Wes woke up that morning to the sight of one Sue Sylvester standing above his bed, a nightmare that had haunted the dreams of many people.
No, Wes did not scream. Screaming was reserved for females. And Kurt. Wes merely yelled in a panicked manner. yes, that was what had happened, and don't you dare say otherwise.
"Nice set of pipes there, Asian Three," said the Coach Sylvester, peering down at him with eyes typically described as pits of nothingness. Nothingness and hatred. And to have those eyes staring down at you while in your bed...
...It was terrifying, to understate it in the frankest way possible.
"And here I thought the only male capable of going that high and not growing a vagina upon doing so was Porcelain over there," she continued.
Wes almost would have laughed at that, had he not been currently cowering into his sheets.
"Right here, Coach," a bleary voice called from the other side of the room. Wes looked over and yes, for once Kurt was awake without the assistance of his alarm clock, and was currently propped up on one elbow as he rubbed at his eyes with his other hand.
"Good. You, of all people, Porcelain, should know that I won't stand for slackers on the squad," she stated.
"One, I'm not on the squad anymore, as you know fully well and two, you're getting a bit sloppy with the nicknames there. Asian Three, Coach? Gavel Fanatic or Dictator would fit Wesley here better."
He paused. "Then again, that last one might be just a bit too complimentary, coming from you." He grinned evilly.
Wes felt his jaw drop. Anyone else would have found themselves disemboweled and strangled with their own small intestine had they said such a thing to the Coach, who Wes had heard more than enough stories about from Kurt to scar him for life. He couldn't even bring himself to be offended.
As it was, she merely chuckled, what might be described as a smile by someone who didn't know her better flitting across her face.
"Good to see you haven't lost what little wit you showcased in this soul-sucking place, Porcelain, the likes of which I haven't seen since I last visited the hospital for a dislocated jaw I'd obtained from yelling at my Cheerios. The mediocre doctors there insisted on an X-ray, and I caught a glimpse right then of my tiny, shrunken heart in the corner of the picture before I knocked out the doctor pressing my jaw back into place.
She stopped for a moment, staring off into the distance. "I might just make a permanent settlement here . The smell of broken and beaten souls is intoxicating."
Kurt looked amused, rather than horrified. "Mind explaining why you're here, Coach? Somehow I doubt you're just enjoying the scenery."
"Remember, Porcelain, patience is a virtue," she declared, rifling through the fridge. Kurt didn't say anything, despite the rough handling of his precious Diet Coke.
"Now," she said, twisting off the cap to one of the sodas with flex of her wrist, "to answer your question, Porcelain, I've come to warn your little Garglers."
"Warblers," Wes interrupted, met with a sharp glare.
"Quiet, Asian Three, I wasn't speaking to you." She turned back to Kurt.
"I've received information from my most reliable source that the New Directions are aiming for a 'Sexy' approach to Regionals."
Horror spread across his face.
"I had the same reaction," she said, nodding at him, "as it would appear that Schuester is determined to rehash his own previous mistakes. I've come to you because, as it is, you're the only one here I trust enough to destroy the New Directions adequately even as I stun the judges with my own glee club's stunning talent."
She quickly gulped down at least half the bottle in one swallow. "I'm talking to you, Porcelain, because no matter how innocent and naive you may act, we're both fully aware that you can do sexy better than any of these half-wit Garglers you've graced with your presence, case-in-point your roommate."
Wearily, "All right Coach. I'll do my best."
"Good, Porcelain. You have my number if any of those prep-boys give you ay trouble." In an instant, she was gone, leaving nothing but an empty Diet Coke bottle in her absence.
A pregnant pause.
"Kurt?"
"Yes, Wes?"
"Should we do sexy?"
"Nah. I'll explain later, when it isn't three o'clock in the morning."
It's a bad sign when Kurt comes storming into their room, swearing violently in French.
He sighed. "What happened now?"
"Blaine," Kurt spat.
He glanced up quickly. "What'd he do?"
Of course, it was probably a good sign that he was angry, rather than curled up in a ball crying like before, but...
"I told him about the sexy thing," he fumed, pacing in circles, "and he seemed to take it as a confession of knowing nothing about sex, and took it upon himself to educate me!"
He snarled. "I know about sex! What with the Beth mess last year and Santana's crude jokes, I know more than I would ever want to! I'm not some naive little boy, for GaGa's sake!"
He flopped down onto his bed angrily.
Wes snorted.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing," he said, rolling his eyes.
"What?"
"You do tend to act naive at times, Porcelain," he muttered, coining Coach Sylvester's nickname.
"I do not, Asian Three," he retaliated.
"Sure you don't."
He really regretted it the next time he brought out his laptop, finding it open to a bunch of cheerleading videos.
And no, he did not all but drool watching them, and don't you dare say otherwise.
Aaarggghhhh fail whale chapter in general.
I honestly hate how this turned out. Not only is it amazingly short, it also has no plot whatsoever. I'm so sorry for this.
Hopefully my last chapter, easily my favorite, will make up for it.
Ngh.
Oh, and the link I posted some chapters got messed up, so: Got to Deviant Art . com (remove the spaces), and search "The Warblers: Wes" and it should come up under that exact title.
Again, so so sorry!
-Mel