Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or "Come In With The Rain".
Note: Wow, 16th chapter already? Awesome! I have up to and including chapter 21 planned out, so you can expect a lot more from this story. No worries, fans! Review, as usual, please and thanks.
The next few days in Glee were somber and bleak. The kids did not have the heart to sing, lest of all to prepare for the impending competition. They mostly sat around and talked to each other in hushed tones, not wanting to laugh or to have fun. It wouldn't feel right, having fun, with Mercedes not there, never to come back.
"So, um, does anyone want to sing today?" Mr. Schue asked tentatively, knowing that the answer would be a silent "no," as it had been all week.
"I do," Santana said in a whisper.
Mr. Schue raised his eyebrows. "That's great, Santana. Um, if you want to go to the front of the room?"
She dragged her chair in front of the piano and sat down. She didn't want to stand up for this one. She wanted to be on the same level as everyone else. She wanted to sing this one for Kurt. He had barely said ten words per day since the funeral, and she was getting worried about him. He wouldn't look at anyone, let alone talk to them. He didn't even write notes down. His voice, his spirit, were just…gone.
"This one is for someone…very special," she said, her gaze shifting downwards so as to not look at Kurt.
I could go back to every laugh
But I don't wanna go there anymore
And I know all the steps up to your door
But I don't wanna go there anymore
Kurt lifted his head from the depths of his own personal Hell. She must be singing about Brittany, he deduced, putting his head back down. I mean, who else would she be singing about? Who else would she know all the steps to their door? Who else would she not want to go back to every laugh with?
Talk to the wind, talk to the sky
Talk to the man with the reasons why
And let me know what you find
Talk to the wind, such a pretty lyric, Kurt thought, head still down. I want to talk to the wind right now, but I can't. I can't talk to anyone. I've lost my voice. Not literally. Oh, I could talk if I wanted to, but I don't. I don't want to talk to anyone right now, not anyone but the flames. Or perhaps my mother. God, how I wish Mom were still alive right now. She'd know what to do, what to say.
I'll leave my window open
'Cause I'm too tired at night to call your name
Just know I'm right here hopin'
That you'll come in with the rain
Too tired, much too tired, Kurt thought, putting his head between his knees, looking at the tiled floor beneath him. I'm too tired to call her name. I'm too tired to call his name. I'm too tired to go on like this, to go on so depressed and lonely like this. I'm too tired to love someone who does not love me back, or to miss a friend who was gone too soon, a mother who was stolen from me. I'm just plain tired of all of this.
I could stand up and sing you a song
But I don't wanna have to go that far
And I, I've got you down
I know you by heart
And you don't even know where I start
You don't even know where I start. How stunningly accurate, Kurt thought, shuffling his feet a little. You don't even KNOW where I begin, where Kurt Elizabeth Hummel begins. I start here, but I end way over there. I don't even know how it happens, but it does. I start in one place, with one emotion, but I end up on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. I start in happiness and end in utter depression within the blink of an eye.
Talk to yourself, talk to the tears
Talk to the man who put you here
And don't wait for the sky to clear
I'm not waiting for the sky to clear, Kurt reflected. I'm not waiting for it to clear at all. I'm waiting for it to get darker and darker. I'm waiting for it to get darker still, and to consume me, to swallow me in its vast expanse. I'm waiting to lose myself in that vast sky, to be gulped down by it, to be chewed up and spit out by it. I'm waiting to die in that sky.
I'll leave my window open
'Cause I'm too tired at night to call your name
Oh, just know I'm right here hopin'
That you'll come in with the rain
Kurt lifted his head up a little, resting his chin on top of his knees. He stole a sideways glance at Brittany, and all at once, it hit him. This song wasn't about her. This song wasn't about Brittany at all. It was about someone else. But who? Kurt scrunched up his forehead, trying to think. No, he thought. No, this can't be about me. Santana wouldn't dare to sing this to me.
I've watched you so long
Screamed your name
I don't know what else I can say
Santana looked right at Kurt, noticing his slightly horrified expression. Why was he looking like that? Didn't he want me to do this for him? Okay, so he probably didn't, and I don't blame him. But what else can I do? The only way I know how to express my feelings—however subtly—is through song. This is the only way I can think of to reach out to him right now, to let him know that I'm here for him. Even if he doesn't want me to be, I'm still here for him.
But I'll leave my window open
'Cause I'm too tired at night for all these games
Just know I'm right here hopin'
That you'll come in with the rain
Too tired for all these games. Yes. Yes. Kurt couldn't help but to stick to this line. Too tried at night for all these games. All these games with the flames, all these games with lying to my family and friends. Too tired to play these games with fate, with death and with destiny. Since when did I gamble with them?
I could go back to every laugh
But I don't wanna go there anymore…
They applauded quietly, and Santana scooted her chair back to where it had been. She brushed away the tears in her eyes, unable to look at Kurt, who was rocking back and forth in the corner again, clearly upset about something. Was it me? Santana thought. Was it the song? Was it something else? Oh God, was this too much for him? Was this too soon after we lost Mercedes?
"Kurt? Are you okay?" Mr. Schue asked gently, approaching the boy.
He jumped up and ran without saying a word.
"Santana, follow him," Mr. Schue said quickly. Santana didn't hesitate; she grabbed Kurt's bag and hurried off after him. She heard footsteps pounding down the hall around the corner, followed by the sounds of a door slamming. She peered around the bend just in time to see the door to the janitor's closet close. She crept down the hall, trying not to make a sound. She paused outside the door to the closet and listened. Kurt was sobbing. Her eyes filled with tears again as she listened to the heartbreaking noise of Kurt's hysterical crying. She backed away slowly, leaving his bag at the door, tearing off down the hall back to the choir room.
"Is he okay?"
Santana sniffled. "He's in the janitor's closet. Crying. I couldn't…I couldn't go in there. I just couldn't, Mr. Schue. I'm sorry."
He sighed. "It's okay, Santana. Let's give him a few minutes and see if he comes back."
But Kurt didn't come back. He sat in that closet sobbing for half an hour solid. When he finally had cried all of the tears out of him, he silently got up and opened the door. He stepped out, immediately tripping over something on the ground. His knees stinging, he looked to see what it was. It was his bag. But who…? Mr. Schuester, Kurt thought, or perhaps Finn. Maybe even Rachel, or Santana. He'd thought he'd heard footsteps approach and then retreat from the closet, but he wasn't sure if it was footsteps or the sound of his thudding heart. Either way, he didn't care. He simply picked up his bag and left the building without giving a second thought as to what the kids back in that choir room thought.
He needed the flames, and he needed them now. He needed them now.