Lion-Christ scene, with Kurt as lion-Jesus and Mercedes doubling as the cute little girl and the little girl's sister, Karofsky playing all of the creatures in the forest who tore lion-Jesus apart for a very long and extended period of time? Why had he listened to Blaine? Why had he brought Mercedes? Why was he even trying to talk to Karofsky?
Mercedes was clutching his hand, presumably in an attempt at being comforting, and Kurt tried to stop himself from shaking. She would be there for him. He could do this.
— Blaine sobbed, shuddering in Kurt's arms. "Please, I don't want to go back—"
He could do this.
He sucked up all of his terror and huffed it out of himself.
He could do this.
Adjusting his grip on Mercedes' hand, Kurt closed his eyes briefly and started moving again. Mercedes gave his hand a squeeze.
"It'll be okay," she whispered. Kurt hoped so.
Karofsky caught sight of them before they could say anything. Startling, his grip on the weight he was using slipped, and it clattered to the floor as he whipped around to face them. "What are you doing here?!" he rushed, staring at Kurt as if hewas the one who had threatened to kill somebody. Kurt's heart pounded against his ribs as he shook his head subtly with wide eyes, trying with all his might to get across to Karofsky that he did not tell Mercedes. Please don't kill him.
Something panicked relaxed slightly in Karofsky's eyes. And, with it, something tense slipped off Kurt's shoulders.
"We wanted to ask you something," Kurt said, sounding much calmer than he actually felt. Mercedes' presence was a warm balm at his side.
"You've been looking at Kurt funny," she said. "We want to know what's up."
"I don't know what you losers are talking about." Karofsky looked strangely like a trapped animal, skittishly darting his eyes between Kurt and Mercedes and—the back wall? Wait.
"Who are you looking for?" Kurt blurted, realization starting to tingle up his arms. "Are you looking for someone?"
"Can you just leave me alone?" Karofsky spit out, trying to shoulder past them. Mercedes stepped in front of him to block his way, gaze hard.
"We'll treat that the same way you treated Kurt when he asked you exactly the same thing," she told him icily. "Answer the question."
Karofsky clenched his jaw and, oddly enough, glanced at Kurt as if to ask for help.
"Blaine," Kurt prompted. "Do you recognize the name?"
Karofsky looked at Mercedes and then back at Kurt, brows furrowed. "Is this some kind of trick question?"
"No," Kurt assured him. "No, I just want to know."
Karofsky did a sweep around the gym, craning his head to look into the locker room before turning back to them. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he gave a defensive shrug. "Yeah," he said curtly. "What about him?"
"You remember him," Kurt said, awed. Why did Karofsky get to remember Blaine, and Kurt was left with fragments?
"Yeah. Whatever." Karofsky gave him a sullen look. "You told me he left."
Kurt blinked, drawing back in surprise. "I did?"
Karofsky avoided his eyes. "You were going to the nurse or something."
A memory curled into his mind like ink in water, spreading out to the corners of his mind. …What are you doing? Are you waiting for Blaine?... A vision of Blaine and Karofsky in the choir room wafted as smoke over his eyes, Blaine holding Karofsky's arm in a vice grip.
"You were meeting up with him," he said distantly, barely aware of Mercedes' surprised noise. Something very heavy settled over his brain, dark—a secret no one could tell him, an impossible, hopeless decision, just at the edges of his consciousness. This is who you are...
Karofsky shifted self-consciously. Shrugged again.
"Why?" Mercedes asked, flabbergasted. "What did you even talk about?"
"I don't think that's any of your business," he said gruffly. Mercedes frowned. Rolling his eyes, Karofsky glanced once more at Kurt before shoving his way past Mercedes and speeding to the locker room. Kurt's memories, still half-formed and intangible, began to slip through his fingers as water in a sieve.
"No, wait! Please!" Kurt called desperately. "Please, I need to know!"
Karofsky stopped.
Slumping with reluctance, he turned back around. "…Why do you need to know?" he asked guardedly.
Kurt stepped closer, letting go of Mercedes' hand for the first time since they'd entered the gym. "I need to find him," he told Karofsky, begging whatever forces of nature that were listening in on their conversation to help him get through his sincerity. "Please. He's been taken away. I need to get him back."
Karofsky's expression was inscrutable.
"You told me he was never coming back."
It was a punch to the chest.
"What?" Kurt gasped out, meeting Mercedes' eyes with mirroring wide ones. He whipped back around to Karofsky. "Why would I say that?" he demanded. Had he been involved in Blaine's kidnapping? Why would he have ever been involved in something like that?!
Karofsky shrugged.
"What did he say to you when you met up?" Kurt persisted. "Was there anything that stuck out?"
"It was nothing," he answered, hunching into his pockets. "It was just, like, personal stuff."
Personal stuff? "He was helping you with—!" finding your way out of the closet? Kurt suddenly remembered Mercedes was in the room. "With—some things," he finished awkwardly.
Karofsky glanced at Mercedes. "Yeah."
Flashes of Blaine on the phone with Rachel. Of Blaine standing with him in the choir room and watching Karofsky with a weird, hard kind of sympathy. What had he been doing to them? Why was he talking to them?
"Did he say anything about leaving?" Kurt almost begged. "Anything about what to do if he left?"
Karofsky shook his head. "You're the one that told me he was leaving."
But Kurt couldn't remember anything! He was going to cry.
"Please, just… that day in the hallway, when I was going to the nurse. Just, can you tell me what happened? Why was I going to the nurse?"
Karofsky looked at him with a mixture of uneasy confusion and pity. "Dude, you were there."
"I don't remember," Kurt breathed.
Karofsky breathed a heavy sigh through his nose and glanced around the gym again. "You were all weirded out, like on drugs or something. I don't know," he said reluctantly. "You, like, couldn't walk very well. I just asked if you needed to go to the nurse, and you told me that Blaine wasn't ever coming back."
As Karofsky talked, Kurt's memory filled in with details. He remembered the feel of the brick wall against his face. The strange haziness, the heat, and the crippling, painful thirst. The feel of Blaine's hands, cool, soothing, against his scalp. And it hovered, a heavy shadow over all of it: the reason why. The key to all of what had happened.
"Are we done?" Karofsky interrupted.
Kurt must have been silent too long, because Mercedes answered, coming up to link her arm in his. "Yeah, we're done," she said, sounding a little defeated. "Thanks for answering our questions and not defaulting to your usual state of perpetual douche-bag."
"…Thanks," Kurt mimicked as an afterthought, letting Mercedes lead them out of the gym. He was close, he could feel it. Blaine was taken away, but getting him back had something to do with what he'd been doing to Kurt. Or what… what Kurt had been doing to Blaine? He flashed on a slanted memory of two beautiful words, carved frighteningly into his brain: soul mates. He didn't know why, but the term sent a chill through his veins. You're just fascinating, aren't you? An argument with Blaine in a girl's bathroom. A sense hopelessness, or dread, or…
They were almost out the door when Karofsky called out.
"Kurt!"
Kurt stopped moving as if he had forgotten how.
Karofsky had never called him by his first name before.
Feeling off-balance and alarmed, he turned to meet Karofsky's gaze.
"I'm sorry," Karofsky said quietly. It punctured through Kurt's chest, shattering part of some glass casing he'd built a long time ago. "I'm—I'm really sorry about everything I did to you. It was messed up."
Kurt's eyes were wide and filmed wet from not blinking. Something strangled in his throat. He couldn't speak.
Phantom fingers caressed his own for the briefest of seconds. Blaine…
"Yes," the words came out deliberately. "It was."
Mercedes squeezed his hand.
Swallowing, Kurt turned his back on David Karofsky, and left the gym.
