Disclaimer: Don't own them. I wish I did.
So my Doctor!Blaine is a little bit of a bastardised version of Matt Smith + Darren Criss, just because I think their personalities would blend into an awesome mixture.
Also I totally agree that a full on relationship between the two of them would be a little bit weird. Or a lot.
But that doesn't seem to effect actual DW canon as Amy's 21 and Rose was only 19, but who knows. Klaine is my absolute endgame but I might just keep them as best friends. Bear in mind that Kurt was already totally in love before Blaine decided to go and become a Time Lord on him!
I LOVE HOW MANY OF YOU HAVE STUCK THIS SILLY STORY ON ALERT AND FAVOURITES ALREADY! It makes me insanely happy.
Also I'm English, so if that shows through then I'm really sorry. I'm not really down with Americanisations, but I'll try my best!
Kurt was sitting on the smooth glass floor, legs crossed and arms folded, watching Blaine spin like a madman in front of him.
It wasn't every day that your best friend-slash-object of your one-sided affections revealed to you that no, they weren't in fact human and rather yes they were a time travelling alien. Kurt thought he was holding up rather well considering the day he was having.
His head was still overrun with questions though, and he was wondering why he hadn't freaked out yet.
Maybe it was because Blaine looked so damn beautiful as he twisted his way around the glow of the orange room that no matter what he told him, Kurt knew that he would follow this boy anywhere.
Even if he did have a strange affinity for stroking parts of the machine and talking to inanimate objects.
Even now, he seemed to have forgotten that Kurt was there, caught up in his own ramblings as he threw things and hit buttons and talked and talked and talked. Like he'd forgotten about the morning they'd had and the very real threat of a handful of ruthless robots.
"Blaine?"
"Yes! Right so, robots! They're not in control of themselves you know and a machine is only as clever as whoever is controlling it. So right now we need to find the source of their power, maybe reason with it I don't know, I'll do a lot of talking and usually that seems to work. Easy enough, no?"
"No."
"No?" Blaine froze. He wouldn't meet Kurt's eyes and turned immediately back to the console, moving to the opposite side so Kurt couldn't even see him anymore.
"Well that's fine. I mean I shouldn't have just assumed that you wanted to come I mean…sure. You don't have to…you can….I can just take you home now. If you want. You can go home and see your family and you know…I'll be fine without you."
His voice was quiet and he sounded so forlorn that Kurt wanted to bundle him up and never let go.
"Blaine?"
"I mean sure you've had a weird day I understand that. But you hugged me and I thought we were cool and I just thought you would want to…come with me. At least…help me finish this I'm not saying you have to stay forever although that would be really really nice if you…you know. Wanted to do that."
"Blaine!"
"It's just that I've been alone for a long time now and I've been stuck in the same place too long and I really just wanted to fly again. With you. If you wanted to come. Which you totally don't have to because –"
"Doctor!"
Blaine stopped. He whirled around to where Kurt was standing behind him, hands on hips and a smile quirking the corners of his lips.
"You called me Doctor."
"You wouldn't shut up!"
"I was just –"
"Blaine, I'm not making a lifelong commitment here. Right now those robot things have kinda pissed me off, and I sort of just want to…well destroy them. As weird as that will be when they've been my friends for the past six months I think I can look past that if they actually try to kill us. The no was to your bumbling idiot's excuse for a plan, and also to the notion of me hunting down any form of evil robot creator without shoes on."
Blaine blinked and cast a glance down at their still woefully shoeless feet.
"Okay. Although I was sort of enjoying the barefoot look, but we can find some shoes somewhere I'm sure."
He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck and plucked at his collar.
"I kind of wane get out of this uniform as well. Too much polyester really starts to play havoc on my sense after a while."
"Hold up, I thought you loved your Dalton uniform?"
"I loved it because it was a uniform! It was so much fun having to wear it at first, it was like a real proper thing, that real people did and I've never had the chance to wear a uniform before! But then the novelty kind of wore off and then I was just wearing cheap navy polyester with red piping and a tie that never stayed the right length."
"So what do you normally wear?"
"I haven't really had a chance to try out the wardrobe recently. I'm not even sure where it is at this precise moment."
"You…you have a wardrobe? A wardrobe that moves?"
"Not so much moves as…moved. Once or twice but I've been all caught up in Warbler shenanigans and navy blazers for six months. I haven't had time to explore for a while…and ever since my…"
He gestured to his face and shrugged.
"Well. I've been busy. And…hang on a minute."
Blaine fixed Kurt with a steely gaze, before marching towards him with such purpose that Kurt backed away, stumbling into the railing.
"You were showered with bits of Wes' head when it blew off weren't you. So that means…"
His hands were all over Kurt; patting his pockets and his shirt, fingers sweeping inside his collar. Tickling and fluttering like moths at such a rate that it was slightly irritating. Not to mention that he was doing that thing where he disrespected personal boundaries and stepped well into Kurt's breathing space.
"Blaine, what? Stop it! That's so annoying!"
"Aha!"
Held triumphantly between his index finger and thumb was what looked like a computer chip. Or what had once been a computer chip because to Kurt right now it just looked like a half melted piece of plastic dotted with flecks of metal.
He was grinning.
"Result!"
"Blaine, what is that and why is it so awesome?"
He twirled back to face the console, dropping the metal-plastic blob into a test tube set into the panel. It gave a hiss and a faint glow, and a noise like a computer starting up emitted from the centre. Blaine let out a laugh of achievement.
"Yes! Perfect!"
"What is it?"
"That, my dear, was a sample of the robot's head once known as Wesley. Now Chromo-forms are made of very specific materials – they need to be able to adapt and change in ways that mimic the human body perfectly, SO that of course means that they have to come from a very specific place. One place to be exact. And in order to keep the calibration right, logic says that whoever is controlling them has to be in the same place they're being made. So if the TARDIS can trace the source of the plastic and lock on to its origins, then BAM! We've found ourselves some evil robot leaders! How's that for a plan then, Little Mr…Plan-Lover!"
He was giddy with excitement and bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands clasped together.
"Wow, Blaine. You've really outdone yourself there. Just one thing; what happens when we get to the evil hive of robot monsters?"
He waved that off with a flick of his wrist, "Whatever. That part comes later. Right now is success! Oh and a little warning, you might want to find something to hang on to."
Kurt frowned but closed his hands around the rail behind him and a moment later was immensely thankful that he'd chosen to listen as the entire room jolted, throwing him forwards and jarring his shoulders as his hands kept him locked onto the barrier.
The TARDIS was flung into oblivion, the entire place shaking like it was caught at sea, and they tumbled and turned with Kurt gasping for breath and Blaine laughing like a maniac.
"Blaine! What the –"
Kurt managed to shout over the screeching echo that filled the air around them, like the entire bodywork was screaming and sighing all at once.
"The TARDIS is flying. Not me, and she tends to…like it rough!"
Blaine had one foot on the console, one hand grasping a metal handle that swung from the ceiling and his other pounding a button repeatedly with a hammer.
"BEHAVE!" He shouted, flinging the hammer over his shoulder and narrowly missing Kurt's head, but he didn't have a spare thought to care.
And then it stopped and Kurt was flat on his back on the glass floor, watching the domed ceiling spin above him although he supposed that his vision was spinning rather than the room and wondered if this was what being drunk was like.
Blaine's face appeared above him smiling.
"Oh come on. It's not that bad!"
He pulled Kurt to his feet and squeezed his shoulders as he steered him towards the door.
"Blaine it was about as pleasant and painless as a Brazilian Wax. And no, you can't ask me how I know for comparison."
"Well you can't just throw a sentence like that around and not expect a little curiosity!" He winked and Kurt's stomach rolled over but this time it was pleasant. He searched desperately for a change of subject.
"Shoes, Blaine?"
"Ah, yes. Um…here!"
He sprang over the stair rail and began digging deep in a box tucked into an alcove.
"I know there in here somewhere….yes! Here we go."
He turned back holding a pair of filthy and battered white Converse. Kurt wrinkle his nose slightly.
"With…this outfit Blaine? Really?"
"Kurt normally I would gladly appease you diva-ish ways but right now it's Converse or socks because the TARDIS isn't exactly the quietest on arrival and we are actually attempting a sneak attack on these people. So put the shoes on and we'll go see if we can still retain the element of surprise, okay?"
Kurt huffed and muttered and opened his mouth to let out a biting remark, but then Blaine was smiling at him and his arm was around his shoulders guiding him towards the door so Kurt stopped and put the shoes on because really, Converse weren't actually all that bad if it meant Blaine would keep looking at him like that.
"Oh the bright side, they're easier to run in than socks."
"There's going to be more running!" Kurt said, dropping to a whisper as they left the TARDIS.
"Kurt, with me there's always going to be running."
It was shockingly easy to find their way through what appeared to be an underground internetwork of tunnels. Blaine whipped out his glowing pen thing – screwdriver Kurt, it's a screwdriver! – pressed some buttons and they were good to go.
Apparently it was helping and Blaine was whispering words of encouragement to the contraption, most of which just left Kurt raising his eyebrows and sighing as he trailed along behind. The pen let out an ominous beep, and Blaine threw out his arm which of course Kurt walked straight into.
Blaine gestured with his head to a door on their left, and pressed the handle down while signalling to Kurt to stay silent.
Kurt held his breath as Blaine stuck his head around the door. The smile was gone from his face now, just a curt nod and his fingers around Kurt's wrist as he pulled them both into the room. Keeping Kurt behind him, their hands still joined and the other holding the pen ahead of him, lighting up the gloomy corridor he strode towards a bright doorway at the end.
A shadowing staircase was thrown into sharp relief as they passed and Kurt saw three familiar figures huddled underneath it.
"David? Thad? Wes?"
"Blaine! Kurt! Oh thank god!"
Blaine pushed Kurt towards them.
"Kurt get them out of here. Take them back down where we came and up the exit steps we passed. Then stay up there. All of you. Don't come back for me."
"But, Blaine –"
"Kurt this could get really dangerous," Blaine had stepped forwards, clasping both Kurt's hands in his, "I know normally that doesn't bother me, and it won't this time either. Just as long as you're not with me. I can't walk headlong into danger with you at my side."
His eyes were so dark. So hard and relentless, yet so gentle. And so, so old.
"Blaine, please!"
"Kurt I would never forgive myself if something happened to you."
He was so close their noses were touching, and Kurt lowered his head so they were pressed forehead to forehead.
"Just get yourself and those three out. Keep yourself safe and maybe, one day, we'll see each other again."
His lips were warm and soft and slightly damp on Kurt's forehead and they lingered just too long to remain in the friend-zone but Kurt didn't feel like overanalysing for once. He leaned into Blaine's warmth for a second and then he was gone. Down the corridor until his silhouette was tiny against the bright light from the room.
Then he vanished.
Kurt brushed tears from his cheeks. He hadn't realised they were falling.
Then he turned to the three boys under the stairs and tried to push Blaine from his mind.
"Kurt! What the hell is going on? Why are you and Blaine here? Did those robot things get you too?"
"No, Wes. They didn't. How long have you guys been here?"
"Weeks and weeks. Just after you transferred to Dalton, we were out one day - just practicing our vocal exercises in the ice cream parlour,"
"Of course," Kurt murmured, his fingers scrabbling at the tightly knotted ropes that bound the three boys.
"And then bang! We were whacked over the head, in broad daylight! In the middle of Ohio! We woke up here and ever since it's like they've been keeping us half sedated, half…I don't know. It's like we could still see and hear everything that was going on at Dalton, but we knew we were here."
"Why aren't the other's talking, Wes?"
Thad and David were wearing matching glazed looks, eyes unfocused and glassy they rolled and stared at the ceiling and the floor and everywhere except Kurt's face. They didn't acknowledge him as he pulled the biting cord free from their wrists.
"We haven't been able to talk since we got here. It's just like our throats wouldn't work until bang! Today. Mine was back. No explanation, I could just talk again and I was suddenly focused and awake."
"Of course," Kurt breathed, his mind racing. Fragments of conversation, moments of Blaine's ramblings were piecing together in his mind and he undid the last knots on Wes's wrist.
They're not in control of themselves you know.
Something happened in England when a load of them went to tour last year, and it was all hushed up the government.
They need to be able to adapt and change in ways that mimic the human body perfectly.
"They needed a psychic link with you! That's why they kept you alive! They sounded like you perfectly, and you got your voice back this morning when your head blew up!"
"I…I'm sorry?"
Kurt waved him away, standing up to pace.
"The Chromo-forms duplicate the top leaders of acapella groups, steal their voice and then whip the rest of the group into shape to win the competition. They kept you three here to maintain the link between the real you and the doppelganger! And of course this morning, when we lost, Robot!Wes's head blew up and you got your thoughts and voice back! He's still running around out there, but he's only a robot now."
He turned to face the three boys, feeling immensely pleased that he'd worked it all out. Two stared at the ceiling and one stared back at him with a look of woe on his face.
"We lost Regionals?" Wes asked in a small voice.
Kurt resisted the urge to strangle him. After all, the boy had been through a lot. He'd been knocked out and held hostage for a painful amount of time and Kurt couldn't even begin to imagine how much he was missing his gavel right now.
He crouched down in front of the boys, and rested a comforting hand on Wes's shoulder.
"Yes Wes. We lost. It was devastating and I rest the blame entirely on the fact that we didn't have your guidance. The Warblers were positively falling apart without you!"
"Really?" He looked up eagerly, "They were really, really bad?"
"Dreadful," Kurt nodded, pulling him to his feet and gesturing for help with the other two, "Dismal, even. I can't even begin to imagine the state they're in at the moment without their leaders."
"Well I suppose," Wes began, attempting to straighten his stained collar as they began to haul the two semi-conscious boys between them, "David, Thad and I are an exemplar council members."
"Definitely," Kurt said.
"And we really do know how to pull the team together. The robots can steal our voice as much as they want, but they'll never quite get that…family feel that we three bring to the role. I think we do an excellent job of really building upon those…personal relationships of our members. Don't you agree, Warbler Kurt?"
"Oh, entirely. Yes. Unfailingly so."
They reached the ladder with the bright "Exit" sign, and Kurt climbed it first, pushing the manhole to one side and sticking his head out the top.
"We're in the city centre," he called down to Wes, "About twenty minutes from Dalton."
With a certain amount of difficulty they juggled Thad and David up the ladder and out into the open. Kurt laid the boys on the sidewalk with a sigh as Wes settled next to him.
"I suppose we'd better see about getting them back. Do you reckon they'll wake up soon?"
"Wes I have to go back for Blaine."
Kurt picked at the laces of the shoes, not daring to look Wes in the eye.
"Kurt you can't. He knows what he's doing I'm sure! I mean I think he's a total lunatic and I can't think of any good reason why he would stay down there, but you know Blaine. He never rushes into anything without a plan first."
Kurt snorted.
"Really?"
It was maybe not one of his cleverest ideas, but Kurt knew he would never forgive himself if he let Blaine die down here. He just hoped that he wasn't already too late.
Blood was rushing in his ears as he followed the wet path back down the way he'd already walked twice this afternoon.
He ran his fingers along the damp wall as he walked, trying to remember without the light of Blaine's pen just how far along the door was.
Something wet dripped into his hair and ran down the back of his neck, and he shivered and shuddered and tried not to imagine what it was. There were thick pipes running along the ceiling that seemed to connect to drains and gutters in the road and he wondered if these tunnels were part of the drainage system. Or worse the sewage.
No, it was best to just not think about it.
His fingers brushed the metal of a door handle, and without a second thought he flung it open and was running. He tried not to think about how Blaine was right; Converse were easier to run in.
He could hear noise and movement from the light-filled doorway and ran faster and faster towards it, flinging himself around the frame.
He was on what felt to be the metal structure of a fire escape-esque set of metals stairs that ran from where he was at the top, feet away from the grimy ceiling, to six flights down. He could see what looked like a huge metal chair in the centre of the floor and hear a voice so rough and mechanical that it made his own vocal chords twinge in sympathetic agony.
"…And so you thought you could just come sauntering on in here and ask us politely to leave? My God Time Lord! Your new regeneration has really done a number on your common sense hasn't it? What is this look, fifteen years old? Did your memories of scheming and the destruction of so many races leave, along with your old face?"
Kurt dropped to his knees, craning his neck as far as he could, pressing his face to the metal bars while attempting to keep himself hidden in the dark of the dimly lit room.
He could see the top of Blaine's head where he was forced into a kneeling position, the three Dalton-clad figures – one still lacking a head – pressing his shoulder down, holding him there.
He looked so willing to accept his own execution that it hurt Kurt's heart.
The voice laughed and it bounced off the walls, sending chills straight through his body.
"You're feeble Time Lord. You'd think we'd never met before! What's this? A far cry from the Oncoming Storm you used to be. I remember when entire universes would turn and run at the mere mention of your name, and here you are! Waltzing in like a child playing dress up, asking for alliances and a peaceful truce between us!"
Blaine's voice broke through, quiet and desperate.
"It's just singing! It's just acapella!"
The voice scoffed.
"There is nothing 'just' about showchoir, Time Lord. You would do well to remember that. Enough! I'm bored of all this chatter. Just…get rid of him."
Kurt stuffed his fist into his mouth, trying to muffle the sob that threatened to escape his throat. He had to do something, he had to do something, he had to do something.
Before they had gone on stage at Regionals, Burt Hummel had caught Kurt's arm and pulled him to the side.
"Dad! I thought you weren't coming!"
He smiled gruffly, clapping his son's shoulder, "Wouldn't miss it kid. I arranged some guys to switch shifts with me at the shop and well, Carole wanted to see Finn anyway. So we all drove up together."
"It means a lot to me Dad."
"Look kid, I know I don't get this whole singing thing. But good luck up there. I know this means a lot to you, and I wanted to give you something."
In his father's hand was a battered and scuffed silver Zippo lighter. The word Hummel was engraved into the side. Kurt frowned.
"Dad, what –"
"It was my Grandfathers. And he gave it to my Dad. And here I am giving it to you. I know you'll probably never have a chance to use it. You're not gonna be smoking cigars and camping like the old Hummel men and I considered giving it to Finn. But you're my son Kurt, and it would mean a lot to me if you kept it."
Kurt's hand closed around the heavy metal.
"Thank you Dad."
"Good luck out there kiddo. We're rooting for you."
Kurt had dropped the lighter into the depths of his Dalton slacks and promptly forgotten about it, as Blaine ushered him backstage.
Until now.
His fingers brushed against the weight, still pressed against the outside of his leg and he swallowed.
Fire. Okay. He had fire, well that was at least a start. Why on earth didn't he ever carry anything more useful in his pockets, he chided himself patting them down.
There was a comb he knew in the inseam of his blazer, but what good would that do him now? His iphone was there, but who on earth would he call?
He had shoelaces and a striped tie and a set of headphones, but when laid out in a row next to each other along the floor these items were feeble and mocking him in their uselessness.
He took a step backward from his pitying pile of belongings, seriously considering the benefits of carrying a survival guide around with him, when he stumbled over something on the floor.
Blaine's glowing pen thing, except it wasn't glowing right now and he could hear Blaine's voice telling him it was a screwdriver. A sonic screwdriver.
It had bleeped and lit up and…opened things. Blaine had pointed it at doors and cupboards and knots and each thing had opened freely.
Kurt snatched it up, weighing it in his hands. It was heavier than it looked.
He looked around, desperately.
The pipes were running along the ceiling, feet from him. If he stretched he could place his hands on the dark, dirty surface and feel the rushing of water inside the metal.
This was not the time for maybes and what ifs. He was a Hummel and right now he had a best friend to save, and he would be damned if he didn't at least try.
Kurt raised the hand holding the screwdriver, and with a wish and a prayer he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the button.
And was promptly hit in the face with a jet of water.
Shaking his wet bangs from his eyes and trying not to wonder if it was dirty or clean, he ran two steps to the next pipe and did the same thing. And again. And again until every pipe running the width of the ceiling buckled and groaned and spilled its water free. It streamed and shot down the walls and into the air, rushing towards the ground so hard that Kurt flattened himself against the wall to avoid the flow.
He heard shouts from below as the waves of water continued to rush, but didn't want to stick around to see how long they would last. If he didn't act, and the water cut out now then him and Blaine were definitely dead.
But if…
He ran to his things on the floor, and deftly knotted the shoelaces and tie together, praying the knots his father taught him when he was six years old would hold.
The pipes were creaking and moaning under the speed and flood of water pressing through them, and even the ones Kurt hadn't touched were beginning to crumble.
He just needed one…
He grinned. Maybe things would be okay after all.
One thin pipe, which stretched across the entire length of the room had cracked at the opposite end. Crashing down the wall it came to rest in the brickwork a few feet from the ground. Metres from where Blaine was pressed against the wall, still pinned back by the arm of one headless Wesley, his hair plastered to his face.
Kurt needed to act now.
He swept back his bangs and stuck the screwdriver in his top pocket. Looping the tie-lace rope around one wrist, he scrambled to stand on the slippery railing, throwing the makeshift rope over the pipe.
The lighter was clutched in one hand, the top flicked open.
Now Kurt didn't know a lot about Chemistry, but he knew enough to assume that water, plus massive amounts of electricity and combined with vast heat was probably a bad mix.
The pipe screeched above him, and he swallowed. It was now or never.
"What? Who is that?"
Amidst the cacophony of noise, the rushing of the water and the clanking of metal, the spiting fire of sparks from the robots and the chair and the metal figure with the awful voice, Kurt could just make out her words.
He grinned.
"I'm Kurt Hummel. And I'm here for my best friend."
And he jumped.
One arm screamed as he flung his entire weight off the railing and down the pipe, which buckled and bounced as he slid down it. The other hand flicked the lighter and hurled, and he prayed and prayed that it didn't go out before it hit its target.
The resounding crash, the shower of sparks and the gut-wrenching scream told him that this was nothing to worry about.
His body crashed hard into the metal form of headless Wesley, who stumbled and fell in a shower of springs and sparks, to smash into a thousand pieces on the wet floor.
He landed, albeit less gracefully than he would have hoped but no one said anything about dismounting a broken water pipe to be an easy task, and when Blaine was looking at him in such wonder and amazement it didn't really matter that he fell to his hands and knees on the dirty floor.
"Run, run, run, run, run, run," he chanted, scrambling up and clutching at the collar of Blaine's shirt, dragging him along the wall, as far away from the screaming mess behind him as they could get and somewhat weighted down by Blaine's insistence on turning and staring with wonder at the raucous Kurt had caused.
There was a door and Kurt flung himself at it. It didn't budge.
"Shit. Shit!"
"Kurt! Calm! Did you find my screwdriver?"
"Oh I just saved your life, but no thank yous or anything! No 'I was wrong Kurt' no 'I'm sorry Kurt'. Nothing. Nada."
"Kurt! Did. You. Find. My. Screwdriver?"
"Yes!"
And then they were through the door and Blaine was spending an awful lot of time checking to see if it was locked behind them, like it mattered, before Kurt could grab his sleeve and pull him down in what was hopefully the direction they'd parked the TARDIS, and it was a lot harder than it looked without laces in his shoes.
"TARDIS, TARDIS, TARDIS," Blaine was muttering, and somewhere along the way their hands had intertwined.
She was there.
And they were in, and Kurt slumped to the floor, leaning against the inside of the door as Blaine ran to the console, slammed some levers down and sent them hurtling away from the burning tunnels.
And then Blaine collapsed next to him and the floor and room was jolting and spinning but they were fine and they were alive.
Their eyes met and they laughed and laughed until they couldn't breathe.
"Shit man. I still can't believe you blew them all up."
"I can't believe you honestly tried to send me away. They were going to kill you Blaine, and you seriously thought I was going to walk away and let that happen?"
He groaned faintly, and let his head fall onto Kurt's shoulder.
"I know Kurt. I'm sorry. I have this impossible moral compass that makes it absolutely integral that I put everyone else's lives before mine. Stupid, I know."
Kurt smiled. He stared down at his legs stretched out in front of him. His shoes with the missing laces and the dirt and water.
"Blaine…I heard what she was saying to you."
"Yeah?"
"I didn't really understand it. What did she mean by the…something about a regeneration? The face of a fifteen year old?"
Blaine's fingers were twining around each other, building towers and ladders and lacing together as he spoke.
"When…when Time Lords die, or get killed. Their body has this way of…changing itself. Like the entire DNA rewrites and he becomes a new man. A new man with a new face and a new body, but the same mind. I'm the same each time. But somehow I'm different."
"So how old are you really? If you're not actually seventeen?"
He winced slightly.
"I was wondering when we would get to that."
"Well?" Kurt pressed.
"This is my twelfth regeneration. Which makes me…914. Give or take."
Kurt froze.
"You're actually nine hundred. Oh God this situation just became way to Twilight-esque for my liking."
Blaine chuckled, "Yeah. Yeah I get that a lot."
They fell silent for a moment. Kurt wondered if his head was ever going to start rejecting some of the things he had learnt today.
"Blaine?"
"Yeah, Kurt?"
"Would you take me home?"
"Sure."
A/N: So this was fun to write.
Thoughts?
And no this isn't the end. Far from it, trust me!
I've got a bunch of ideas about stuff they can get up to, but if anyone wants to drop me an adventure they want to see, or a Glee/DW prompt they have then feel free! I always love the ideas!