When Real Life Meets A Fairy Tale – Epilogue
In response to all the requests for sequels, this was meant to be a six-paragraph epilogue. It kinda grew. And got a little angsty - it was just my luck that I set it halfway through Grilled Cheesus based on a set pic alone.
Chris awoke the next morning to the harsh beeping of his alarm clock. He rolled over, opening his sleep-encrusted eyes to see the red figures shining out at him – 4.45 am.
He sat up with a jolt as he recalled the events of the night before and looked rapidly around the room. Nothing was out of place. Everything on his bedside table was in place, nothing had been moved. His bed was scrumpled, but that was only to be expected. There was nothing indicate that a fictional character had crash-landed in his bathroom and then proceeded to have his wicked way with him. Chris smiled at his mind's terminology and clambered out of bed. That had been one heck of a weird dream.
It wasn't even five o'clock yet, so Chris was not particularly aware at this time in the morning. He stumbled into the bathroom and set the shower running to warm up, fumbling around for his razor on the shelf above the sink. He shaved quickly and hopped into the shower (which he really thought should warm up faster, the amount of rent he was paying).
He looked down at himself in the shower, and was puzzled to see matching red marks just above his hip bones. Odd, he thought. He must've bumped into something and not noticed.
He finished his shower and stepped back out into the bathroom. He glanced over at the mirror and stopped dead in his tracks. There, clearly visible in the steamed up glass, were the following words: thanks chris xxx.
Holy fuck. It had been real. That was what the marks were from. That was why he felt that funny sensation in his behind. He dashed back out into his bedroom; searching every placing a person might be concealed.
To no avail. The only evidence that Kurt had ever been there were the writing in the mirror and the marks on his body.
Kurt awoke with a start. His head was resting on his arms, creasing his sleeves unforgivably. He must have dozed off during his study period – he was the only person in the library apart from the ancient librarian in the corner, who was thoroughly engrossed with cataloguing the Spanish biography section to pay any attention to him.
Kurt shook himself slightly and stood up. He was slightly woozy, and grabbed hold of the desk to stop himself falling over. That had been a very strange dream – he seemed to have imagined his life was a TV show, and he'd met (and slept with!) the actor who played him. Utterly bizarre. He'd known he had a sizeable ego and self-esteem issues, but that was a new extreme of weird even for him.
He smiled ruefully down at himself, and his expression changed to one of horror; his entire outfit was completely crumpled, as though he'd just left it on the floor overnight before throwing it on in the morning. He gathered up his things and hurried to his locker, throwing in his books and extracting the small iron and mini ironing board he kept stashed in there. He made his way to the girls' bathroom, set up the ironing board and bent to plug in the iron. The muscles in his thighs stretched painfully as his did so, hurting as though he'd spent all of last night straining them. It was almost as if…
Oh my, he thought. That can't have been real… there's no way. Teleportation, alternate universes. That just doesn't happen. Not in real life. But how else could he explain his aching muscles?
He propped up the iron and dashed back to his locker, rummaging in his bag. The last thing he remembered doing was sliding out of Chris' bed (his lovely, warm, snuggly bed) and picking up the bottle of lube, idly wondering was brand it was, because it had clearly worked like a charm. He'd walked into the bathroom and written on the mirror so that Chris would see it when he showered – he hadn't known how long whatever magic had sent him there was likely to last. That was the last thing he remembered before waking in the library.
Kurt caught sight of an unfamiliar bottle in the bottom of his bag. It wasn't hairspray or his usual moisturiser. He pulled it out and inspected it. Sure enough, it was the half empty bottle of lube. The exact same brand Chris had had last night.
Well. That put a new spin on things. Somehow, his entire fantasy appeared to have actually happened. A grin spread across his face. Somehow, he had no idea how, he had had sex last night. And it had been good. No, scratch that, it had been great. He had proved that he, Kurt Hummel, was capable of producing sexual pleasure in another human being, something he had been wondering if he would ever get the chance to do.
And he also realised that he wasn't quite as narcissistic as he had first thought – he hadn't imagined that he was interesting enough to be portrayed on a TV show. He actually was!
Kurt had a huge grin on his face as he walked down the hall. His French class started in twenty minutes – he was going to fix himself up then just hang out in the girls' bathroom 'till then.
He hummed happily as he ironed his jacket, idly remembering the events of the previous evening. Evening? He wasn't sure. All he knew or cared was that someone had found him attractive enough to want to sleep with him. An actor. Someone who could, presumably, get any guy he wanted. He pondered briefly why Chris hadn't just gone for the nearest so-inclined guy as soon as he could, but then his mind was taken over with the memories of rolling around in his bed. Kurt was just happy that he was the one who Chris had chosen to be with. He stood with a blissful expression as he recalled thoroughly ravishing the older man, then curling up with him in slumber.
The bell rang, bringing him sharply back to reality. He remembered fighting with his dad that morning over the Friday dinners. He felt slightly guilty, but he knew his dad would come around later. Like he'd said, they could always do it on Thursday. The smile returned to his face as he contemplated his trip on Friday evening. It was going to be brilliant! Singalong Sound of Music was always great, especially when the part where the entire theatre sang Edelweiss with tears in their eyes.
He settled himself down, not even caring when Azimio slumped into the seat next to him with the greeting, "'Sup, faggot?" He was looking forward to telling him all about his plans for the evening, being able to insult him without getting beaten up for it. It was unsurprising that he was nearly fluent in French, given his mother's nationality.
Kurt thought about his life right now. He was going to see Singalong Sound of Music, he had friends like Mercedes and Tina, he was going to display his outstanding French skills, his father's relationship with Carole was going well, he could insult Azimio all he wanted, and (best of all) he had had sex last night. And he had topped. Life was pretty freaking awesome right now.
Kurt turned to the huge jock with a broad smile. "Veux-tu commencer, peut-être?
Chris drove to work, still trying to wrap his head around what had happened. Somehow, Kurt Hummel had appeared in his bedroom. And he had been perfect. Did that make him screwed up? That the only guy he trusted enough to sleep with was an almost identical reproduction of himself? Probably.
A sudden thought occurred to him as he stopped at the lights. Kurt had been wearing that grey outfit he himself had worn a few days prior. The exact outfit he'd worn the day that Burt had had his heart attack. And Kurt never wore the same outfit twice. Kurt was about to go through the roughest week of his teen years, and he hadn't thought about it. It hadn't even occurred to him; he'd just jumped the poor kid. A wave of guilt washed over him. He knew Kurt's future, and he hadn't thought to mention even the slightest bit of comfort in preparation for what he was going to go through.
He was able to comfort himself a little by reminding himself that what was going to happen was going to happen, nothing he said could have changed that. But still, he felt uneasy as he remembered his willingness to take up Kurt's offer.
That feeling of discomfort remained through the day. It didn't help that they were filming with Mike that day, doing the scene where Burt reprimands Kurt for coming on too strong with his crushes. All it did was remind Chris of how tough Kurt had it already, and how much worse it was going to get.
A few nights later, Chris was woken by the same muffled flump he'd heard the night Kurt had first appeared. He scrambled out of bed and darted into the bathroom. Kurt was sitting there, leaning against the bath tub, wearing a black polo neck, stone-coloured chinos and a dazed expression. His face was damp; he had clearly been crying.
Wordlessly, Chris slid down beside him.
"Where…? What…?" Kurt uttered.
"It's me, Chris. Your actor, remember?"
Kurt nodded, orientating himself. "Of course. Chris… I…. my dad…" He dissolved into tears.
Chris wrapped his arms around him, letting the younger boy cry into his shoulder. "I know…" he whispered. "I know…"
For a few minutes, he let Kurt cry. He needed an outlet, after all. Someone to cling to while his father was lying comatose in a hospital bed. Someone who wasn't trying to pressure him into some religious faith, trying to persuade him that only God could give him any hope. Chris knew that they'd all meant well, but it must have been horrible for Kurt – seeing everyone else so happy with their beliefs, and not being able to join them.
As Kurt's sobs lessened, Chris reached for the toilet paper and gently mopped his face. As he did so, Kurt gathered himself and began to speak.
"You knew," Kurt stated. "You knew… then… you must have known. What… what was going to happen. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't think," Chris answered frankly. "I'm sorry, Kurt, I just didn't think."
"And you know more, don't you? You know what happens to him? You know if he… if lives or dies?"
"I… I don't know, Kurt. I know what happens in the show, but I don't know if the show really follows your life, or if it's the other way round. I don't want to give you false hope."
"Hope? Then he lives? He's alright?"
"In my world, in the show, he's going to be. But in your life, Kurt? I just don't know."
Kurt nodded mutely.
Carefully, Chris stood and held his hand out to Kurt. "Come on. You don't want to spend the night on my bathroom floor, do you? Your pants'll get all dirty, and they're McQueen, aren't they?"
Kurt shook his head, smiling slightly. "Marc Jacobs." He took Chris's hand, hauling himself unsteadily to his feet. "How could someone so unfashionable ever play me?" he wondered aloud.
Chris smiled slightly and led Kurt into his room.
"Come and sit on my bed, and we can talk, if you want. Or we could just sit. You need some time just to rest and be yourself for a bit."
Kurt followed Chris through to the bedroom and curled up on his bed, resting his head back against the headboard. Chris sat in a similar position on his left hand side.
They sat in silence for a few minutes before Kurt spoke.
"Why does everyone keep trying to get me to believe in God? Why do they think it would help me at all? Why would I want to believe in this all-powerful being who thought he'd make me gay just for the hell of it?
"I guess because their beliefs have given them hope during tough times, and they think it'll do the same for you."
"But why do they have to shove it on me all the time? I try to respect their beliefs, stupid as they are. Why can't they do the same for me?"
"Because they care about you, Kurt. It might not feel like it, but that's why they're doing it. And because theists often don't see that atheism – belief in scientific evidence, and absolute logic – is a belief, just like theirs is. They see you as lost from the fold, and they want to bring you safely 'home'." Chris made air quotes with his fingers as he said this. "It's frustrating. You've just got to try and remember that they wouldn't do it if they didn't care."
"I guess so." Kurt admitted unwillingly. "It's so… eurgh! I just want to be left alone."
"I know just how you feel," Chris agreed, sliding his arms around Kurt's shoulders and pulling him into a sideways hug. "It gets a bit overwhelming when so many people care so much about you. But, Kurt?"
"Mm-hm?" Kurt murmured.
"You should give Mercedes, and her church, a chance. I know what she's saying sounds like total nonsense, but she's your best friend. She's just trying to show you that there are people who care."
"People who'll lynch me if they find out I'm gay. And an Atheist. Either that or try to pray it out of me," Kurt replied bitterly.
"Not if they're truly Christian people. True Christians accept people of any race, any sexuality, any creed, and love and welcome them just the same. Whether they like who you are or not, they'll still love you, and look out for you. And I know you don't want people praying, but they'll still do it. In their eyes, it's the only way they can really help."
Chris paused, pondering certain parts of the episode before he spoke again. "Though if they have any consideration at all, they won't do it right there in front of you."
Chris returned to his original train of thought, "You just have to know that people, whether it's the Glee Club, or the people at Mercedes' church, or anywhere, really, really do believe that it's their belief system is the only true way you could be happy. I know that Atheists get a raw deal, and it can be tough to live with. In the long run, it's easier just to accept their good wishes and move on. You have your beliefs, and unless Atheism becomes the norm, you'll just have to stick it out."
Kurt snuggled into his side. "You're probably right. Still sucks."
Chris smiled wryly. "Don't I know it."
After a few more moments, Kurt broke the silence again.
"Chris… I'm scared… so scared," he said, in such a small voice that it made Chris's heart break to hear it. "If Dad doesn't make it… he's all I have…"
Chris nodded as he pulled Kurt into a tighter hug. He couldn't think of anything to say. He knew from experience with his sister that people trying to make you feel better by explaining just how well they understood never, ever worked. All Chris could do was hold him close and hope that that was some small comfort to the terrified boy.
For Kurt, it was enough. Just knowing that there was someone there, someone who would hold him through it his pain, was enough. He was sensible enough to realise that opportunities for them to meet again were entirely down to chance, but right here, right now, a warm and caring pair of arms holding him close against a living, breathing body was all he needed to feel a little less lost; a little less desolate. A little less alone.
Again the two dozed off together, Kurt feeling safe and protected for the first time since that dreadful moment in French class.
Yes, this turned kinda angsty. Sorry about that! Blame the plot of Grilled Cheesus, and my not knowing what was going to happen to Kurt in the grey moustache t-shirt.