Limits
Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?
Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.
AN: Just to let you kids know, this is a time skip. I repeat: time skip. Thank you for all the lovely comments on the last chapter! Seriously, they make me so, so, so happy, and help keep me motivated to give you updates quickly. If you've read my story Songbird, then you'll know exactly inspiring feedback is for me.
On that note, I'm truly amazed at how many people unfamiliar with Doctor Who that I've been able to pull into this fic, and I'm happy that I've been able to keep this story from being complicated to the point that it's impossible for non-Whovians to read, nor too idiot-proof that people familiar with the series are like ASDFGHJKL; WHY GOD WHY.
Tl;dr: I LOVE YOU KIDS SO MUCH.
NOTE: Bad Wolf happened as it did in canon. We are now working with the Tenth Doctor.
Chapter Ten: Libretto
"Okay, so. When and where are we this time?" Kurt asked, stepping out of the TARDIS into the bright summer sunshine. Rose popped out after him and the Doctor followed her, raking his hands through his spiky hair and stretching his arms over his head as if he'd been horribly cramped.
"Oh, I dunno. I was thinking we'd try that Peru trip that we never got around to; we're supposed to be in year 3213, Lima—what?"
Kurt had frozen.
He looked up the street.
He looked down the street.
Slowly, oh-so slowly he turned to face the Doctor, who just stared at him.
"What, seriously? There something on my face or have you fallen madly in lust with me?"
"I think you need to have a talk with the TARDIS, because she either has a thing against Peru or thinks that I'm much more of a masochist than I actually am," Kurt said, nervously tugging on the lapels of the close-fitting, sleeveless tailcoat that he'd stolen out of the wardrobe room. "Look at where we are. This is not Peru."
"What? Of course it's Peru—"
But now Rose was looking around too and was now wearing her classic oh-shit face because really, what else could you do?
Kurt looked and felt like he was going to be sick.
"Welcome back," he muttered reluctantly, "Kurt Hummel's back in Lima, Ohio. Judging from the fact that you landed behind my house, I'm willing to put money on the fact that you're at least a millennium off, give or take a couple of years."
"Kurt?" Rose approached, settling a hand on his shoulder and squeezing, "You want to hop back in the TARDIS and try again?" Kurt had just begun to nod when the Doctor interrupted him, practically bouncing on his heels.
"No, no, no. You know that feeling that you're going to need to do something even though you really have no idea what you're supposed to be doing? That feeling that something bad's going to happen that we need to be here for?"
"I hate that feeling," Kurt groused, scowling down at the ground. "That feeling sucks and never goes anywhere good. You guys can stick around and do whatever, I'm going back inside and not coming out until we're ready to go."
"You know that you might be here for a reason?"
"Don't care."
"You probably should."
"Still don't care."
"You're a horribly negative child," The Doctor chided.
Kurt sighed and leaned up against the blue box, scuffing the remnants of his backyard with his boot. It was like nothing had changed, which was disturbing enough on its own. Minus the fact that the foliage was overgrown and dead by turn, it was literally as if he'd never left. The street signs looked the same, the fencing looked the same, hell, the freaking sky still looked the same. That at least shouldn't have surprised him, but that was neither here nor there.
He didn't want to be here.
The Doctor sighed.
"Well, go grab a paper so we can figure out when we are, at least," the Doctor amended, "I'll try and figure out what's going on with the lady. You and Rose go together since she's the one with the—" He was interrupted by Kurt's face draining of all color. "What is it?"
A buzzing noise was emanating from his back pocket, where he kept his phone even now out of habit because even though it wasn't a superphone, it still felt weird as all hell to not keep it on him. It was ringing now, loud and insistent. Numbly, Kurt pulled it out, terrified to see what it would show.
One thousand texts, inbox at maximum capacity.
Seven hundred and fifty-nine missed calls.
Eighty-three voicemails.
Kurt's hands began to shake and he couldn't turn the device off fast enough, not even bothering to put it back in his pants but practically throwing it back inside the TARDIS as if it had burned him.
"No, no, no, no, no," he muttered under his breath, unconsciously beginning to pace the length of the fence, still concealed from the street. "No, no, let's get out of here, please can we leave?" Kurt pleaded, voice tight and tense. The Doctor's face was unreadable but Rose's was showing unreserved concern, and she stepped forward to take him by the arm to stop his pacing.
"Hey," she said lowly, "Calm down. Don't freak, it's okay. Look, you know your way around, right? Let's just take some back streets and find a newspaper, figure out when we are, and go from there."
"If it makes you feel better," The Doctor told him, "You don't even have to have to leave the TARDIS while we're here. Just go out now and get a paper, and we'll be out of here quicker than you can say flufflemudgeon."
"…flufflemudgeon," Kurt mumbled, "Why are we still here? And what in the hell is a flufflemudgeon?"
The Doctor snorted.
"If you must know, it's a little yellow bird with chompers the size of your head that likes its meat well done. And of course it's not going to work; you haven't left yet. Now go on, chop chop."
Kurt settled a pair of sunglasses on his face and fidgeted while the Doctor exchanged a few words with Rose before clapping them both on the shoulders.
"Be quick, then."
Kurt was more than happy to oblige that one even though he couldn't resist a parting a parting shot of,
"Flufflemudgeon, we're still here!" the second he was out of eyeshot.
It was May 25th, 2011, and Kurt Hummel was staring, dumbstruck, at his own missing persons flier.
He couldn't help but note that it was a horrible photo, taken of him from sophomore year when he'd just gotten into Oxfords and rolled-up pant legs. Kurt sneered just the tiniest bit. Seriously, they couldn't pick a better picture? Idly, he wondered who had chosen this one as the epitome of 'Kurt' if they happened to run into him on the street.
While Kurt was lamenting the mediocrity of his photo and trying to be inconspicuous, Rose had yanked the flier off of the pole and was examining it.
She made a face.
"Seriously? You didn't look like this when I met you, why would they…?"
"Who knows? Latent sadism?"
"And what the hell are you wearing? I think those pants are a cardinal sin."
Kurt bristled.
"I was young and impressionable. And they were a statement!"
"Of what, lame?" she teased and knocked him with her shoulder, giggling unabashedly when he scowled at her and bumped her right back without thinking about it. An insult like that just could not go unpunished. If it had been the Doctor to say it, Kurt probably would have had his hands buried in that meticulously-styled why-no-my-hair-totally-just-does-this-naturally mop of his and undone all of his work.
There was an advantage to being shamelessly vain, and that advantage was the ability to recognize vanity in others. The Doctor might not care about getting his hands dirty or getting covered in sludge, but he had a thing about his hair. Kurt could relate and empathize but it was still a fitting payback for all the hair-ruining ruffles he'd gotten back when the man was practically bald.
"Absolutely not, Rose Tyler," He admonished, blue eyes sparking with fun over his sunglasses, "We are not doing this when you're wearing that, it just makes it too easy for me," He dodged another shove, "I have been many things in my life but lame has never been one of them. When we get back to the TARDIS, remind me to touch up your—"
And then he tensed and went completely still, paling rapidly, because a hand that definitely did not belong to Rose had landed on his arm.
It had started with an errand.
Mercedes had always liked the fact that her house was in walking distance to the convenience store but the flipside of that happy coin was that it was a good excuse to send her out for errands. Need another box of cereal? Make Mercedes go get it. Need some band-aids? Make Mercedes go get it. Need some…
Well, it was always one thing or another.
Today it was chips.
Mercedes swung her purse as she walked, taking in the summer sun that wasn't sticky or stifling yet. Most of the time, she'd have complained more about playing messenger girl but it was the end of the school year and final exams were giving everyone panic attacks and Mercedes was grateful for the break, even if she hated to sweat.
Just as she passed the gas station a couple of figures standing by the telephone pole caught her attention.
Lima was a small town, not completely podunk but still small enough that most people knew most people, if not by name or face but by gossip and word of mouth.
The first thought that came to Mercedes' brain was that these people were not from around here.
The girl, mid-height and blonde and very British had taken the poster off of the pole (how dare she, even though Mercedes hurt every time she walked past it) and was clearly commenting on it, judging by the laughter in her voice and the hand gestures she made. The boy with her, tall and willowy and with his back to her, clearly replied to her but softly, and Mercedes couldn't overhear what he said or make out what his voice sounded like.
The girl who wore a simple green hoodie, blue jeans, and sneakers might have passed for a local until she opened her mouth, but the boy…no, the only kid in Lima who might have been ballsy enough to wear what that boy was wearing would have been Kurt. She couldn't see his front but the back showed cherry red skinny jeans crossed at the hips with a set of three black belts and a black sleeveless tailcoat. His left arm was wrapped up in something bright red and while his companion wore sneakers, this boy wore flat-heeled dove grey boots that stopped just before they hit the knee.
Mercedes didn't know why she had stopped.
It was just a couple of tourists (who'd stop here, though?) whose interests had been caught by Kurt's missing person flier.
That was it.
So why wasn't she walking away?
She still stood there, though, fixated on two people whose faces she couldn't even see.
There was something about that boy that drew her in and reminded her intensely of Kurt if he'd been a few years older, a few years stronger, a few years taller.
Mercedes didn't walk away. She knew that she must have looked so stupid, standing there gaping in the middle of the sidewalk, but she suddenly and very desperately wanted to see that boy's face. Needed to see his face. She knew it wasn't him, couldn't possibly be him because Kurt had disappeared in the middle of winter and it was now just barely creeping into summer and this boy had to be at least another growth spurt older, but still.
That hope that she'd never had the heart to kill was stirring in her stomach and doing this was a terrible idea because she'd just end up running home, unable to take the disappointment.
Steps quick and light before she lost her nerve, Mercedes approached the pair from behind and extended a hand to wrap fingers around the boy's bare arm. Before she could blink, muscles had tensed under her hand and he'd whirled around.
Sunglasses slipped down and revealed blue eyes. Blue eyes that were wide and horrified and showing absolute shock.
Mercedes knew those eyes.
Her vision swam and a hand reached out to steady her; the girl.
Kurt –no, no, no, it couldn't possibly be Kurt, no, no- the too-tall boy wearing Kurt's face was stark white in that way that Kurt had always gone when he hit the threshold for fear and his hands were shaking and pushing the sunglasses back up onto his nose.
Mercedes couldn't take her eyes off of him.
The girl had let go and was approaching Not-Kurt to steady him too, wrapping an arm around his waist and squeezing firmly.
"Kurt…?" Mercedes breathed, voice a whisper, frail and brittle and disbelieving with shock and hurt.
"No, no. You've got—you've got the wrong person. I'm sor—"
The boy flinched as if physically struck and slowly, so slowly began backing away, slow steps getting longer and faster until he broke all contact with the blonde to take off running. Casting one last concerned glance over Mercedes, the blonde girl turned and sprinted after him.
She didn't call his name but she didn't need to.
Mercedes sunk to the ground, suddenly weak and woozy.
Breathing heavy, Kurt flung open the doors to the TARDIS and practically slammed them closed on Rose who'd managed to keep up with him but who was now doubled over and clutching her side.
The Doctor popped up from behind the console and looked them over, cocking his head with concern.
"You both look like you've done a marathon or five—well, hello there, have a good trip?" he commented when Kurt lifted his head to stare at him and then not two seconds later darted across the room to pitch his arms around the lanky man's shoulders, squeezing tightly. "Easy, easy, calm down," he crooned, expression quizzical but tone relatively calm as he ran a hand over the teenager's hair, "You're safe in here, calm down and breathe before you hyperventilate and pass out on the floor, thank you," He turned to Rose and opened an arm for her too, which she unthinkingly stepped into. "What happened?"
"Someone recognized him," she muttered, pulling back and rubbing the back of her head.
"You guys can party here all you want, I'm not leaving this time machine until we're at least a couple of hundred years in the future and across the planet," Kurt commented into the crook of the Doctor's neck, voice muffled. "No way, no how, not happening."
"Not much happens here, does it?" the Doctor commented idly later that day, walking down the street with Rose. Her arm looped easily with his, and the novelty of being in a new place had very quickly worn off with the re-realization that Kurt hadn't just been being dramatic when he said that there was nothing to do here.
It was a significant downgrade from landless planets covered in water, from canyons inhabited by flying stingrays, from Earth's fourth millennium, from Hawaii.
Hell, it was even a downgrade from Rose's own beloved but a tad mundane London, where any draws for tourists had been dulled by a lifetime of being a local. She'd seen the tourists' wide eyes, the tour groups, heard the different accents, and the exclamations that had always made her laugh because what was so special about London?
There were no tourists here.
No flying stingrays, either.
Compared to this place, her home was downright exciting.
Definitely a downgrade.
"So, what exactly are we looking for with this 'feeling' of yours?" Rose asked, giving the Doctor's arm a light tug. "Sonic screwdriver scanning? Investigating? Long walk on the beach—oh wait, Ohio. No coastline. Forget that." He shrugged at her.
"I don't know. By the way, there's kind of a beach if you head north to one of the Great Lakes."
"You don't know." Why was she even surprised anymore? None of them ever knew until someone died or ran by, screaming, or disappeared, or suddenly started breathing blue smoke and killing off their family members.
"Nope. Don't know. Not a clue," the Doctor continued, not disconcerted by this fact in the slightest.
"So what are we gonna do about it?"
He smiled widely at her, popping a dimple in his cheek.
"First, we're going to ask a local where the best place to eat in town is."
"Yes, and then?"
"And then we'll eat there, grab something in a doggie bag for Kurt, and then head back to the TARDIS."
Rose sighed, smiling wryly. No, she wasn't surprised at all. Well, if there was going to be trouble (and it seemed like there was almost always trouble), it'd likely find them sooner or later. Preferably later, because Rose was starving. The streets were quiet but eventually they caught sight of a tall, blonde boy walking in the opposite direction, approaching them.
The Doctor perked up.
"Let's ask him," he said rapidly, speeding up, "He looks like he'd know a good spot to have a bite. Excuse me, young man, excuse me," he called out, waving his free arm wildly, catching the boy's attention. The boy sped up to meet them. "Could we ask a question?"
The boy cocked his head at the Doctor's accent.
"Sure, if I can answer."
"Where's the best place in town to eat? My companion and I are feeling rather famished but we're new to the area. Any opinions?"
The boy beamed, absently running a hand through his hair. Rose had the suspicion that that color wasn't quite natural, in the instincts of one not-quite blonde to a probable compatriot.
"Oh yeah, definitely! You'll want to go to Breadstix. The food's pretty decent, but the breadsticks are the best, salty and garlicky, and my friend Santana once tried to eat through a wheelbarrow of them." The Doctor's eyes lit up.
"Oh? And did she make it?"
The boy grinned.
"Nearly. Probably would have if the cheerleading coach hadn't shown up and given her hell for carb loading."
The Doctor saluted with flourish.
"Lovely, we'll have to take your advice." He turned to Rose, straightening up and grinning at her. "Come then, allons-y!"
AN2: And there's chapter ten for you lovely people. As always, reviews are wonderful, whether you liked this or disliked it. I'm a writer who likes to improve, so I'm always open to criticism. Unless they have to do with my chapter length, which isn't going to change anytime soon. Thank you for reading!