The Scholarship

by Sopphires

When Kurt is chased out of McKinley he runs to Dalton Academy, but the private school is expensive and even with the extra money from Burt and Carole's honeymoon, they can't cover the cost of tuition. There is one way, though, for Kurt to get in, but that means winning a scholarship off the black-haired, hazel eyed Warbler Kurt is pretty sure he just fell for. Rated T for swearing

17. Goal

Dear readers,

Hello! I guess this is the part where I once more apologise profusely, grovel and supplicate because of my incredibly long absence - it's been just under a year since I last updated (literally, just under a year by about two days - I checked because I didn't want to go over a year!) - and for that I am really, really sorry... As I always seem to do, I wildly underestimated how long it would take me to write this chapter, and how long this chapter was going to be, not to mention my productivity levels when I have nothing else to do except write multiple stories. So, I have a few excuses, which are mainly school work, illness, taking all of November off so I could do NaNoWriMo on an original story, and then I thought I might be able to finish over Christmas because I got really close, but then I got back to school in January, and I had a sort of breakdown thing because of Sylvia Plath (if you suffer from depression think really, really carefully before you read her!), and coursework that was worth 25% of my grade, and I was having problems in therapy, and everything was just kind of crap and stressful for about four months...So, yeah, that's my attempts at justification. Now, I have exams, which means no writing for a while, and I'll see what I can get done before next year starts because that's my final year of school, and I know I'm going to be really busy, but the next chapter could easily be this long, and it's less planned out compared to this because it's sort of the chapter where I dumped lots of different plot lines and thought "I can make this work!"...

Anyway, enough me talking, and I just want to thank anyone who's read, favourited, alerted or reviewed, it means a lot to me, and I really appreciate anyone who's sticking with this story, and good luck to anyone else that's got exams at this time of year too, I hope everything goes well for you!

Enjoy,
Sopphires.

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The Scholarship

Episode 17: Goal

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I don't know whether to be hyped for cheerleading Regionals or exasperated by the preparation that Coach Met is making us do. My limbs ache from the two hour minimum practises that we've been made to do. I can barely walk back to Dalton after them, but thankfully there tends to be a golf buggy that someone – normally Elise – is willing to use to run me back to the outhouse where Emma is snoozing. I hope that that isn't going to happen again tonight because Juri gets up early to do some sort of swimming training that their coach is making every member of the squad – competitive or not – take part in for the upcoming gala or whatever. Keats hates it with a passion, and so do I because I'm pretty sure I will collapse from fatigue if I don't get more sleep. I suppose I just need to get through this practise before I work on how much I sleep I get…

The sound of a high pitched scream broke through the pounding music that was filling Crawford's gym. Kurt, who had previously been dancing his hardest whilst Coach Met had been shouting down a microphone at him in a manner that reminded him of Coach Sylvester in a painful way, looked around to see that one of the cheerleaders that he actually liked; Elizabeth – Lizzie – Grainger, lying on the blue mats, unfortunately not one of the squishy crash mats, that were covering the space on the gym floor that was being used to practise stunt and clutching her ankle. He glanced at Elise and then did a double take because she had vanished from his side. Rolling his eyes, he hurried over to Lizzie as well as everybody else began to crowd her.

"Lizzie," said El, dropping down next to her. Kurt also made his way through the cheerleaders, who parted for him, and crouched down too. "how bad does it hurt?" Lizzie screwed up her face in response, and El rolled down the white bobby sock to reveal the first signs of swelling and bruising. Kurt winced, shooting Lizzie a sympathetic smile as the girl peeled open her hazel eyes.

"Is it bad?" she asked in a horrified whisper, obviously terrified of sustaining an injury that would stop her from competing in Regionals. Kurt glanced up at Coach Met, who was clearly standing back to see how Kurt and Elise dealt with the situation as joint captains of the cheerleading squad, and then shrugged because he may be Juri's roommate but that didn't make him a medical expert.

"Come on," he said, offering her his hand to help her to her feet. "let's sit you down on the bench, alright? El, can you get some ice?" Elise nodded instantly and hurried off. He arched an eyebrow at Lizzie, and she took a deep breath before nodding, and Kurt pulled her up and wrapped an arm around her waist so that she could lean against him and not put pressure on her ankle. He saw at least half of them narrow their eyes at them, and the two of them exchanged private grins as Kurt helped her to the side of the gym, depositing her on the bench furthest from the other cheerleaders.

"Thanks Kurt," she said, glaring down at her ankle like it, personally, had been the cause of her injury, which it actually could have been because it might have collapsed under her.

"What happened?" he asked. Lizzie shrugged and ran a hand through her hair, unintentionally pulling more strands from the high ponytail as she did so.

"I don't know, I think I just landed funny. They set me down, and then I did a cartwheel and – CRASH! – I'd fallen over. It must have just gone from under me when I landed. I hope that I'm okay for the competition." Kurt felt a little bad for the Freshman because she was so obviously nervous about possibly not competing at Regionals.

"You'll be fine," assured Elise, sitting down by Lizzie's side and extending the ice pack to her. Lizzie took it and gently put it over her ankle, flinching slightly at the cold of it. "Even if, by some cruel twist of fate, this is serious enough to stop you from performing at Regionals, you will not lose your place on the squad. You are a serious asset to us." Kurt shot her a smile that confirmed those words. Lizzie shrugged her shoulders a little nervously and shot them both a shy smile that said she was a little bit dazzled by their presence, which both amused and confused Kurt.

"She's right," he said, eventually. "your injury is probably just going to need you to take it easy for a little bit, and then you'll be fine, and as for your spot on the squad…well, I doubt that Met will want to replace you, but if she did then she'd have a full scale rebellion on her hands – no one can say no to us!" Lizzie snorted, giving them both a smile that said she was reassured by their words.

"Thanks guys," she said, glancing over at Met, who had folded her arms and was watching them with narrowed eyes. Kurt looked over at Elise and saw her roll her eyes at the sight. "You guys should probably get back to cheerleading and whatever." Kurt arched an eyebrow at her to make sure that she was okay. Lizzie rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, guys, I swear." Kurt watched as El gave her a once over before nodding and getting to her feet. Kurt copied the action, stretching his arms so that the tight-fitting shirt rode up to expose the bottom of his stomach, and El yanked it down so hard that Kurt thought she was going to tear his shirt.

"Careful," he said, eyebrow arching as he ignored the girls that were staring at him with disturbingly hungry eyes. "if you tear my shirt you'll have to sow it back." Elise rolled her eyes.

"You ought to be thanking me for saving you from around ten, scarily obsessed, probably horny girls." Kurt rolled his eyes, deciding to not disagree with her on that point. El smirked at him in response and danced over to their previous position. Kurt glared at her, hating her for having the extra energy to dance around when it wasn't completely necessary, and trailed her until they were standing side by side again. He yawned widely and rolled his neck, hearing it click loudly.

"From the top?" he asked, and Elise glanced over at Met before turning back to him with a rather apologetic look on her face.

"As much as I'd like to say no to that, I think we kind of have to, but you really need to start getting more sleep, sweetie, because the last thing we need is you burning out before Regionals. I mean, if you flake out before the lacrosse game then we're seriously screwed." Kurt rolled her, only not annoyed at her for stating the obvious because she was delaying any strenuous physical exercise that he might have to do.

"I know," he grumbled, running a hand through his hair and feeling rather grotty. "but these sessions are, like, three times more exhausting than Warblers, and the teachers are still piling on the homework…" he stuck out his bottom lip, huffing. "I don't understand how you're not as tired as me." Elise shrugged.

"Well, I might have acclimatised to this after the past two years, but also…I mean, you have to trail back to Dalton, and some of the girls here are pretty nuts *cough* – most of the cheerleaders – *cough*, but on the whole we're not as bad as you Dalton boys." Kurt snorted, looking over at the cheerleaders who were slowly going back to their old activities. "That, and you have Juri as your roommate; I have Lottie…Lottie is capable of moving around quietly and not waking me up." Kurt snorted again, nodding at that because Juri had tried but darkness made Juri's severely hampered sight a lot worse, and so Kurt had decided that it was best for them to turn on the lights so that Juri didn't die because then Kurt would be murdered by Chris, Drew, Fred, Morrison and just about everybody else that was friends with the adorable Russian boy – except, probably, Trinity because they seemed very anti-fighting.

"Lucky you," he muttered, a touch jealously. El reached over to rub his upper arm with a sympathetic look on her face.

"I'm sorry, but once this is over things can go back to relative normal…well, our Nationals clashes with your Regionals, but I think you'll survive." Kurt groaned, having previously forgotten that those two events fell weirdly near each other in the calendar, and shot Elise a glare.

"You're not making me feel better here," he grumbled, and she held up her hands, shooting him a sheepish grin.

"I was trying because I was going to tell you the build-up to Nationals is gradual, and then I remembered that you were a Warbler, and you guys were at your Regionals, and then what I was going to say made no sense." Kurt rolled his eyes, sending her another glare that just made her giggle slightly because his eyelids were drooping and completely ruining his fearsome stare. Maybe it was all some dastardly plot concocted by Coach Sylvester to sabotage the Crawford cheerleaders before Regionals…

"Are you two going to start practising any time soon?" demanded Coach Met, suddenly. "Or am I going to have to set you calisthenics for the next hour?" Both Kurt and Elise jumped and looked over at her guiltily. The cheerleading coach arched an eyebrow threateningly, and Elise immediately scurried over to the music whilst Kurt suppressed his groan with a large yawn. "And Kurt," said Met in a warning tone. "you're not leaving here until you have the dance step perfect." Kurt nodded, looking suitably meek until she'd hurried off to deal with another problem and El had made it back to his side.

"That's the perfect plan," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. "if I'm so tired that I make a mistake, the obvious solution is to make me do it over and over, draining me of my energy and making me more tired and, therefore, increasing the likelihood of me making a mistake. No, there's nothing wrong with that." Elise snorted as the intro began to softly pound through the gym.

"Oh Kurt, haven't you learnt yet that no cheerleading coach is sane?" Kurt rolled his eyes once more, yawning again.

"Believe me, I learnt that a long time ago. I just foolishly believed that, because I was at Crawford, there may be some form of normality." El snorted loudly, breaking out into hysterics and so almost missing her cue to enter.

I am officially going to die. We were only a couple of steps into the routine before I made a mistake, and Met sent the song back to the beginning. We had to do it twenty times before she got the other cheerleaders in, and El only messed up four of those times. Then, the two of us were so exhausted that we could barely stand, and, sure, Met gave us a couple of breathers so we didn't dehydrate or faint which is more than Coach Sylvester would, but I'm pretty sure that was hardest cheerios session I've ever done because we've stayed an hour over time. It's insane! I haven't got a single piece of homework done. I am so dead for multiple reasons. I just want to go to bed, but, no, Coach Met still wants to talk to us.

"Alright, girls, Kurt, take a knee." Kurt gratefully flopped down onto one knee in front of Coach Met, really wishing that he could simply lie down on the mats and fall asleep. El dropped down by his side, patting his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, and Lizzie hopped over to sit down on his other side. Kurt glared at her, playfully, for being allowed to sit on her butt. Lizzie shrugged with a small smirk on her face.

"Is this going to take long?" asked El in a crabby tone of voice, glancing over at Kurt in a way that questioned whether he would still be upright after her speech, and Kurt grinned, glad that the only person that could really talk back to Met was on his side. Coach Met rolled her eyes in an exasperated manner.

"It would have been over sooner if you'd gotten the routine right." Every cheerleader, regardless of their gender or sanity, glared at her. Met shrugged, rolling her eyes again. "Look, anyway, in an attempt to help keep up your spirits, I didn't tell you this at the beginning; I have some bad news." Kurt groaned, loudly, voicing the thoughts of everyone in the gym. There were some chuckles through the other groans, and Met sent him a glare. "Yeah, well, thanks to the unbelievable power held by your old cheerleading coach, Kurt, Regionals has moved." Kurt felt his mouth drop open in horror as he stared at Met in disbelief.

What the hell? I know Coach Sylvester gets whatever she wants, but she can't move an entire event, can she? I mean, that's up to the sport regulatory body, or whoever organises these events, right? How could she possibly get it moved for her own convenience?

"You're not joking, are you?" said El in horror struck voice, whole face falling slack in shock. Met ran a hand through her hair once, pulling the remaining stands of hair from her ponytail. She screwed up her face in annoyance as she nodded.

"No, unfortunately I'm not," she said, scowling as she did her hair up in a bun and glared at them with the fury that she wanted to direct at Coach Sylvester. "I don't know how she friggin' did this, but she moved it to the day of – wait for it – the gym Regionals." The silence at that was even more horrified than before. Kurt could feel his mouth straining to drop against the mats because – holy shit – that could genuinely leave the cheerleaders in a mess. God, Coach Sylvester really did have a knack for conniving, devious, brilliant plans to sabotage the opposition.

"What the hell are we going to do?" asked Elise in a whisper, her eyes round with shock and worry, and Kurt didn't blame her because she was the cornerstone of both the cheerleading and the gym squad, being the all-around individual from Crawford. Kurt knew that he was a good performer, but the last time he'd won he'd been on Coach Sylvester's team, and he'd known all along that the only way that they stood a chance of beating her was if he and El performed together. However, he doubted that he would win any arguments to keep Elise on the cheerleading squad because they still had one lead – him.

"Well, it was pretty hard to swing, but the basic fact is, there will six of you are going so you better get down on your knees and pray to your deities that nothing goes wrong. Now, Daniela, Theodora and Bea are going, but that still means we're losing three cheerleaders, and not replaceable ones…" There was a moment in which everybody arched an eyebrow. "Not that any of you are remotely replaceable. Either way, Diana and Ingrid you're going too." Kurt winced at that, looking over at two of the taller cheerleaders that were some of the strongest ones they had. "And, of course but unfortunately, Elise." Kurt pulled a face, wincing once more, as he glanced over at Elise, who had one hand over her mouth but a resigned expression on the rest of her face. "No need to tell you, then, Kurt that you will be running the show from now on. I expect you three to turn up whenever you can in case of another change of plan, but we mostly have to work on modifying our routines. The lacrosse game is going to be our trial run for this new format. I don't think I need to tell any of you how much hard work this is going to require. Alright, everybody, let's disperse."

Kurt flopped backwards against the mats the moment Coach Met was done talking, throwing his hands over his face whilst he emitted a long groan. He could not believe this was happening! Well, actually, he could because it was Coach Sylvester and she did all sorts of crazy things, but still! It was insane that whoever organised this thing would actually listen to her and agree to move Regionals to whenever she wanted, especially to a day that clashed with another Regionals event that was very closely linked to cheerleading! What idiot had thought that was a good idea? Honestly, some people's stupidity was really quite something to marvel at.

"Kurt," said Elise, tapping his upper arm with her fingers. "are you alright?" Kurt let another long groan, peeling his hands away from his face to look up at his friend. She had pulled her hair out of its tight ponytail and so now the blonde locks cascaded over her shoulders and hung over her face.

"Fine," he grumbled, pushing himself up on his elbows. "it's just so frustrating that she was able to change it, and that some imbecile let her! And now that you're gone, it's going to be even harder for us to win, and Coach Met knows that so now I have to work even harder, and I'm already exhausted and days behind on my homework!" He flopped back down, pressing his hands over his eyes and trying to not let stress get the better of him. He supposed he was just a little tense and overworked; that was why tears were burning in his eyes and his voice was wobbling and shaking and making him sound like a little kid. He barely had time to hang out with his friends or his boyfriend and actually enjoy himself because most of the time he was around them he was desperately attempting to catch up on his homework.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Kurt," she said, clearly detecting just how wound up his was about the situation. "but, you know, if you're really struggling that badly with homework than you should really talk to Professor Lloyd." Kurt took his hands from his face, frown wrinkling his brow.

"Professor Lloyd?" he questioned, confused as to what his head of house could do for him. Elise rolled her eyes, smiling at him with mild pity.

"She's your head of house," she said in that explanatory tone of voice that was used for small children, rolling her eyes once more. "this is the kind of stuff your meant to talk to her about. Seriously, Kurt, Dalton, like Crawford, does pastoral care really well, and if you're struggling and stressed than you should go and talk to her and see if there's not some sort of compromise that you can come to until this is over." Kurt blinked up at Elise in mild disbelief.

"Really?" he asked, frowning heavily and feeling something in him automatically want to reject the offer as it would mean showing weakness even though he knew that he badly needed help. Elise nodded.

"Yeah, I mean, I, personally, have never needed it, but, on the other hand, I am sleeping enough, you are not. Besides, regardless of whether they can really do anything, the staff really do prefer if you tell them stuff like this because stress can boil over into something more pretty quickly." Kurt nodded, dragging his hands down his face and thinking that he probably ought to speak to Professor Lloyd tomorrow. "Come on," said Elise, getting to her feet and extending a hand out to Kurt. "let's get you back to Dalton." Kurt accepted her hand and allowed the cheerleader to pull him up and onto his feet.

The two of them collected their jackets, and Kurt shivered at the cold air that was drifting in through the open door. The rain was still pouring down heavily, making something akin to a translucent curtain between them and the grounds, and the sky was incredibly dark, the heavy grey clouds blocking any of the stars from view. Kurt eyed his cheerleading uniform, recognising that even a couple of seconds in the downpour would leave him soaked through to the bone, and then looked over at Elise, who was busy pulling on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and as a result was currently hopping around on one foot whilst her other one seemed to have gotten stuck somewhere in the trouser leg. He rolled his eyes and folded his arms, patiently waiting for her to be finished. Then the two of them, hands over their heads, sprinted for the golf buggy parked a couple of metres away. Kurt could feel the icy rain soaking through his outer layer to the thinner one underneath, or, in the case of his legs, straight through to his skin.

"Fuck, it's cold!" exclaimed Elise when they'd clambered into the buggy, both of them shivering with utterly ruined hair and makeup as well as doubly sodden clothes, the rainwater having added to the sweat that had accumulated after their strenuous exercise. Kurt "hmmed" in response and screwed up his eyes, examining the grounds and noting that it was almost physically impossible to see any further than a couple of inches in front of him. Elise stared the engine, and the tyres squelched in the mud as the little cart began to move, painfully slowly, away.

Just when I thought this day could get no worse; I'm exhausted, I have to do my homework when all I have the mental capacity for is a hot shower and sleep, I'm going to be performing on my own at Regionals meaning that they'll be even harder practises to come and now my hair is ruined. All I want to do is get back to the locker rooms and stay under the hot water until my skin is disgustingly wrinkled like a prune's and, for once, I won't care about that because I'll be warm and relaxed. The only good thing that has happened today was cheerleading practise being moved inside, imagine trying to play outside in this weather; I do not envy the football team and Blaine…

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Blaine had pretty much gotten used to the fact that he was soaking. The only time it hadn't been raining in their practise had been the first five or ten minutes in which they'd stretched and gotten a long talk from Coach Mattison, and so Blaine's body seemed to have acclimatised to playing whilst his kit was water-logged, his hair was plastered against his head and his limbs were freezing…not to mention the fact that it was genuinely about ten times harder to stay upright or run fast in these conditions. However, as Drew had so helpfully pointed out on numerous occasions, there was a very real possibility that they could play Garfield in this kind of weather, so it would work to their advantage if they were used to it. Blaine really hoped that this experience never came in useful, though.

The ball, that would have been caked in mud had the rain not been washing it clean every couple of seconds, landed in the mud by Blaine's feet with a loud splat. Screwing up his eyes, Blaine could vaguely see Joey's outline and guessed that he had walloped the ball over to him. Taking it into his feet, Blaine began his sluggish run towards the goal, dribbling the ball as best he could given that the surface of the pitch had been ripped up by their boots and was now some sort of muddy slush.

Splat!

Blaine felt his feet go out from under him a second before he realised that he was pitching forward. He got one moment to throw out his hands to break his fall and prevent himself from getting mud in his eyes before he collided with the turf. The whistle sounded shrilly, echoing across the relatively silent grounds, and brought any feeble running to a stop. He felt, even though the ground squelched happily and somewhat soften his landing, the wind be knocked out of him, and he spluttered slightly as he rolled onto one side just before his elbows gave in. He let out a long sigh, coughing and rolling over so that he was on his back. He guessed he ought to have seen that coming as there was only one person that was crazy enough to go in for sliding tackles in these conditions, even if it was exactly what Garfield would do, and that person had been marking him all session.

"Alright there, Blaine?" asked Drew, fluorescent yellow bib painfully bright, looming over Blaine as he coughed feebly on the floor. Blaine nodded slightly, looking down at his strip and noticing that it was almost all completely covered with mud by now; it was going to take several washes to get all of that out.

"Yeah…" he groaned as he heard footsteps squelching in the mud and guessed that Mattison was coming over to see if he was alright. Drew extended a muddy hand out to him, and Blaine, screwing up his face, gladly reached up and allowed Drew, with all his incredible strength, to pull him to his feet.

"Blaine, are you okay?" questioned Mattison, jogging into view and looking rather harassed. "Drew didn't get you with his studs?" Blaine shook his head, letting go of Drew and testing to see whether his ankles would support him. His feet were almost completely numb from the cold, and he reckoned that that had probably stopped the pain of Drew colliding at full speed against them from bothering him too much.

"I'm fine," he said, jumping up and down a little bit to prove the point. Mattison narrowed his eyes slightly as the rest of the players began to wander over, all shielding their eyes from the rain and trying to see what had happened. Then their coach turned to Drew with a disapproving look on his face that made the blonde grin sheepishly up at him.

"Drew, how many times? I know that you're simply trying to give Blaine, and the others, the best preparation that they can get before we face Garfield, but we cannot afford to lose anybody, especially not to avoidable injury. These conditions are awful, and it would not take a lot for you to seriously injure somebody out here. Please stop with the sliding tackles unless you are completely sure that you will only get the ball, okay?" Drew rolled his eyes, letting out a huffy sigh before conceding the point with a meek nod. "Alright, free kick to the non-bibs." Joey sidled over to him as Mattison moved the ball into the position.

"What are we doing?" he asked, and Blaine adjusted his captain's armband slightly self-consciously, still not keen on Mattison's decision to make him deputy captain, and eyed the distance to the goal. The white outline of the penalty area was only seven feet from them, and he could see the bright yellow blob that was Will, who really looked like a jumping banana, in the middle of the goal. Blaine frowned a moment, pursing his lips before making his decision.

"I'll go for a curler," he muttered. "I'm going to try and get it into one of the side corners, just make sure none of the defenders gets a head to it." Joey nodded, knowing that Blaine really meant Drew, and jogged off to the other midfielders, conversing with them and helping to form the wall. Blaine took a step back, crouching slightly and trying to determine the angle that he wanted. He could still just about see Will jumping up and down on the goal line and reckoned that Will would probably assume that Blaine was going to try and get it onto the heads of one of his taller midfield players as they had done the last couple of times to no avail.

"Ready Blaine?" checked Mattison, and Blaine, jumping up and down on the spot and feeling the familiar excitement at the prospect of potentially scoring a goal course though him, nodded at the ref and watched him raise his whistle to his lips, blowing hard to let them know that play had resumed. Blaine took one moment to compose himself, trying to discard all unhelpful thoughts, before taking a run up and kicking the ball with his toes from an angle, getting them under the ball a little so that the ball lifted over the wall.

What happened next, Blaine didn't see because he'd been so busy watching the ball clearing the wall and evading Drew's shaggy head that he completely forgot about the follow through of his leg. His right leg kicked forward until he was at full stretch and then the forward momentum sent his left one sliding out from underneath. He hit the grass with another splat, just as a yell rent the air, cutting though the beginnings of cheers. He heard Mattison's whistle cut through the air once more, and when the shrill sound had died, Blaine could hear the cries of pain and gasps and mutters of his teammates. Pushing himself to his feet, Blaine limped over to the 18 yard box and, sliding through the crowd, finally saw the result of his free kick.

On the upside, the ball was nestled against the inside side netting on the left side of the goal to Blaine, telling him that he had succeeded in getting the ball in the back of the net and thus had scored a goal. On the downside, Will was lying on the ground, cradling his left arm to his body and clutching his left shoulder with his right hand and crying out in agony. Drew was down by his side, as was Mattison, and both of them seemed to be trying to get through to the Senior to establish how bad his injury was. Blaine turned to the rest of the team with wide eyes.

"What happened?" he demanded, and most of the people around him gave noncommittal shrugs, suggesting that they had not seen anything. Blaine heaved a huge side and hurried over to Will and the others. "What happened?" he repeated in an urgent undertone to Drew. Drew sat back on his heels a little bit, raking a dirty hand through his blonde hair.

"Well, your plan worked pretty damn well, but…" Drew trailed off, glancing back at Will. "Will kind of had a collision with the goalpost. He smacked it with his hand, and all his fingers and his wrist bent backwards at an awful angle, and his arm just sort of folded. His elbow and shoulder crunched against it, and then he hit the floor with the same arm." Blaine felt horror pool into his gut as he stared at their goalkeeper, feeling awfully guilty. Mattison was sitting the goalie up as the rest of the team came to crouch down around them. Mattison examined Will as gently as he could, pursing his lips as Will tried to stop himself from continuing to vocally express his pain.

"Okay," said Mattison, hauling Will to his feet and giving them all a grim smile. "this does not look good. Someone run over to the fun team and grab two people to get Will to the nurse, and then get Dylan over here. Also, tell them that they're dismissed. Mo, go get yourself a bib, you're in goal." Blaine looked over at Mohammed, who had been staring at his friend with wide eyes, as Jack dashed off towards the other pitch. The skinny Pakistani took a moment to stare dumbly at Will in horror before sluggishly moving off to fetch a bib.

"I'm sorry," said Blaine, screwing up his face in apology as he stared beseechingly at Will, hoping that he knew that Blaine had not meant to injure him at all. Will gave Blaine an attempted smile that really looked more like a grimace or a wince.

"It's fine, Blaine," he said, stiffly, clenching his teeth to try and get the pain to dissipate. "I'm sure Mattison is just entertaining us with his terrible medical skills again." The sodden team all chuckled as one whilst their coach scowled, clearly annoyed with the reminder of the time he'd accidentally misdiagnosed Drew's cut knee as a broken one. Blaine gave him a weak smile in return, still feeling awful for having caused this.

"What's going on?" demanded Dylan, his towering figure appearing through the curtain of rain, shivering. He, and the two other soggy players by his side, took in Will with wide eyes.

"Dylan, you're over in that goal," said Mattison, brusquely, pointing to the goal at the other end of the pitch. "and you two get Will to the nurse. Be very careful with his arm." Whilst the two boys escorting Will immediately complied and began to help him walk away, Dylan remained routed to the spot, mouth hanging open in something that looked like horror. Mattison rolled his eyes, and Blaine reached over to pat the elbow of his friend. "Relax, Dylan, you're just the sub goalie. All you have to do is stand in that goal and defend it on the off chance someone makes it through midfield."

"You'll be fine," assured Drew, clapping Dylan's muddy shoulder with his equally muddy hand. "you're super tall so you can cover more of that goal than most people." Dylan shot Drew a glare, causing most people to chuckle as Drew scuttled away from the giant boy, and then heaved a sigh before beginning to trudge away down the pitch as Mo game running over, luminous pink bib over his navy goalie kit, and pulling on his goalkeeping gloves.

"Ready to go?" Mo nodded once, taking a deep breath and shooting Blaine a wink that clearly said "it's on!" as Drew clapped him on the back. "Alright, goal kick…everybody out of the penalty area." Blaine reluctantly backed out of the 18 yard box and attempted to get as close to Drew as he could, which was harder than one would think because Drew somehow still had the energy to dash about, as well as the ability to not slip and slide in the mud. Mattison blew the whilst, and, after a preparatory jump, Mo took a run up and booted the ball high into the air, well over Blaine and Drew's heads, and somewhere into the mess of bodies that was midfield.

After that, Blaine lost track of time. Every part of his body was wet and cold, even though he was generating heat by running around, and he could feel the water sloshing around inside of his football boots. All of his limbs ached, and it took most of his strength and concentration to stay upright and not fall over whenever he got the ball. The amount of decent shots on goal that he got seriously decreased, and he was afraid to take a shot that would require Mo to perform any kind of dive lest it result in another serious injury. Instead, he mainly went for chips that were easy for Mo to catch and gather into his chest.

The seconds blurred together in the pouring rain, and despite the fact that Drew was no longer allowed to make sliding tackles, Blaine was still smashing into the turf at frequent intervals because the very act of Drew – or any other of the defenders – robbing the ball from him was enough to unbalance him, which led to him toppling over ungracefully and getting muddier. He was sure that most of his torso had to be covered with bruisers and that, if he had been able to see the skin on his arms through the coating of mud, there would be a colourful array of bruises blossoming there too.

His brain had also become very numb and tired, and so he found that he was frequently giving the ball away to the other team, or just making bad decisions in the final third of the pitch, but he was also pretty sure that this was cancelled out by the fact that the other team was equally as tired, and Jack passed the ball to him at least three times whilst Blaine was in the penalty area and could make a great shot on goal. Unfortunately for Blaine, he squandered two of those chances, but he did get the third one into the back of the net, making the total score 4-1 to his team because, as they had all kind of forgotten until about five minutes later, his goal that had led to Will's injury counted because it hadn't been a foul or anything.

Blaine was also pretty sure that Drew had officially gone insane. Out of all their friends, Blaine had always regarded Drew as being vaguely normal. Sure, he had a slightly odd upbringing, and he was scarily good at just about every sport under the sun, not to mention the knack for getting himself injured, but he was also relatively normal, especially when put next to the likes of Trinity, Nick, Jeff and Fred. However, today, Blaine reckoned he had found concrete evidence to prove that Drew had lost his mind and was now completely crazy.

Drew was enjoying himself. Every time Blaine looked at him, he had this gleeful grin on his face despite the fact that his face, clothes and hair were covered in mud. He kept dancing around in the rain when the ball was nowhere near him, and half the times he tackled Blaine, he did so with a laugh. He'd even shouted "this is the best practise ever!" on one occasion, which had prompted Blaine to whack him round the back of the head and give away a free kick. He'd only not been slowly murdered by his exhausted team-mates for that because the ball had magically ended up at his feet three passes later. Then Drew had stolen it ten seconds and three paces later with a grin on his face that Blaine was sure he was putting on just to piss him off.

However, not long after that, Blaine had realised that there was no time to be internally monologuing about how annoying Drew was and how tired he felt because someone had shouted out that they were now in stoppage time, and so Blaine knew that it was time to mount a daring final assault on the opposing team, even though they were winning 4-1 because it might very well be the case that it could all come down to the final seconds when they played against Garfield.

The ball once more landed at his feet, and he got one second to marvel at Kay's ability to send him a perfectly weighted pass whilst suffering from severe fatigue before Drew came dashing to over to tackle him.

Not this time, thought Blaine cockily with a smirk, waiting for Drew to come very close before switching the ball from his left foot to right, dinking the ball over Drew's flailing legs, dodging them himself and gathering the ball again. He heard Drew curse as he splattered into the mud and found himself laughing a little bit as he began to dribble towards the penalty area. He could see Matthew coming up on his left and briefly considered squaring the ball to him, but at that moment Jack came charging out, blocking that path and potentially putting him offside. Heaving a sigh as it looked like Blaine would have to go it alone, he nutmegged the nearest defender, slid around them whilst his arms wind-milled violently to keep him upright, and collected the ball as it rolled into the penalty area. He looked up, shielding the ball at his feet, and saw Lance coming into the box, definitely onside. Blaine took one moment to mentally prepare before crossing the ball to him. In almost slow motion, Lance rose into the air, Graham a couple of seconds behind him. The muddy ball left a trail of water in the air as Lance's head glanced against it, knocking it in the direction of the goal. The ball spun towards the goal as Lance and Graham landed, both of them slipping over, and Mo dived towards the top right hand corner at full stretch. The fingertips of his hands brushed against the ball as he began to lose height. For a wonderful moment, Blaine was convinced that the ball was going to sneak in under the crossbar, but, alas, it sailed just over the top, bouncing off the netting, and hit the ground a couple of seconds after Mo.

"Damnit!" exclaimed Blaine, kicking the pitch and causing a mixture of grass and mud to go spraying into the air. Lance, who was gingerly picking himself up, sent him a rather apologetic grin.

"Sorry!" he called over the sound of the torrential rain. "Really thought that was going to go in!" Blaine rolled his eyes, shrugging and shooting him a smile that said it wasn't his fault that Mo had just managed to knock it over. Drew laughed loudly as he pulled Graham up from the mud.

"I have to admit, Blaine," he said as they backed out of the penalty area whilst Mo fetched the ball. "I really thought you were going to score then – I was half disappointed when you didn't go for it yourself." Blaine shrugged, looking over at Mo, who was setting the ball down on the corner of the six yard box.

"Yeah, but Will's injury has kind of put me off using those on our team." Drew nodded in a wise manner, patting him on the back.

"Don't beat yourself up over that, Blaine, it was an accident. I mean, that's pretty much your trademark goal. It was just bad luck...well bad luck and bad weather." Drew glared at the downpour before shaking his head, sending water spraying from his shaggy locks and all over Blaine.

"Drew!" he groused, wiping some of the water out of his eyes, not entirely sure why it bothered him so much given that he was soaked from head to toe anyway. Drew shrugged and shot him an apologetic smile as the ball sailed over their heads once more, and then went pelting after it. Blaine let out a huge sigh, but then decided that he probably should follow his friend because extra time had to almost be over and if this was the real game, which they were trying to pretend that it was, then they would need all hands on the deck in defence – especially when they had an inexperienced goalie like Dylan who, whilst being pretty good, got very intimidated by a horde of players charging at him, especially when they were being led by Drew, for understandable reasons.

Blaine slid in the mud, pelting as fast as he could after Drew, who was currently part way through tying the defence in knots, and absolutely sure that he was going to put the ball in the back of the net in the manner that only Drew – their supposed centre-half – could do. He could see that some of his midfielders were looking at him for a little instruction, and Blaine cursed, remembering that he was technically in charge of his team. He shrugged, continuing to run forward, and gestured to the penalty box and Drew.

"Just close him down!" he roared, hoping that he would be heard over the rain and that they would pick up the general gist of what needed to be done: Drew needed to be stopped without him scoring, getting hurt, passing the ball on to someone in an equally advantageous position, or them giving away a free kick or penalty. In this game they were fine, but against Garfield, this could be the difference between winning and losing – well, technically, probably, winning or drawing, but drawing was seen as defeat by both teams; it was all or nothing.

Blaine could hear the sound of his breathing tearing through the air, and he really wanted to give up, but he was getting so close to Drew, who had just danced around Kay with a flurry of perfect footwork, and knew that he was probably going to have the best shot of bringing Drew down before it was one-on-one with Dylan, and Blaine could risk denying a goal scoring opportunity and all that jazz. However, in order to do that, he had to come up to the side of Drew, which meant overtaking him. That was going to be hard.

Blaine was pretty sure the sensation of the rain pounding against him faded away as he accelerated. The sound of the rain and mud and shouts of his teammates also faded away into near silence. The only thing he could hear was the roaring of the wind in his ears and his panting. He was sure that he was gaining on Drew, who had made it into the penalty area. Blaine took a deep breath and looked at Dylan, who was rooted to the goal line, clearly not sure what he was meant to do. Blaine held out an arm, not sure whether Dylan was paying attention to him, and tried to indicate that Dylan should stay where he was. There was no point giving away a penalty or risk damaging either player. If it was the real game, Blaine wasn't sure if he'd make the same decision, but, barring any disasters, that wouldn't be his decision to make. Then, when he was sure that Dylan wasn't coming out and when Drew was clearly trying to get in closer, Blaine took a deep breath and decided to make a rash decision.

Blaine jumped, feet first but careful to keep his studs down because he really didn't want to hurt Drew or get in trouble, and slid in, eyes on the ball. He knew that there would be a fresh stripe of mud up the back of his sock, leg and shorts, but it was worth it when he saw Drew jump over his feet at the last second as his boots came into contact with the ball. He almost let out a sigh of relief as Dylan ran out of his goal, at last, and threw himself over the ball. Blaine came to a stop, almost dropping his head back into the mud in relief, and shot Dylan a grin from where his friend was lying on the ground. Dylan smiled back as the two of them clambered to their feet. Drew, who was resting against the goal post, gave Blaine the thumbs up as he began to limp towards the main field.

"Nice tackle," he said, patting him on the back. Blaine grinned up at him, suddenly fully aware of all the water that was soaking him. The two of them turned around as Dylan performed a drop kick, and a second later, as the ball arched into the air, Mattison puffed three times on the whistle, bringing the game to a long awaited end. Blaine let out a long sigh of relief as Mattison beckoned for them to gather round. Dylan came pounding over to their sides, grinning just a little bit.

"Alright boys!" yelled Mattison. "I won't keep you any longer! But that was a great practise and games! My man of the match is Blaine; two great assists and two even better goals!" Blaine attempted to smile, but in reality, he would really rather not keep accumulating those accolades if he was forced to play in the pouring rain. "However, your leadership leaves room for improvement, take some pointers from Drew…need I say anything, Drew? You've been as awesome as always. Dylan, stop looking so terrified, you're a good goalie, and we're not here to kill you. Mo, the way you stepped up to that was great, and you pulled off some wonderful saves. The rest of you are really holding solid so keep pressing on and looking for ways to improve, but we're on our way to victory." There were subdued cheers at that, and all the boys hastily began to make their way to the changing room.

"How do you guys do this?" demanded Dylan. Blaine looked over at him and then remembered that half the time on the fun teams all anyone did was goof around and do crazy stuff. He gave a small shrug.

"I don't know…maybe we're just immune to the suffering now." Dylan chuckled, and Drew gave him a playful whack that caused him to wince and hiss because he was pretty sure he had just been whacked on some slightly more tender bruising.

"Come on, Blainey!" he exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to Blaine's discomfort. "It's not that bad." Blaine glared at Drew, shaking his head violently so that muddy water went spraying out of his curls and straight into Drew's eyes. Drew screwed his face up in annoyance, giving Blaine the finger, as Dylan laughed at them.

"He is really right, though," said Blaine, sending Dylan and encouraging smile. "you're actually really good out there. I mean, don't worry about being terrified of Drew because everyone is terrified of Drew."

"Yeah," said Mo, popping up by Dylan's side with a grin on his face. "the look on the Garfield students' faces when he comes charging at them down the pitch is priceless!" Blaine snorted, nodding, whilst Drew rolled his eyes and smirked because it really was hilarious to see the terrified light in some of the boys eyes – both the ones that had only heard the legends of Drew's skill, and the ones that had come up against him and come off terribly – when Drew advanced on them.

"I don't blame them," said Dylan, shuddering. "You looked manic!" Drew shrugged, casually, as the other two laughed at Dylan's words.

"He makes a fair point," said Blaine, looking back at his friend, who looked somewhere between pleased and exasperated with their conversation. "I mean, you were actually enjoying yourself out there!"

"WHAT?!" yelled both goalies as one, staring at Drew like he was deranged. Drew rolled his eyes once more, huffing slightly as he caught the door of the changing rooms as it swung shut behind Jack.

"How is that possible?" demanded Mo as he ran, backwards, into the blissfully warm changing rooms. Blaine let out a sigh of relief as Dylan closed the door behind them and thanked God that someone had been enough of a genius to come up with central heating.

"It was fun!" exclaimed Drew, defensively. "Come on, it was so much fun!" He looked around at them, clearly searching for some understanding in their eyes, but all he got was wide eyes of abject horror.

"Sorry," broke in another voice, suddenly. "did I hear that right? Drew, did you just say you enjoyed playing the freezing cold and pouring rain whilst you got yourself covered in mud? A pig would be disgraced to see itself covered in that much mud!" Blaine peered, highly amused, around Mo's lanky figure to catch sight of Kurt, wrapped in a fluffy, white dressing gown, sat on one of the benches with a bottle of moisturiser in his hand and a look that was a hybrid of disgust and dismay on his face.

"You heard right," said Dylan, rolling his eyes, as Mo, muttering under his breath something that was probably a curse on Mattison, moved off towards the showers. Kurt shuddered.

"You know, if I was religious, or insane, now would probably be the time that I called in an exorcist because that is not right, and that's really saying something because I have never felt that need before – and I've been at Dalton for several months now." Blaine snorted loudly, breaking down into chuckles at the mildly miffed expression on Drew's face. Dylan let out a shout of laughter before deciding that he couldn't take another moment in his muddy gear and moving off the showers too.

"Hey!" cried Drew. "I'm relatively sane!" Blaine and Kurt made eye contact and shared exaggerated eye rolls as one.

"Yeah," conceded Blaine, turning back to his friend. "but that's because we're using Trinity as a measure of sanity. Believe me, Drew, you are only sane at Dalton."

"Well we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad. But I'm not mad. Yes, you are otherwise you wouldn't have come here!" Blaine saw, out of the corner of his eye, Kurt's face descend into one of wary confusion as he eyed Drew. Blaine snorted, rolling his eyes and taking pity on Kurt.

"He's quoting Alice in Wonderland," he explained, and Kurt rolled his eyes, nodding in understanding.

"I see, I thought that sounded familiar. Why do I get the impression that that's a quote bandied about rather a lot at Dalton?"

"That's a completely insane accusation!" exclaimed Drew in his pompous voice as Blaine bent over in laughter. Kurt arched an eyebrow in a manner that was delicate yet powerfully condescending.

"I'll tell you what's insane – you two still being in that sports kit." Drew and Blaine both looked down at their uniforms simultaneously, and then made eye contact, both agreeing that Kurt had a very valid point about that.

"Well, we simply can't have you winning this argument, can we?" said Drew, grabbing Blaine's arm and dragging him, even as Blaine laughed at Drew's tone of voice and Kurt's expression, towards the showers.

Blaine left the showers a good half an hour later feeling clean and with a grin on his face because he was still wet, but this time the water had been warm and didn't make mud sluice up onto him and soak through his shirt and onto his skin, freezing him. He was unsurprised to see that Kurt was still in the changing room, for some reason bothering to make his hair immaculate again despite the fact that he was about to go back outside into the pouring rain.

"Have you seen my nail file?" Blaine blinked at Kay, who was standing before him wrapped up in one of his numerous float-y dressing gowns that stopped his long hair from getting his clothes wet, as he towelled his hair dry and dug out the clean clothes that were buried somewhere in his sports bag, which was mainly filled with towels.

"Nope," he said, shaking his head. Kay scrunched up his face in annoyance and scowled, bending down to squint under the bench to see if he could find it. Blaine rolled his eyes, meeting Drew's gaze, and proceeded to get changed.

"Here," said Kurt, before Kay started crawling around on his hands and knees on the muddy floor of the changing room in search of his nail file. "use mine." Kay straightened up, taking the nail file with a grin on his face.

"Thank you, Kurt Hummel!" he exclaimed, immediately beginning to tidy his nails which always got destroyed during the football game.

"You know, if you just kept your nails short this wouldn't be a-" Drew let a yelp and dodged out of the way just in time to avoid Kay's sock, encrusted with sweat and dirt, hitting him squarely in the middle of the face. "Ahh! I apologise! Do whatever you want to your nails, Kay!" He cowered behind Dylan, who was bent over laughing, and the rest of the boys in the changing room chuckled gleefully at their captain's defeat. He could see Kurt looking between them all with a mildly curious expression on his face, probably unused to a group of half-naked guys playing around and joking when most of them only had towels keeping them decent – the atmosphere in Dalton changing rooms were, predictably, very different than the ones that Kurt was probably used to.

"That's better," said Kay, smirking widely, and Blaine shook his head as he pulled on his trackies. "I take it there will be no other smart remarks."

"Yes ma'am," muttered Drew, sulkily, pouting and giving Kay a pair of puppy dog eyes.

"I'm impressed," commented Kurt, looking between the demure Drew and the victorious Kay with humorous eyes. "You've certainly got him housetrained. I don't think we've actually met…?" Kay looked at him, and Blaine could clearly see him trying to work out why he thought Kay wouldn't know who Kurt was before clocking that he was meant to introduce himself.

"Ohh…!" he said, smacking himself on the forehead before extending the newly manicured hand towards Kurt.

"I'm Kay – short for Michael or Mikaela, depending." Blaine watched in amusement, throwing the dirty towel into his bag and pulling the baggy t-shirt over his head, as Kurt tried to work out a polite way of asking what he was clearly thinking. "Watch this space," said Kay, handing the nail file back to Kurt. "all will be revealed." With that, he darted off to the side, behind a partition, as Kurt's eyebrow rose questioningly, eyes widening. Blaine glanced around and could see that the rest of the football team was watching the scene with the same amusement as Blaine, all clearly entertained by what was happening. "Now that was Michael, but this…is Mikaela!" Kay jumped back out, wearing a dark blue dress – thankfully with long sleeves – that had a red collar and stripe around her waist.

"Oh, I see!" said Kurt, nodding in understanding, as Kay darted back across the changing room with a grin on her face that said she never got tired of doing that. The other boys laughed a bit more before turning back to what they were doing. "That makes sense. So, you call yourself Michael when you're dressed as a boy, and Mikaela when you're dressed as a girl – that's very clever."

"Yeah, you wouldn't believe it, but I actually have Drew and Blaine to thank for it."

"OI!" exclaimed both boys at once, sending Kay equally annoyed glares. Kay rolled her eyes in an over

exaggerated manner as Kurt looked round at them both, clearly intrigued by the story.

"And, you know, when in doubt call me Kay, which I also have to thank Drew for."

"Why do you keep saying that like that's really shocking?" demanded Drew, looking hurt and indignant.

"Because you normally don't have good ideas off a sports pitch." Drew flicked his towel at Mo, striking him on the leg as he attempted to dart away, and all the boys laughed some more as Mo made a threatening lunge towards Drew that actually caused their captain to jump slightly.

"Can I ask how this disturbing piece of common sense came into being?" asked Kurt, looking back over at Kay. Kay, pulling her hair back into a ponytail, nodded.

"Of course! Basically, I wasn't really very open with my cross-dressing before I came here. I mean, when I was really little my sister used to dress me up as a girl and pretend I was her sister, so I've kind of been doing it my whole life, but when I got to about eight that stopped being something I could get away with. I did about a year of not really doing any of that, but it felt really weird. You know, I'd look at all the girls in their dresses, and I just wanted to wear them, and I didn't understand why I couldn't. Then my sister went to Crawford when I was nine so I started sneaking her clothes whilst she was gone, which was brilliant, and I'd dress up in secret in my room and try on her make-up and stuff. Then she caught me when I was twelve, just before she was about to start her senior year, and she took it-" Kay broke off, taking a seat on the bench and shrugging her shoulders. "-she just took it perfectly. There were no comments about it being weird or anything; she just showed me how to put on eye-liner properly and gave me the clothes that she'd outgrown. By this point, I had a place at Dalton, and she told me that this place was great for people like me because she knew Sam really well because he orientated her and-"

"Wait!" said Kurt, breaking in with his face screwed up in confusion. "Who's Sam?" Blaine looked at him with a frown, brow furrowing up in concern and mild surprise that Kurt had never heard of Sam. The air in the locker room was suddenly very still, and Blaine could see that the sudden silence was worrying both Kay and Kurt.

"You don't know about Sam?" he asked, finally, in confusion. "Didn't Norman tell you about him at the Football game?" Blaine watched him intently, wondering what Norman had told him about Garfield if he hadn't said what Blaine had asked him too, until Kurt's expression cleared up.

"Oh! Right, that makes sense!" Blaine tilted his head, marginally more confused, and Kurt rolled his eyes. "Norman told me about a female-to-male student that had been here when he was a Sophomore, I think. He said that he got treated really badly and tried to kill himself, but he never mentioned their name – I take it that's Sam." Blaine nodded, exhaling in relief and glad that Norman had still told him the story.

"Yeah," said Blaine, eventually. "that's Sam."

"He was at Crawford originally," expounded Kay. "For Freshman year, and the first term and a half of Sophomore year, but then he had the operation and transferred to here." Kurt nodded, corners of his mouth turning up in a slight smile. "So my sister knew Sam so she told me everything was fine at Dalton, and that I should tell mum and dad. That was kind of hard, but my mum took it pretty well, but I think she sort of knew about me stealing Mandy's clothes – my sister's called Amanda, by the way, I don't think I mentioned that – but my dad…" Kay moved her head from side to side, shrugging. "It's complicated. He's not openly against it, but I know it makes him uncomfortable when he sees me dressed like a girl. So, anyway, I turn up at Dalton with half my suitcase filled with dresses and kind of feeling nervous about the whole thing, and I've barely put my stuff in my room and said hello to my roommate before George is calling me and says that Hammonds wants to speak to me. I was absolutely petrified, even though George was being his usual, sweet self and telling me everything was fine, and it turned out that there was something Mandy didn't know – when Sam first arrived at Crawford, and people found out he was a transgendered person, they offered him a move to Dalton straight away."

"Really?" asked Kurt, in a voice that was both shocked and incredulous. Kay nodded, earnestly.

"Yeah, but he decided against it, and Hammonds offered me the same thing because, basically, Mandy had mentioned me to Ros, and Ros – bless her – had told Sebastian that morning, who then passed it onto Hammonds."

"Why didn't you go?" Kay shrugged a little bit, pulling a face that said she still, to this day, didn't know why she'd made the choice to stay.

"I'm not sure…I can't remember what I was thinking, but I was aware of the fact that I was pretty sure my dad would draw the line at me going to a girls school, but also…I'm not a girl full time, you know? I'm not going to have an operation, or anything, I just like being a girl when I feel like it. I like having the option, even though that's what I do most of the time, and I think it was a similar thing. It was having the option of moving to a girl's school if that's what I wanted that actually made me want to stay at Dalton even more because I was just me – not a gender, just a person. I mean, I didn't turn him down full-out straight away because I was stunned so he gave me a week because he thought it might be easier to do it at the beginning, but by the end of that week I'd made so many friends already that I didn't want to leave. I mean, it's so nice being at school that doesn't bat an eyelid if I wear a skirt one day and trousers the next, and I know Crawford's the same, but I just…I just like having that option." She shrugged once, sending a grin in Kurt's direction. Blaine looked over at his warbling friend and saw that he too had a wide smile on his face.

"I had no idea Dalton was…" he shrugged, frowning briefly before smiling again. "It never ceases to amaze me how flexible this school can be. Can you really wear a skirt whenever you want?" Kay nodded.

"Yeah! I mean, most of the time I reckon I'd turned it down because I like the feeling of fitting in at school that allows me to be different, if that makes sense? I am still accepted by all these boys and treated as an equal regardless of what I wear, but I like being a boy that doesn't feel ashamed of also, sometimes, being a girl. I don't know if that made sense?" Kurt nodded, immediately, shooting her a smile that said it made perfect.

"No, that- that sounds absolutely…normal." Kay let out a little laugh, probably at the idea of Dalton being normal, and Blaine smiled in amusement.

"I mean, there are times – like at the concerts; public occasions – when they prefer me to wear trousers, but Hammonds explained this to me in a very long talk that it's not because they're "ashamed" of me, but they don't, at the same time, want everyone to know." Kurt looked understandably confused at that statement, and possibly a little bit indignant, and Blaine thought it was probably time to step in and explain what she meant properly.

"What Kay means," he said, and Kurt's eyes snapped over to him. "is that Dalton doesn't…It's complicated, but of course Dalton wants the world to know that it's accepting; that there's a zero-tolerance bullying policy, and all that so that people like you, Kurt, come, but at the same time, Dalton is careful to uphold this image of being very alpha male-ish because it gets people like me in." He saw Kurt's eyebrow arch and rolled his own eyes, knowing he was doing a bad job of explaining this. "Basically, a lot of boys can get sent here because their parents want them to be "straightened out" because it's an all-boys school, and, yeah, it's zero-tolerance, but people don't take that into account so much. Dalton wants to make sure that people like you and Kay can be here comfortably, and people whose parents disapprove so that they can both be safe. I mean, if my dad had known how good Dalton was to its gay students, he would not have let me come here. He thought it would straighten me out, though he never said that to my face, and Dalton wants to keep it like that because coming, for me, you know, it saved me. It's a hard balance, but the thing, of course, is that Kay immediately said that she was fine not wearing a skirt at those events because we all understand how important this school is to everyone so we don't want to make life harder for anyone."

He swallowed, hoping that he had managed to convey the right message to Kurt, and saw, from his nods, that he had succeeded in saying something that appeared to be filled with contradictions. Kurt ran a hand through his hair, shooting everyone that was still in the changing room, a smile and then shook his head.

"Only Dalton would come up with that complicated a policy that seems rather hypocritical in the middle, but, of course, actually makes perfect sense and is just it being lovely." Blaine snorted at the description as he pulled his wellies out from under the bench and stuffed his feet into them. He saw Kurt roll his eyes at them before stifling a yawn. The action suddenly brought Kurt's pale face and heavy bagged eyes into greater contrast, and Blaine frowned at him because Kurt looked like he was running on empty at the moment.

"Very true," commented Drew, picking up one of the large umbrellas. "now, let us leave this muddy place before Kurt faints because his shoes are getting dirty." Kurt threw a glare over at the sandy haired boy. Dylan let out a hearty chuckle, and Blaine glanced around at the changing room, noticing that most people had left during Kay's long tale so that it was just him, Kurt, Drew, Dylan and Kay left. Dylan snatched the umbrella off Drew, holding it high above his head so that Drew couldn't reach it, and handed him a smaller one in return, and the five of them stepped out into the downpour; Blaine and Kurt sheltering under the umbrella that Dylan held aloft and Kay under Drew's.

"So why are you still here, Dylan?" asked Kurt as they began their walk back to the houses. "The rest of the fun team left earlier, didn't they?" Dylan pulled a face.

"Will got injured so Mo took his place, and I took Mo's." Kurt's mouth fell open slightly, looking at Blaine with concerned eyes.

"Will! Isn't he your number one goalie?" Blaine nodded, scowling at the reminder of what his free-kick had cost them. Kay nodded in a sage manner whilst Dylan pulled a face. Drew glared at Blaine's expression.

"Blaine, for crying out loud, stop beating yourself up over this! Football is a contact sport; injuries happen, it's part of the game!" Blaine huffed, not able to disagree with him, and saw Kurt's eyes dart between the four players, clearly piecing together what must have happened. Then he patted Blaine on the shoulder in a sympathetic manner. "Besides," continued Drew. "Mo is a really good player – he'll be fine." Blaine rolled his eyes, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with the statement.

"What about swimming?" he pointed out, eventually. "He wins his races hands down." Drew rolled his eyes in sync with Kurt and Dylan.

"Well, yeah, but he was doing less races anyway because Matthew – Freshman – had overtaken him. I'll find a sub tomorrow...actually, that's easy: I'll just get Mo to do it. I mean, Will's been pretty much schooling him to take over, so he's pretty good at all of Will's old races. It's not that bad, I promise." Blaine heaved a sigh, still feeling guilty and like he'd wrecked their chances of winning, and then looked over at Kurt.

"Are you alright?" he asked, and Kurt frowned at him, pulling a quizzical expression with one eyebrow arched and the other lowered. Blaine rolled his eyes a little. "You look a little run down," he expounded, and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine, really. It's just insane cheerios, and homework, and I'm not getting a lot of sleep." Blaine exchanged a worried frown with Drew.

"Have you spoken to Lloyd?" asked Drew, raising his voice slightly over the rain as they came towards their houses. Kurt shook his head, sighing.

"No, I didn't really realise you could do that until El mentioned it to me today, but I don't know…" he trailed off, probably not keen on the idea of admitting to their head of house that he needed help. Blaine rolled his eyes whilst Drew moved a little closer to them, shooting him a sympathetic smile.

"Kurt, it's fine doing that. How do you think I get through this time of year?" Kurt looked at him, clearly only processing now that Drew had an insane amount of sports commitments but still didn't look as bad as Kurt. Drew grinned. "I mean, like, I don't even have to talk to Booth about it anymore; he just gives me a week deferral on all my homework. I can't say Lloyd will give you that long, but you could get a two or three days, and that'll just give you some breathing room. Plus quite a lot of teachers, when they see you have a deferral, will just cut back on the amount of homework they give you anyway – they'll tell you not to bother with stuff you know, just do something that'll help you learn."

"I see," said Kurt, shooting Drew a grateful grin and making Blaine feel rather pleased with himself for picking up on it and voicing his concerns. "that makes a lot of sense, actually. I was wondering how you were still standing." They all chuckled slightly as Drew sent Kurt a wink.

"Well, apart from the fact that I am amazing? I also don't have as much this year because me and Juri sharing races so I don't have to swim as much and, because of the clash with the football game, I'm not on the gym team so-" Drew broke off as Kurt came to a halt, slapping his hands over his mouth and looking at them with wide eyes. All four of the footballers came to a stop too, back tracking so that they could stand next to the horrified looking cheerleader.

"Kurt?" said Blaine in a worried tone of voice, reaching forward to tap his shoulder. Kurt dragged his hands down his face looking both frustrated and weary.

"Are you okay?" asked Kay, her face scrunching up in concern, as Dylan and Drew exchanged bemused and confused looks. Kurt let out a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes and shooting them all a look of tired annoyance.

"Today we found out that Coach Sylvester has managed to move cheerleading Regionals so that it clashes with gym. I had no idea that gym clashed with the football game already, but…" he sighed. "if that's the case, then we're not going to be at the game." There was a moment of silent horror between the four footballers, Blaine looking over Kay's head at Drew, both of them sharing a look that said they were horrified at the idea of going to Garfield with no cheerleaders. Playing against Garfield was one thing, playing against them away at their pitch was another. Most of their school turned out to jeer at them, and it was beyond hard to keep focus and motivation, especially as the small contingent of away fans was easily drowned out.

"Well," said Dylan, pulling a face and clearly trying to see a positive in the situation. "Garfield aren't going to have any cheerleaders either, right?" Blaine nodded, slowly, because it was true that they would also be at the competition, but that would probably not faze them in the slightest.

"Is it really that bad?" asked Kay in a nervous voice, and Drew immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close and shooting her a comforting smile.

"You'll be fine, I promise." Blaine tried very hard not to school his features into an expression that didn't say that Drew was insane for saying that because he got that he didn't want Kay worrying, but at the same time…it was going to be that bad. Kurt pulled a face, glaring at the ground. Dylan pursed his lips and then snatched the umbrella off Drew, whilst holding his own above the other two Harriot student, and handed it to Blaine. Blaine immediately sheltered him and Kurt with it and put an arm around Kurt's shoulders.

"Okay, see you guys tomorrow!" he said, and Kurt looked up, giving them a rather feeble smile and wave goodbye, as the other three shouted their farewells and then dashed off towards Harriot. Blaine then immediately began to drag Kurt towards Franklin.

"I'm sorry," said Kurt, raking a hand through his surprisingly dry hair. Blaine shot him a disparaging look.

"It's not your fault, Kurt; from what I've heard, your old cheerleading coach is a right psycho." Kurt snorted slightly at that, arching an eyebrow.

"That's an understatement, and you're a hypocrite." Blaine gasped, pulling an offended face that made Kurt chuckle a little bit. "Don't look at me like that, you are. I mean, why can you beat yourself up over what happened to Will, but I can't do that over this?"

"Because," said Blaine in a firm voice as he opened the door and let Kurt hurry into the porch that was filled with coats that dripped water and shoes that left wet trails of mud everywhere. "I actually kicked the ball. You had nothing to do with this." Kurt threw him a glare as they peeled off their outermost layers and hung them up.

"Right because you kicked that ball with the intention of harming Will." Blaine huffed, choosing not to reply whilst pulling off his wellington boots and trying not to get his feet covered in mud. "So, is Garfield that bad?" asked Kurt as they stepped into the warm common room that was emptying rapidly. Blaine shrugged as he made his way to the kitchen in search of food.

"Yeah, basically…" he sighed as he opened one of the cupboards and pulled out some bread, sticking it in the toaster whilst Kurt picked up a banana and began to unpeel it. "I mean, there are nice people there, but…all the homophobes and the jerks and whatever will be at the game. I mean, Grace will undoubtedly come over to us, but no one else will. There are nice people there, sort of, but they- well- they'd get bullied twenty-four seven so it's just not worth it." Kurt nodded in tired agreement.

"Yes, I suppose it is…" Blaine collected his toast, yawning widely, and Kurt threw the banana skin in the bin, giving him a wan smile. Blaine opened the fridge, pulling out the butter before hunting around until he found some jam, and then looked back at Kurt, who was leaning against the counter top with his eyes closed.

"Kurt?" he questioned, frowning lightly in concern. Kurt jerked slightly, eyes flying open. He yawned, and Blaine gave him a sympathetic smile. "You should really get to bed. Go talk to Professor Lloyd before lessons tomorrow morning; first thing." Kurt frowned, looking unsure.

"First thing? Shouldn't I wait till lunch?" Blaine shook his head, serious expression on his face.

"No, you're beat – you should get the deferral asap." He smeared the spreads onto his toast quickly before putting the butter away and walking over to Kurt's side, flinging an arm around his shoulder. "Come on," he said, beginning to lead him out of the kitchen and towards the stairs. "just get a lot of rest tonight, and if being with Juri is really too much then I'm sure you can go in one of the spare rooms. If you need anything, Kurt, you just have to ask. I know Sebastian isn't the most approachable of people-" Kurt snorted rather loudly at that. "-but he is head boy, and his job is to help…or you can just come to me."

"Thanks," muttered Kurt, and Blaine shot him the widest smile he could muster whilst being exhausted and worried. "but I think I'll pass on the room thing – it would only upset Juri." Blaine nodded in agreement, silently thinking that Juri's heart would probably break as he'd undoubtedly see it as Parker all over again and Kurt would probably be murdered for that. He kept that thought to himself, though, because he had no idea if Kurt even knew about that, and there was no point straining Kurt's friendship with any of the boys, especially as Kurt was going to need even more support in these upcoming weeks.

"Alright," said Blaine, patting his shoulder and stifling a yawn. "I'll see you tomorrow morning." Kurt nodded, hand covering his mouth and hiding his yawn.

"Night," he muttered, and Blaine watched him stumble into his room before quietly opening the door and tiptoeing inside. He could see instantly that Thad was crashed out on his front, sprawled on top of the covers but thankfully dressed in a pair of joggers and a t-shirt. Blaine rolled his eyes and sat down on his bed, swinging his legs up and covering them with the blanket. He leant against the headboard, munching on his toast and assessing the situation in his mind: they had no cheerleaders; that was seriously bad because it didn't take much for motivation to nose-dive and them to come apart, and they had no Will; that was bad because Will had awesome goalie instincts and was just amazing, but it wasn't as bad because Mo was really good – not the same as Will, but still pretty amazing. The only problem was that in a game as tough and competitive and important as the one against Garfield the difference between "pretty amazing" and "amazing" could determine the game…

---

Kurt adjusted his bag strap as he stood outside Lloyds' office. Blaine had marched him here after an early breakfast in which he'd hovered over Kurt's shoulder in a manner that would have made Kurt swoon over Blaine's concern for him if it wasn't for the fact that Kurt was very tired and grumpy, but then he'd spotted Jack and darted off to talk to him, probably about Will but Kurt hadn't really been paying attention. He knew from Drew that this was not something that he had to be ashamed of, but Kurt was a proud person, and he didn't like not being able to cope on his own and so having to get help to manage school work was marginally humiliating for him.

He shook his head, rolling his eyes at his own stupidity, and knocked on the door. There was a moment of silence before the door opened, and Professor Lloyd's head appeared round the door, a frown on her face that said she was surprised by someone coming to her door before lessons. Kurt gave her a smile, and her face cleared up as if something about Kurt's presence – probably his pale complexion, and the dark bags underneath his eyes – explained everything to her.

"Come in, Kurt," she said, opening the door and letting Kurt into her office. She indicated to the relatively comfortable looking chair before her desk, and Kurt sunk into it, mentally assessing her dark purple dress and deciding that she didn't look as good in the pinafore type dress with the black polo jumper as she did with a shirt and skirt or a full dress. "What can I help you with?" Kurt dropped his bag down by the leg of his chair and folded his hands into his lap.

"I'm…um, I'm sort of struggling with work and everything," he admitted, finally. "because I have a lot of cheerleading practises, and they're very long and exhausting, and I was recommended, by Elise and Drew, to come to you and get a deferral of sorts on my homework from you…" Professor Lloyd nodded, eyeing him up and down once more with pursed lips.

"Yes, I can see that, and I've also seen it in your homework. I was actually going to bring it up with you today because you have very high standards, Kurt, and for that I'm very glad because I can always be guaranteed a legible essay." Kurt smiled at little at her words, taking that comment with a nod because sometimes Parker's essays looked like a spider with developmental coordination dyspraxia had jumped in ink and tried its best to dance across the page. "So, yes, I think a homework deferral is in order." Kurt smiled a little in relief, glad with the way she had taken it. "I can't give you as long as Dr Booth will have given Drew because, of course, Drew does a rather extraordinary amount of clubs, but I can give you two days. It's not long, I know, but it should be enough to give you some breathing space." Kurt nodded, grateful smile growing wider because he just needed a pressure to be lifted from his shoulders for a little bit.

"Thank you," he said, sighing a little bit in relief. Professor Lloyd nodded, giving him another smile.

"It's not a problem, Kurt," she replied. "I'm glad that you've come and got this sorted out, and if it's not helping enough then please come back, and I'll see if there's anything more that I can do." Kurt shot her another smile, understanding that their meeting was at an end and getting to his feet. Professor Lloyd pulled out a slip of paper, writing on it, and then handed it to him. Kurt looked down at it and saw that Professor Lloyd had very simply filled in a form with his name, the number days he had and her signature.

"Thank you so much!" he repeated. "I promise that my next essay will be neat." Professor Lloyd smiled at him in a manner that could almost be construed as relatively fond.

"I hope so, and I would also advise against copying Juri's phrasing." Kurt winced, remembering the disastrous essay he had handed in last week in which he had copied the way Juri had analysed language, which was all a little muddled and confused.

"Yes, I have no plans of doing that again." Professor Lloyd nodded.

"Good idea, Kurt." Kurt smiled at his head of house once more before exiting the room, closing the door behind him gently. Checking the time, he decided that he might as well head to lessons early. He half wanted to go and seek out Keats, knowing that he would be back from swimming, but at the same time he knew that Keats really just wanted to eat and finish his homework.

He turned around and began to make his way towards the classroom where his first lesson was. He felt a lot better having done that, like a small weight had been lifted from his shoulder, but his mind simply turned to the fact that he would have to go to cheerleading practise and begin to learn an entirely new routine for freakin' Monday. After all that time working on those routines they were going to go completely to waste, and they had to start all over from the beginning. The problem was that they had been working on the old ones since before Christmas, and they had a matter of weeks to get a completely new one up to the same standard.

Urgh! Coach Sylvester will be lucky to get back from Regionals alive! As long as there's a dark corner, I'll make sure that I end her for doing this! I wonder what's happening at McKinley that's made her this desperate. I mean, she stoops low, but she's never needed to sabotage both her enemies in the way that she's tried to do right now. I wonder how badly Garfield has been damaged by this move – I hope it's worse than us. It better be otherwise I swear I'll make her pay even more because I have to admit that I would prefer that she won rather than Garfield…and that's really saying something…

Kurt sat down in his desk, still internally fuming over Coach Sylvester and her inconvenient nature, and pulled out his books. He quickly scanned through Parker's photocopied English homework, amused by the way that Keats had obviously annotated it in order to assist Kurt and so had crossed some of it out and written his own corrections, occasionally commenting on his friend's stupidity. It was enough to make Kurt snicker several times whilst reading it, and the rest of the class filed in, filling the desks around him. Nick dropped down by his side, looking marginally tired but not as bad as Kurt, and yawned widely.

"M-m-m-morning," he said in a yawn. Kurt glared at him because he knew that Nick got more sleep than him, especially because he had Flint who didn't have to do any sports practise and so didn't get up at the crack of dawn for swimming training. "did you get the deferral?" he asked.

"Yeah," he said with a nod. "thankfully." He scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes, and Nick patted his shoulder.

"I heard about the clash, by the way, that sucks like hell – we're going to miss you guys at the football game." Kurt looked at him with a mild frown upon his face.

"You go to the away games?" he questioned. Nick nodded, a very serious expression on his face.

"God, yes! We go to every game and sports event; home or way, because one of us is always involved in it."

"Do you ever get bullied yourselves?" he asked, curiously. Nick's face tensed instantly and answered his question completely. However, after Nick had swallowed, he opened his mouth to speak anyway;

"Yeah...we get a load of abusive crap thrown at us by the arseholes there, but we're strong, and we deal with it." Kurt could see, though, that something in his face was tightening and shutting down and that there was an element of a lie in there. Kurt put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing briefly before removing it, letting Nick know that he was there if he was in need of help but not encroaching on his own fight. Nick shot him a small smile.

"So, you'll be at the swimming on Friday?" he asked, rubbing his tired eyes. Nick shrugged whilst he shook his head, and Kurt frowned, not entirely sure what that combination of moves meant.

"I might be, but I get the feeling that Cunningham has probably scheduled a practise then." Kurt nodded, suddenly realising that he might not have the chance to get to see Juri race because Met would almost certainly want them to practise then too. He huffed, sighing heavily and running a hand through his slightly messy hair. Nick patted him on the back. "You never know," he said in a consoling voice. "Met might give you that afternoon off – quite a lot of the cheerleaders are in the swimming squad, if I remember rightly from what Juri has told me." Kurt looked at him with an arched eyebrow, lips quirking upwards in a tired smile.

"I take it the cheerleaders were enjoying Juri's company." Nick snorted slightly, head ducking forward as he laughed. Kurt found the laughter bubbling up inside of him too, shaking his head in amusement.

"Oh, yes, they love Juri...though not quite as much as they love you." Kurt rolled his eyes, shoving Nick slightly in the shoulder as the door opened, and their teacher walked in, looking as if they had overslept – lucky.

Kurt slid through the morning lessons in a haze of inattentiveness and helpful friends. The deferral, which all the teachers seemed to know about (he was going to guess that that was the work of Professor and the wonderful power of emails), meant that he was no longer picked on for answers in lessons and seemed to give him a certain leeway to tune out of the discussions. His friends were useful because they helped him cut down on the amount of thinking and work that he actually had to do; they split the questions between them so they only had to do a fraction of the classwork and use less of their minds.

As a result, Kurt found it easier to ponder the mysterious work of Coach Sylvester. He couldn't understand what had prompted such a reaction from the experienced cheerleading coach. She had a long career filled with many ambiguous events and dubious decisions, but he was almost certain that she had never reorganised an event to knock out the competition in such a manner. She couldn't seriously think that they were that much of a threat, could she? Kurt knew that they were good, but he also knew that they didn't really stand a chance against her well trained, diligently schooled cheerleaders, and that wasn't even mentioning the power of Brittany and Santana because Brittany was one of the best dancers he had ever met, and Santana, as well as being another incredible dancer with incredibly strong vocals...well, if there was a male judge then there was no way they were going to dock her any marks.

He had decided, though, that at the lunch time he would call someone at McKinley – Finn, or Quinn, or someone – and find out that if there was anything that had happened at their end that had caused this outrageous action. So that was why, the moment his last lesson had ended, he ducked into an empty room, pulling out his phone. He blinked in surprise as he looked down at his phone and saw that he had a text from Finn asking him to call him, and a missed call from him too. He heaved a huge sigh, getting the feeling that this wasn't going to be good, and called his brother.

"Kurt!" exclaimed Finn, and Kurt understood at once that he was right at his slightly desperate tone of voice.

"Hey Finn," he said in a tired voice, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "is everything okay?" He heard Finn sigh and knew that he wasn't going to get a 'yes' in response.

"No, not really. I was calling to see if it's true." Kurt frowned, rubbing a hand over his forehead this time and wishing that Finn would just say what was wrong.

"If what is true?" he asked, wearily.

"Did Coach Sylvester really move the cheerleading Regionals? That's what she said; it clashes with our big game, and I swear she can't do that, but that's what she said! And she's making them choose between cheerleading and Glee, and man this is so messed up, and we're not going to have enough members for our Regionals, and is it true?!" he demanded, and Kurt let out a huge sigh, sinking into one of the chairs and suddenly understanding that this had been some horrible, sick coincidence. He slumped against the desk and cradled his forehead in his hand.

"It's true," he said in the same weary tone of voice. "she moved it...I didn't- I didn't realise that it was that day..." he sighed in exasperation. "I suppose that explains why she did it. I was wondering, I mean, it hit us pretty hard too – it clashes with gym – but I was wondering what made her sink to that level." He heard Finn groan.

"Christ, man! I don't believe it! Oh crap!" he heard Finn bang his head against something, probably a wall, and Kurt sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, crap." There was a long silence between the two brothers, and Kurt rubbed his tired eyes one more time in the vain hope that doing so would make him a little less tired.

"So, um, how badly were you hit by the clash?" asked Finn, eventually, and Kurt let out another sigh, shaking his head.

"Pretty badly. We lost three cheerleaders; two of our strongest that are brilliant for lifts, and Elise..."

"Your co-captain, right?" Kurt nodded, mildly impressed that Finn remembered that.

"Yeah, she's going to gym so I'm on my own."

"You'll be fine," said Finn in a tone of voice that was confident and assured, and Kurt had to smile at the way he said that; he completely believed him.

"Thanks," he commented, smiling even more, probably feeling the best he had since he'd gotten the news. "what are you going to do about the cheerleadering and show choir Regionals?" Finn chuckled, and Kurt blinked for a second before remembering that they were competing against each other. "Right, yeah...on that note, do absolutely nothing, Finn, nothing." Finn began to laugh properly, and Kurt joined it, crossing his left leg over his right.

"Yeah, that sounds more like it..."

"I'm sorry I can't go to your game," he apologised. Finn let out a surprised laugh.

"Really? I thought you hated Football. No, wait, I know you hate Football." Kurt snorted, nodding.

"Yeah, I hate Football, but I still wanted to go...You know, I was curious to see whether you guys could win without me." Finn laughed at him, and Kurt chuckled along with him.

"Right...I think we can manage that, hopefully, and we'll be able to see you perform at some point, right? I mean, we still haven't seen you perform a solo yet!" Kurt grinned a little bit.

"We have a lacrosse game on Monday. It's at Dalton, and it's my first cheerio solo performance."

"Awesome!" exclaimed Finn. "I'll tell Burt! We can all come!" Kurt snorted, grinning to himself.

"I'd like that a lot." There was a moment of silence between them.

"Okay, that's pretty much the only good thing I've heard today."

"Yeah, same here...well, that and the deferral on my homework – that was very good...actually, no, it was better than this, sorry."

"Hey!" cried Finn, indignantly. Kurt laughed, and Finn, eventually, with mild reluctance joined in.

"Finn, you know your head injury-"

"I'm fine to play!" he shouted, cutting him off. "Mum and Burt made me see the doctor, and they say I'm completely fine to play!"

"Okay then...good...don't get injured again..."

"I won't...well, I'll try not to. You know, it is a contact sport and all." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"I am fully aware of what Football entails, Finn." Finn laughed, and Kurt joined in as well.

"Really? Even though you hate it?"

"I was on the Football team so I kind of had to be at practise, not to mention winning a game for you and everything."

"You're never letting that go, are you?"

"No, I'm not." The two of them laughed for a moment, Kurt also letting out a soft, wistful exhale, and then he checked the time on his watch and let out a longer sigh. "You know, Finn, I really need to go and have lunch."

"Yeah, 'course. I'll talk to you later."

"You too, bye!"

"Bye Kurt." Kurt hung up on Finn, slipping his phone away, and stood up, properly acknowledging the way his stomach was aching in desire for food. He yawned once more, annoyed with Coach Sylvester and torn about the news to do with the New Directions because he didn't want them to have lost three members, but at the same time it was most certainly in the Warblers' best interest that they had, and began to make his way along the corridors towards the canteen.

People cleared the way for him, which made him smirk and stand up straighter even though he was tired because it was nice to be reminded that he was important and respected in the school, and he made it to the lunch room pretty quickly, mainly because no one had stopped him and decided to start a random conversation with him like they sometimes did.

"Kurt!" exclaimed Keats, striding over to him with an angry expression on his face the moment Kurt stepped into the canteen. Kurt came to an abrupt halt, eyebrows leaping up his brow at the sight of his furious boyfriend.

"What?" he asked, a touch nervously, hoping a row hadn't broken out between Keats and his other friends.

"Have you seen Drew?" he demanded. Kurt blinked, a little taken aback by the question, and then shook his head slowly, staring at Keats with wide eyes as he noted his incredibly tense posture; the way his nostrils flared; his mouth pressed into a tight line; the pinched expression on his face.

"Is there something wrong?" asked Kurt, eventually, arching his eyebrows at the way that Keats remained fixed to the spot, taking deep, calming breaths and clearly trying very hard not to explode.

"Yes," spat Keats, glaring at him in a condescending manner. Kurt rolled his eyes, straightening up and shooting him a glare back because Kurt had obviously been trying to reach out and try and help Keats, and he didn't deserve to get snapped at because of that.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he demanded. "Or are you going to stand there and try and burn a hole in my face?" Keats' glare intensified for some reason, and Kurt could feel anger writhing inside of him because he was tired, and Keats was being unhelpful and aggressive and ruining his day.

"Oh yes because that matters!"

"Well excuse me for not understanding what the hell is going on here, but someone won't tell me what's going on!"

---

"Blaine," said Jeff in an undertone, nudging the tired footballer in the side. Blaine, yawning widely, looked over at Jeff in confusion, and the blonde nodded over in the direction of the door. Blaine yawned again as he glanced over in that direction and froze in his seat at the sight of Kurt and Keats squaring off, both of them exuding frustrated anger, in the doorway.

"Shit..." muttered Nick, face falling into a frown. "that doesn't look good." Blaine on his lip, watching the two boys snap at each other.

"You should go intervene," added Flint, and Blaine turned to him with a frown, demanding to know why he, of all people, had to go and break up the fight between them. Flint rolled his eyes a little.

"Well, someone better do it quick," commented David. "because otherwise there's going to be an intervention from Mrs Daniels in T-minus 30, 29, 28-" Blaine quickly redirected his gaze to snatch a brief glance at the teachers' table and saw that, indeed, Mrs Daniels was watching them with narrowed eyes and that she'd laid her cutlery down.

"Can't someone else?" begged Blaine, pulling a worried expression because the idea of interrupting Keats in the middle of a fight in the dining room was giving him a certain level of anxiety.

"You know this is the kind of moment where Trinity come in useful," said Nick, looking around the room, unable to see the three crazy students. Blaine almost rolled his eyes at the comment, glancing around to check Trinity really weren't in the vicinity because their attempts at being "useful" didn't tend to turn out like anyone else's idea of useful.

"I'll do it," muttered Chris, setting down his fork and rolling his eyes. Blaine beamed back at his friend, and Chris gave him a small smile before he got up and began to make his way over. A second later, Stuart got to his feet, and Blaine guessed that a similar conversation had been taking place between Keats' friends. The two book lovers gave a brief nod to one another, acknowledging the others' presence, as they strode over to their friends.

---

"...so as your boyfriend I suppose you just expect me stand around and look pretty and giggle at all your smooth compliments as opposed to actually doing anything!" Kurt knew that he was on the point of yelling at Keats, completely overrun by his frustrated anger at the Harriot boy because why didn't he just tell him what was wrong instead of standing there and saying it had nothing to do with him.

"Ahem!" came the loud interruption, and both Keats and Kurt snapped their gazes round to the side to see Chris and Stuart, standing side by side and looking at them, the former with a loosely clenched fist before his mouth having just cleared his throat, and the latter with a finger on the bridge of his glasses having just pushed the frame up his nose once more.

"Thank you," commented Stuart, shooting them both a pleasant smile. Kurt could feel his cheeks flushing a little now that the row was seemingly over because he didn't know what had happened, but he knew that everyone had to have been watching them; probably still were. "I think you should both calm down."

"You know, if you want to duke it out, I suggest going outside...or really anywhere that isn't filled with teachers, and Mrs Daniels." Kurt winced a little, guessing that their History teacher was probably sitting at the table and glaring at them intensely for breaking some rule.

"Also Keats," took over Stuart when Chris paused for breath, and Kurt frowned, looking between the two boys in mild confusion – there was no tension or anger between them, and they stood side by side and talked like they were friends. "I thought you would have learnt your lesson about starting fights in the canteen." Kurt stared at him, eyebrows arching, and Keats' glare intensified so much that Stuart quailed slightly. Chris cleared his throat again, and all eyes turned to him. He smiled, and Kurt rolled his eyes a little when he realised that Chris had nothing whatsoever to say.

"Christopher," began Keats, though, and Chris' eyebrows leapt up his forehead in shock, probably at the use of his full name because no one actually called Chris by his full, first name.

"Yes..." he replied, hesitantly. Keats' expression toned down several watts at that, for some reason.

"Where's Drew?" he asked. Chris blinked, looking around the lunch hall, and then shrugged slightly.

"Don't know...last I saw he was running around and completely losing his head over something to do with Mo." Keats' jaw tightened a little, and he straightened up.

"Well, if you see him tell him that I need to speak to him immediately because I am not happy with-"

"Drew!" called out Chris suddenly, and Kurt looked into the corridor and saw that Drew had come to a stop just past the entrance to the cafeteria and was looking around in confusion. "In here you dolt!" exclaimed Chris, affectionately. Drew spun around, breaking out into a grin at the sight of one of his best friends. "Keats wants a word." Drew's grin died when he saw the fuming expression on Keats' face.

"Err," he said, walking into the room. "I take it this is about the swimming thing?" Keats glared at him some more. Drew rolled his eyes. "I don't know why you're so pissed off about it. We're only asking you to swim three races, and one of those is a relay – all you have do is swim four lengths!" Kurt turned to Keats with an incredulous expression on his face because that was the problem? God, his boyfriend was such a drama queen!

"I'm "pissed off" because I don't understand why I have to do it, for one, and because I can't win! This is a competition, and I can't get you any medals!" Kurt arched his eyebrow just a little, surprised by how much Keats cared about them winning, and Drew rolled his eyes, sighing.

"Mo's sick," he explained. "I'd say it's just a cold, but he's running a fever, and it's Mo, so it's far more likely that he's caught the flu or something! He can't swim – we'll be lucky if he's fit for the football game!" Kurt felt his eyes bug wide open in shock at that; Mo had seemed fine last night.

"He's sick!" he exclaimed, brow scrunching up in concerned alarm. Drew turned to him with a rather worn expression on his face, nodding.

"Yep, it's a nightmare, and Will's shoulder only got dislocated, but his wrist is fractured so he's not going to be playing or swimming." Kurt opened his mouth to demand what on earth the football team were going to do now, but Keats leapt back in.

"I also don't understand why you picked me! As previously said, I can't win!" Drew sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and turning back to Keats with a weary expression.

"Look, Keats, this is the hardest thing I've ever had to say to you because I really don't like you – sorry, Kurt-" Kurt rolled his eyes but didn't react to the statement otherwise. "-but you're actually a- a- a good swimmer. You could be great if you trained harder and ate better." Drew swallowed as Keats stared at him, clearly rather taken aback. "Also, I looked at your times from the latest time trial: you had the fastest time in the 100 metres compared to just about everyone else – that's why I told Kieran to tell you that you're doing those races." Drew sighed. "Look, we can win the relay; you're not going to slow me, Matthew and Kieran down that much, and I don't expect you to win the other two – go for bronze. Fowler are going to win the 50 metres, hands down; Christian's time is insane, and the 100 metres is up between him and CB, but you can get bronze, Keats. I never thought that I'd say this, but – and you're not forgiven in anyway, and if you say anything against Juri I will kill you – I believe in you."

There was a shocked pause between the five individuals. Kurt felt his jaw slacken as his eyes bugged wide open, taken aback by the sincerity in Drew's voice – he meant that; he really, really meant that. Drew was actually prepared to put his faith in Keats, and even though the matter might seem trivial and unimportant, when compared to the open animosity and their refusal to forgive and forget, and the fact that they said there was too much between them to ever reconcile, it was huge. It was phenomenal; it was-

"Touching," commented Keats, scathingly, and Kurt shot him a glare for rejecting such a sincere compliment. Keats wasn't looking at him, though; he was staring into Drew's suddenly cold face whilst Chris and Stuart made very brief eye contact before looking away. Drew rolled his eyes.

"Look," said Drew, bluntly. "the bottom line is that you're swimming because if you're so concerned about the fact that you can't win gold than you have to because you're the best we've got after Will, Mo, Matthew, myself, Terry-"

"Alright, alright, already!" exclaimed Keats. "I get the point – I'm the last resort before you've sacrificed the race completely." Drew gave him a smile, eyes very cold.

"Yes, that sounds about right. Now, Chris, you wouldn't happen to know the location of Dylan, would you?" Chris frowned and glanced around the room once, narrowing his eyes and making questioning eye contact with Kurt. Kurt shook his head, and so Chris shrugged a little.

"No, just not with Flint because he's over there..." Drew huffed a little, pouting. Chris rolled his eyes. "Alex was in the library, though, so you could try there." Drew smacked a hand against his forehead, shooting him a rueful smile, and then nodded.

"Library; Alex; got it." With that, he turned around and jogged off. Stuart scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly, and then shot them all a small smile.

"Um, I'm going to go eat something...remember, if you want to row, do it outside." Keats rolled his eyes slightly, and the Putnam boy hurried off, pushing his glasses up his nose again. Chris swallowed, pulling an expression that said he was at a loss as to what he should do. Kurt gave him a small smile that said he could just leave. Chris beamed at him and moved back to his table.

"So," said Kurt, rounding on Keats with his hands on his hips. "that was all what that was about?" Keats turned to look at him with a harsh expression.

"Look, I don't expect you to understand-"

"No," cut across Kurt, the anger riling back up inside of him. "because that's the problem! You're not even giving me a chance to understand you! You don't let me help you at all! You're such a hypocrite! You'd be so goddamn offended if I did that to you, but when it's you! I don't expect you to understand some of what I've been through, but I still tell you-" and maybe Kurt was lying because he was thinking of Karofsky, and he hadn't told him about that, but he was too furious to care. "-and you say that what I give you is my constant friendship, and helping is what friends do, but you won't let me! You don't just have to "protect" me!"

Kurt could barely contain his indignant rage at this point because he was too worked up. He was so sick of people assuming that he was broken and couldn't handle the truth, and it was even worse when Keats did it to him because the fact that Keats was hurt and damaged was what people overlooked in him and allowed them to treat him as a villain, and it meant Kurt knew that they were wrong, but suddenly Keats didn't want to share, and he couldn't handle that when he didn't deserve to be shut out!

He whirled around and stormed from the cafeteria, ignoring the rumbling of his stomach and fighting the urge to break down into tears when he realised that Keats wasn't following him.

I don't know what just happened, not really. I know it's on him – he shut me out completely – but I feel really guilty, like I overreacted to the situation, and maybe I did, but the point is: why isn't he talking to me and letting me help?

---

"What the hell?" muttered Nick as all the boys stared at the door, watching as Kurt stormed from the room after a final heated exchange.

"I don't know," murmured Chris in return. "I really don't know what was going on." Blaine frowned, breathing heavily as they watched Keats shake his head and go back to his friends. Something about that image really annoyed him; the way that Keats just turned around and let Kurt go, and he sprang to his feet because someone had to go and talk to Kurt and make sure he was okay.

"I'm borrowing this," he said as he darted round the table, nabbing David's unopened box of salad and unused plastic fork. David let out a faint cry of indignation, but no one stopped him as he hurtled from the room and followed Kurt down the hallway. "Hey!" he called out. "Kurt!" Kurt spun around, his face falling as his eyes locked onto Blaine.

"Oh," he muttered, giving him a faint smile that didn't really hold. Blaine grinned at him.

"I know I'm a sight for sore eyes, but there's no need to be so rude." Kurt rolled his eyes at his self-deprecating joke and frowned at him, sighing a little.

"I take it you saw the argument." Blaine nodded, pursing his lips and pulling an apologetic expression.

"Yeah, I think everyone was watching in case-"

"Something kicked off like in Freshman year?" guessed Kurt. Blaine froze a little, mentally trying to go through all of the things that they had told Kurt to find out if one of them was that the fight had started in the cafeteria.

"Um," he said, not sure what to say. Kurt smiled wryly.

"Stuart said something about Keats learning his lesson about fighting in the cafeteria; I assumed that had something to do with Freshman year." Blaine nodded, biting down on his bottom lip.

"Yeah, that's, um, that's when it started..." he swallowed. "Man, that was a long time ago." Kurt was staring at him, wanting more Blaine knew, but he didn't want to get into that subject now. He smiled at Kurt instead and held out the Tupperware. "Here, I saw that you didn't have any lunch." Kurt frowned at him before he carefully took the box and the fork. Blaine grinned at him, throwing an arm around his shoulder and leading him to a bench that they could sit on.

"You stole this from David, didn't you?" said Kurt as he opened it up and looked at the mixed leaf salad with tomatoes, cucumber, egg and tuna. Blaine shrugged, sending him an unapologetic grin.

"Yeah, but he wasn't eating it, and we can't let you faint now, can we? I mean, Met would kill us." Kurt snorted, nodding in agreement as he impaled some of the food with his fork.

"Yes, and I think your football team has taken enough hits as it is, especially now that you're down to your third goalie and all." Blaine nodded along to what Kurt said until the words properly registered with him. He froze and turned to him with wide eyes, heart stopping in horror because what? He'd known that Will was out with his wrist and all, and Mo hadn't looked great in English, or Maths, or at any point Blaine had seen him that day, but how could that mean he wasn't playing? Kurt sat up a little, staring at Blaine's slackened expression in alarm. "Um, Blaine..." Blaine blinked, swallowing and trying to compose himself.

"Sorry, what was that about us being down to our third goalie?" Kurt swallowed his mouthful, gulping heavily and wincing as it went down his throat as he dropped his fork into the food.

"Um, didn't you hear? Mo's sick or something, or that's what Drew said – he reckoned it was flu; he was looking for Dylan, so I sort of assumed..." Blaine groaned, sinking his head into his hand and closing his eyes in crushed acceptance. Kurt laid a hand on his back, comfortingly, and Blaine leant into the gesture as he bowed his head because he'd really been counting on winning this football game; it would undoubtedly help with his dad. This was not happening.

"Um, did he say how sick he was?" he asked, eventually, rubbing his forehead and finally pinching the bridge of his nose because it was Mo, and when Mo got sick, he got sick.

"Well, apparently he's running a fever, and I get the impression that he's a sickly kind of person." Blaine nodded, groaning a little more because Mo had a fever, and that meant that he was going to be out for at least two weeks.

"He is," he confirmed. "he struggles with viruses and infections and stuff..." he sighed, shaking his head and shooting Kurt a weak smile as he went back to munching his salad. "Anyway," he said, shaking his head once more. "what was going on between you and Keats?" Kurt shook his head, yawning slightly as he continued to eat his salad.

"I don't know," he admitted, finally, and Blaine sat up, noting the slight defeat in his posture and tone of voice, and he knew that that feeling of failure was crushing him a little. "I really don't know. I just walked into the lunch hall, and he came storming up to me and demanded to know where Drew was. I didn't know, and he got all huffy – he just wouldn't tell me what was wrong, and he wouldn't let me in and said I couldn't understand." He shook his head, throwing his arm up in the air in annoyance. "I just can't stand the implication in there that I'm too delicate to help; like I'm broken, and if he tells me I'll just shatter to pieces, and I appreciate that he cares about me, but it's so frustrating, and I can't handle a relationship like that!" He almost threw the fork to the floor, pinching the bridge of his nose and bowing his head. Blaine shuffled closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it before slipping it around his shoulders and holding him close.

"I know how you feel," he said in an undertone, giving him a small smile. Kurt looked at him, tired expression on his face that said he almost didn't believe him but sort of did. Blaine smiled some more. "I mean, that's how Sebastian treats me a lot of the time, and I mean, it makes more sense with me because, you know, I have broken completely and just...splintered to pieces, and all, that have been painstakingly glued back together so I can understand his hesitancy, which is something that hasn't happened to you so I can also accept it must infuriate you more, but it still gets to me too. I mean, Sebastian is a hard person to support at the best of time, but he's really struggling right now, I can tell – he's not sleeping well; he's got a lot on the mind with all the upcoming Garfield encounters; all the lacrosse practises – and I think he's coming down with something as a result, but he'd rather collapse than burden me." He rolled his eyes, and Kurt snorted a little, nodding in agreement with a small smile.

"I can imagine," he murmured. Blaine nodded.

"I wish I could give you some advice," he said, apologetically. "but I haven't worked out how to deal with it properly..." he sighed. "but I would say that Keats is..." he swallowed. "he's a pretty proud guy too. I mean-" he broke off, thinking back to that moment in the hall when they had broken apart completely.

..."I suffered so much!...No one cares about what happened to me!..."...

"He- he hides it all really well, you know?" he said, looking over at him with a frown. Kurt shifted a little, probably taken aback by Blaine's words, but Blaine did know Keats – he couldn't deny it, even though he sort of wished that he didn't – and Kurt needed help with him so Blaine was going to help: they were friends; good friends. "You'll probably find that there's something going on to do with his family, or something, that's bugging him, and he- I think he probably wants to let you in, and he likes that you care, obviously, but..." he shrugged. "I would advise, but don't hold me to this, you give him a little bit of time to cool off, and then have another go at him when you really drive home the point, you know? I mean, this gets to you – it matters – so he needs to know about this, but I'd give it a little bit of time...you know, until the red mist has cleared and he can see better." Kurt stared at him for a moment. Then he smiled.

"I must be insane to listen to your advice on Keats given your relationship." Blaine snorted, nodding with his eyebrows arched because Kurt had a point. Then he shrugged.

"Yeah, you're right...when you put it like that my advice seems stupid."

"It's not stupid," countered Kurt. "I'd just be stupid to take it." Blaine rolled his eyes.

"Okay then, that was a pointless conversation." Kurt smirked.

"Right move," he said, nodding his head. Blaine grinned at that in a satisfied manner because there was no way he was going to walk into that minefield. The two friends sat together in comfortable silence for a moment at that before Kurt leant back in and said; "Still, you were friends so...I might consider it." Blaine grinned some more at that.

"Good...you know, we're friends so..." he shrugged. "Every little helps." Kurt nodded, smiling at him.

"What about you and Sebastian?" asked Kurt eventually, stabbing at some more of the salad. Blaine blinked, frowning questioningly at Kurt, and Kurt rolled his eyes. "You know, about the whole him-treating-you-like-you're-broken thing. How are you coping with that?" Blaine shrugged, pulling a tight smile and looking around the corridor.

"I don't know...I mean, it's frustrating, but mostly it's just that I feel guilty and selfish and all because he's given so much to me, and I can't give any of that back to him like I want – need – to, but at the same time, I kind of need him to do that because that's one of the things that, you know, really made me feel better and special and like he loves me more than other people." Kurt nodded, and Blaine watched him as he eyed the hallway thoughtfully because Kurt was clever, emotionally-intelligent and a lot more grounded and sensible than Blaine so maybe he could bring some better insight to the situation.

"I suppose it's all quite complex," he mused, finally. "but Blaine," he said, reaching over and taking his hand, squeezing it tightly and making Blaine smile. "you shouldn't feel guilty or selfish or anything because Sebastian gives that willing to you – he may have been made to look after you, if you will, at the beginning, but he chose, though I'm not sure that's really the right word because you don't really choose to fall in love or whatever, to look after you so carefully and love you and the rest...You're right; things with you and Sebastian are different, but I wouldn't worry like I know you do." Blaine smiled some more at that, blushing and ducking his head a little at that because – of course – he did worry.

"Thank you," he said, looking back into Kurt's eyes that were smiling, tiredly at him. Blaine felt better for his words, mainly because they echoed what Sebastian himself but as they didn't come from him they seemed more real because Sebastian repeated himself and was...just him.

"We're friends so..." repeated Kurt, bumping their shoulders together. Blaine grinned some more, bumping him back. Kurt laughed, proffering the salad to him to ask if he wanted any. Blaine shook his head, shoving the Tupperware back at him.

"Eat it all," he said, threateningly. Kurt laughed a little, taking his hand from Blaine's and going back to his meal, and Blaine sat next to him in comfortable silence, allowing his mind to turn to the problem of being down their two best goalies in two days. He couldn't believe their stroke of bad luck (though they really should have seen the infection coming what with all the practises in the cold and rain) and he was also aware that the situation had the potential to get a lot worse – if there was something going round then it could wipe out half of their team very easily. He ran a hand down his face at that thought, suppressing a groan, because they needed a positive mentality; to believe that they could win, if they wanted to get a good shot at winning the game, and this was going to wreck that completely! Eurgh, he might as well just transfer back to Kinzie now and get it all over and done with! It was all over.

He pinched the bridge of his nose at the thought, eyes stinging painfully and fear and panic beginning to clog his chest once more. He tried to take steadying breaths without letting on to Kurt how freaked out he was, but Kurt's hand descending onto his back told him that he had failed in that...naturally.

"Blaine, come on," said Kurt in a soft, reassuring voice. "it's not that bad, and in the end, even though they are Garfield, it is just a football game – it's not the end of the world if you lose." Blaine snorted, derisively, tears brimming in his eyes and wishing that was the case.

"My dad would strongly disagree with you there," he commented, staring at the floor with an angry expression. He heard Kurt sigh and bowed his head further in shame.

"Look," said Kurt, slipping the arm around his shoulders and pulling him closer. "I know that your dad puts a lot of pressure on you and such-" Blaine really had to use all of his self-control at that moment to stop himself from snorting derisively again because Kurt had no idea as to the amount of pressure that his dad had heaped onto his shoulders. "-but you shouldn't play football because of that – you should do it because you're good at it, and you like it: there's no other reason, even if it doesn't seem like it." Blaine looked over into Kurt's serious expression and managed a faint smile at his steadfast nature.

"Right," he said, nodding a little. The bell went, and the two boys got to their feet, Kurt putting the fork inside the plastic box and reattaching the lid firmly before handing it to Blaine, and made to go their separate ways.

"I'll see you after school, hopefully," said Kurt, and Blaine snorted in agreement to his words, nodding and suppressing his yawn as best as he could.

"Yeah..."

"Thanks for...you know," muttered Kurt, gesturing around in the air with his hand, clearly not sure how to phrase the conversation they'd had. Blaine rolled his eyes.

"You don't need to thank me because-"

"We're friends," chimed in Kurt at exactly the same time as Blaine. Blaine rolled his eyes and pouted. Kurt giggled a little at his expression. "I have to go; History!" Blaine nodded.

"Oh, you better run." Kurt nodded, grabbing his bag which had been abandoned at the foot of the bench, and darted off down the corridor. Blaine watched him go with a faint smile, glad that he'd been able to help and genuinely hoping that things between Kurt and Keats worked out well, and then turned around to head to Social Studies, wishing that he had Mr Sutherland as opposed to Ms Juniper – she was nice enough, but she loved giving them essays to write, not to mention that no other teacher could really compare to Sutherland's levels of awesomeness.

He ambled along quite slowly to his lesson because Ms Juniper always arrived at least fifteen minutes late because she was hopelessly disorganised, and always needed to go back to the staff room at least three times before she had everything that she needed for the next lesson. He bumped into several other members of the football team, and some of them confirmed that what Kurt had said was true, and others, who hadn't heard, gaped at him in horror and were dragged on by their friends, protesting weakly, with eyes wide, and jaws slack, in disbelief. Blaine tried really hard not to picture what the look on Dylan's face had been when he got the news. The poor guy had looked bad enough at the prospect of being their sub...though at least this way he would no longer have to play against Drew; he'd have the tackling-scoring-passing machine defending him instead.

Just before Blaine got to his Social Studies classroom, he was distracted by an argument going on between Wes, Daley and Sebastian, with David, Jeff and Thad hovering in the background, definitely not wanting to get involved but not wanting to leave either. He began to walk over, but the sound of Sebastian emitting raspy coughs, doubling over, made him dash over to his side.

"Bastian!" he exclaimed, sliding between Wes and Sebastian so that he could wrap an arm around the boy who was coughing so hard that he couldn't speak. "Bastian, are you alright?"

"I'm *cough* fine *cough* *cough*," he covered his mouth with a fist and attempted to give Blaine a glare for being stupid that didn't work at all because he had slumped against Blaine and was leaning against him for support against his will.

"Blaine," said Wes in a grateful tone of voice. "can you convince this moron to go back to Franklin and lie down?" Sebastian glared at his best friend through heavy eyes. Blaine, handing David's Tupperware back to him without looking round, fixed an intense stare upon Sebastian.

"Bastian," he began in a gentler tone of voice, though, that made Sebastian rolled his eyes. "you really should go and get some rest – it'll blow over quicker if you do so." Sebastian shook his head, glaring at him for a second before breaking out into another coughing fit.

"No, I'm *cough* fine! I went to the nurse and got some ibuprofen, and something antiviral so all I have to do is wait for that to kick in, and I'll be fine!"

"Yes," countered Blaine, rolling his eyes. "but the way to make it kick in fastest is to lie down and rest." Sebastian glared at him in defiance, telling Blaine that he couldn't make him do anything. Blaine bristled at the accusation and straightened up, looking down on him because Sebastian was doubled over. "Sebastian Smythe, if you don't go back to house right now and rest then I will take you there myself, and I will lock you in your room, and you won't be able to play lacrosse!"

There was a moment of silence after Blaine's threat. Blaine stood down, swallowing and looking seriously over at Sebastian. Sebastian looked a little taken aback, like he hadn't been expecting that (to be honest, neither had Blaine because that had just sort of fallen out of his mouth during his rant) and was clearly attempting to think of something to say, fully aware that his obvious physical weakness at the moment meant that it was hard for him to argue with Blaine over being dragged back to his room. Daley was smirking a little, as were David and Jeff, and Wes kept blinking at Blaine, like he couldn't believe it was really him, and Thad had his eyebrows arched, obviously questioning whether Blaine's reaction had been a little bit of an overreaction.

"It's *cough* against the rules to shout in the corridors," said Sebastian, finally. Blaine rolled his eyes and hooked Sebastian's arm around his shoulders because he was taking his stubborn, idiotic boyfriend back to his room before he collapsed from the flu and then moaned about his precious image being destroyed or something of the sort. Sebastian scrambled in protest, but Blaine could tell that he was almost as weak as a kitten, which was amusing and cute at the same time.

"Alright, we're going, and if you're a good patient, I might let you get out of bed tomorrow."

"You can't make me," protested Sebastian, reclaiming his arm and taking a step away from Blaine. He smirked at him, narrowing his eyes in a sneer of victory, for a moment before his knees buckled ever so slightly, and Blaine leapt back across to catch him before the love of his life fell over and broke his ego.

"Oh yes I can," he said, trying hard not to smile because Sebastian was sick, and Blaine was really worried about him because Sebastian wasn't the kind that got sick so this had to be bad, not to mention that Sebastian didn't exactly seem to want to look after himself or be looked after so he could deteriorate pretty quickly if he was left to his own devices. Sebastian glared at him intensely as the others snickered and snorted behind their hands at the sight.

"Boys," the sweet voice of Ms Juniper came floating along the corridor, and all the boys turned around to see the tall teacher in another floral print dress – she never seemed to wear the same dress twice, which baffled everyone, including the staff – striding towards them. "shouldn't you all be in your lessons?" They all winced as one and looked bashful and apologetic, knowing that Ms Juniper wasn't actually going to punish them.

"Sorry," they all chorused, and Blaine swallowed, glancing at Sebastian, and then cleared his throat.

"Um, Ms Juniper, Sebastian's sick. I wanna take him back to the dorm and keep an eye on him because, well, if I leave him there he'll just go straight back to lessons, and he needs rest."

"I'm fine," began Sebastian in protest again, but he once more broke out into a coughing fit. Ms Juniper bent over a little so that she could inspect Sebastian closely and then stood back, nodding.

"You do look rather peaky, Sebastian, dear, I think Blaine's right – you need rest. Blaine, yes, take him back to Franklin, but I want your essay for today, and I expect the one I set today to be done as well." Blaine nodded in compliance and chucked his school bag at Jeff. It hit him in the chest, and he let out a loud of huff of mild pain as all the wind was knocked out of him.

"Of course," he said and began to haul Sebastian, who was grumbling mutinously, away along the corridor as Ms Juniper politely pointed out that Wes and Daley were in the wrong part of the building for their lesson and told the two Seniors to run along before they got put in detention.

"I hate you," grumbled Sebastian. Blaine rolled his eyes as he began to cough again.

"No you don't," he shot back. "you don't tolerate people you hate." Sebastian's eyebrows arched in shock, and he looked at Blaine with wide eyes that said he couldn't believe what Blaine had just said. Blaine swallowed, flushing and looking down. "Sorry," he muttered.

"No, no, no!" exclaimed Sebastian, waving his other arm around. "Don't apologise for that! That was self-esteem! You normally get all depressed and start beating yourself up but instead!" He pumped his fist into the air and then kissed Blaine on the top of his head, causing him to flush and look around to make sure there was no teacher in sight. "That was excellent... What the hell caused that?" Blaine shrugged, blushing some more.

"I don't know," he said, honestly, thinking hard because Sebastian was right; normally at that kind of statement, Blaine's self-doubt reared its ugly head and made it unable for him to take the joke so that Sebastian had to spend several minutes pumping back up his ego before calling him idiot. This time, though, Blaine had kept a cool head without even having to think about it. "I mean," he began, hesitantly. "I was having this conversation with Kurt at lunch..." he trailed off as Sebastian's eyebrows arched.

"Kurt?" he demanded before a coughing fit broke out, but his expression asked what they'd been talking about. Blaine swallowed, shrugging.

"I don't know. Keats was angry-"

"Great," muttered Sebastian, darkly, and Blaine shrugged again because he wasn't angry at him.

"-and Kurt got annoyed because Keats wouldn't tell him what was wrong so we had this conversation about how frustrating it is to have boyfriends that would get huffy, offended and pissed if we didn't tell them something but refuse to let us help them..." he gave Sebastian a pointed look at that to which he promptly rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I gave him some advice on Keats, and then he sort of...he just reiterated stuff you'd said to me, really, but I suppose it was just different coming from an outsider." Sebastian nodded once in acknowledgement before shivering and breaking out into a coughing fit as they got outside. Blaine pulled him closer, trying to give him his body heat and pick up the pace.

"Well, at least he got some sense into your head," he commented. "though I am insulted that you listen to him and not me." He shot Blaine an offended look, and Blaine rolled his eyes and tried to stop himself from falling for the trick and feeling bad and guilty when he knew Sebastian was only joking.

"Of course you are," he mumbled, shivering and thinking that it was stupid to ask them to spend so much time outside when it was so cold – he wished that they did intense Warbler practise now, instead; dancing and laughing in their Hall made toasty from the crackling fire and all the ridiculous mishaps that occurred as opposed to pelting around a muddy, cold field with aching limbs. Sebastian muttered something that was lost to the wind and his coughs as Blaine shoved open the door to Franklin and guided Sebastian across the threshold. They ditched their shoes and outer layer quickly and hurried into the warm common room. Unsurprisingly, there were a couple of other boys in there, all of whom were coughing and looking rather ill. However, none of them were on any competitive teams so Blaine managed to cross the room with a genuine smile on his face. He helped Sebastian, who was much more compliant now, up the stairs and into his room. When they were there, Blaine helped Sebastian out of his shoes, blazer and tie before half-throwing him onto his bed. Sebastian smirked up at him after that.

"Someone's eager," he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively before coughing. "not that I'm complaining." Blaine whacked his arm playfully, giving him a glare that told him to behave. Sebastian chuckled slightly at that, head lolling against the pillows and yawning widely. Blaine rolled his eyes.

"Come on," he ordered, bending forward and grabbing the edge of the duvet so that he could pull it back. "get into bed." Sebastian grumbled and reached out, catching Blaine around his waist.

"You too...I refuse to let my fever be the hottest thing in the room." Blaine blushed and rolled his eyes once more at Sebastian being all clingy, and painstakingly detached his hands from him, pulling the duvet up over Sebastian and attempting to tuck him in. However, Sebastian did not appreciate the gesture and began to kick at the blanket.

"Bastian," growled Blaine, glaring at him for misbehaving. Sebastian pouted like a little kid back up at him.

"I'm not cold!" Blaine rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to tell himself that it was just the flu that was addling Sebastian's brain and making him behave like a petulant child.

"Bastian, you know as well as I do that the treatment for flu is bed rest, staying warm and hydrated." Sebastian scowled and yanked it back up so that it covered his legs but not torso. Blaine sighed, guessing that he was just going to have to settle with that. "Okay," he said, sighing heavily. "I'm going to go downstairs and get the First Aid kit." Sebastian nodded instantly, and Blaine narrowed his eyes. "You are not to leave this bed, and if I find out that you have moved an inch then I'll- I'll...um, I'll-" he cast his mind around, trying to find a good threat, and then was hit by a stroke of genius. "I won't kiss you for a month."

"You wouldn't," shot back Sebastian, instantly. Blaine arched his eyebrows.

"Oh really?" Sebastian smirked.

"You can't resist me," he said, cockily. "I'm too hot and sexy and into you." Blaine rolled his eyes a little, mildly relieved that Sebastian's ego was intact because at least some of him was still in there.

"Just watch me," he replied, narrowing his eyes and sending Sebastian a level stare that said he was dead serious. After all, Blaine wasn't going to be kissing him right now anyway because that would just increase the likelihood of Sebastian passing the infection on to him. Sebastian tried to out stare him but simply broke out into a coughing fit, leaning his head against his pillow and muttering something that sounded like "meanie" under his breath. Blaine grinned in victory and turned around, leaving the room, pleased with himself for having come up with such an effective threat to use against Sebastian, even though he honestly wasn't sure he could keep it because he might have gone for almost two years without being able to kiss Sebastian, but now he had him, and he'd kissed him, and he knew that he couldn't go back. Still, Sebastian didn't have to know that; he just had to believe that there was a chance that Blaine might carry it through.

Hastily, because Blaine knew that Sebastian was already cranky, fidgety and bored and so he'd probably get up and force Blaine's hand, Blaine darted into the kitchen and opened the cabinets until he found one of their (many) First Aid kits. He also grabbed a box of tissues and some vapour rub because his cough was very chesty, and his nose was a little stuffed, though it wasn't as bad as his cough. He then made his way back to the stairs, only stopping once to tuck one of the other boys in as he'd passed out on the sofa, blanket hanging mainly over the edge, and hurried up them, taking two at a time, and tiptoed as fast as he could up to Sebastian's room to try and rob him of any extra seconds he might need to pretend that he hadn't moved, and then opened the door as fast as he could and leapt into the room.

Sebastian was lying in bed. His eyes were slightly closed, and his raspy breathing was harshly interrupted by bouts of coughing. The one time he tried to breathe in through his nose produced a great sniffing sound and then a lot more coughing. Blaine felt his features mould themselves into one of sympathetic worry, and he ran over to Sebastian's side, sitting down on the edge of his bed and looking down at his pale boyfriend.

"How do you feel?" he asked, carefully undoing the top couple of buttons on his shirt to try and let him breathe better. Sebastian let out a long sigh, looking up at Blaine through heavy eyelids.

"Better now that you're here undressing me again," he remarked, and Blaine rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the way Sebastian persisted in his flirtatious antics. Sebastian smirked, sitting himself up so that he could grab Blaine around the waist again and lower him over Sebastian's body so that Sebastian was looking down on him. Blaine flushed as Sebastian leant down to kiss him and pushed him away, reluctantly.

"Stop it," he said, fondly, shoving Sebastian back down. "you need to rest."

"I'm not asking for a game of tonsil hockey," he replied, yawning. "just a little bit of relaxation for my tongue." Blaine shook his head, opening the First Aid kit.

"You are unbelievable," he muttered, taking out the thermometer, uncapping it and turning it on. "Now open up." Sebastian smirked at him.

"You know I've heard it's more accurate if you put it somewhere else..." he said, taking hold of Blaine's hand and guiding it under Sebastian's body. Blaine blushed even harder, screwing up his face and grabbing his hand back, wondering why he was voluntarily subjecting himself to this.

"Mouth open now, or I'm going to have to take away your privileges." Sebastian frowned at him.

"What privileges?" he asked in confusion. Blaine smirked, having thought of some better punishments for Sebastian after his latest stunt.

"Hmm, I don't know...maybe the right to hold me; touch me..." Sebastian's mouth fell open in horror, and Blaine smiled at him in his dapper manner, glad that he hadn't wildly misjudged his importance to Sebastian, and popped the thermometer in Sebastian's mouth, under his tongue. "Thank you," he said, gently closing Sebastian's jaw with his finger. Sebastian continued to stare at him with a look that said Blaine wouldn't dare, but at the same time, Sebastian had to take him seriously because if he touched Blaine without his permission than he was...well, the comparison was so horrific that Blaine felt a little bit bad for putting that on him. The thermometer beeped before he could apologise, and he took it out, examining Sebastian's temperature.

"So...?" asked Sebastian as Blaine stared at the screen, brows scrunched up in a frown and desperately trying to remember what was a bad temperature and then what was really bad.

"You're 100.6ºF...that's..." he held up a finger to stop Sebastian from speaking because he wouldn't put it past the other boy to lie about how sick he was. "that's not too bad, but you're definitely sick, Bastian." Sebastian sniffed in a manner that was either because his nose was blocked or because the thermometer had offended him by confirming that. "You're not well enough for school, or lacrosse." Sebastian groaned and began to protest, but Blaine overrode him with a glare. "No," he said, forcefully when Sebastian was quiet. "you are not okay to play, now. However, if you focus on getting better than you might just be alright to play on Monday. So, it's your choice; either you lie here and get better and maybe play, or you continue being a stubborn ass and get up and play and rule yourself out completely." He folded his arms and glared at his boyfriend, daring him to go against him. Sebastian huffed.

"Fine..." he grumbled. "I'll stay in bed." Blaine grinned at him, taking one of his hands and squeezing it.

"I'll look after you," he promised, and Sebastian gave him a look that questioned whether he was fit to look after other people. He whacked Sebastian's arm again. "I'll have you know that coming from Chicago means that I'm well-versed in the ways of nursing those with flu." Sebastian let out a grumbly noise. "Well, I could always get Daley to look after you..." Sebastian sent him a sharper glare that said that there was no way Daley was going to be taking care of Sebastian and worrying about him and remembering what had happened any more than all the Garfield encounters were making him. Blaine beamed. "Excellent."

"I've taught you well," croaked Sebastian, and Blaine laughed a little bit until he noticed the way that Sebastian was shivering. It wasn't that bad, nor was it constant, but it seemed like cold chills were going through his body, or something, because he'd shiver intensely for a moment or two before stopping.

"Look, I know logic says that you shouldn't be under the covers because you've got a temperature, but you know that you need to stay warm." Blaine carefully drew the blankets up to Sebastian's midriff as the older boy coughed, heavily, almost choking. Blaine sighed sympathetically and picked up the vapour rub. "I brought this," he said. "but don't even think of making any innuendos or whatever." Sebastian made an annoyed grunt but said nothing, which made Blaine smile. He opened the tub and, blushing, began to apply the rub to the smooth, white skin over his chest that was exposed due to the opened collar. Sebastian moaned in contentment, and Blaine blushed even harder, biting down on his bottom lip to stop himself exploding from nerves and mixed up feelings.

"I'd ask you not to stop doing that, but I don't want to incur your *cough* *cough* wrath." Blaine snorted, capping the tub and putting it on the floor, looking down at his boyfriend with a fond expression.

"I'll let you get away with that," he said, running a hand through Sebastian's soft hair and flicking the drooping quiff away from his forehead, which was shining with a sheen of sweat. Sebastian inclined his head towards Blaine's hand, and Blaine tenderly caressed his boyfriend's cheek. "How much did you sleep last night?" he asked, softly as he traced his finger along the dark bag that hung beneath Sebastian's eye. Sebastian mumbled to himself.

"I don't know," he said, after coughing a bit and inhaling the smell of olbas oil that made Blaine's eyes sting just a little. "A couple of hours, I guess." Blaine let out a frustrated sigh, annoyed that Sebastian couldn't sleep and desperately wanting to do something for him even though he couldn't.

"You need more sleep, Bastian," he murmured. "you can't keep that up. Why can't you sleep?" Sebastian shrugged, yawning and looking away from Blaine.

"Stuff on my mind..." Blaine sighed, knowing a dead end when he saw one. He bit down on the inside of his mouth and then ran a hand through Sebastian's hair again.

"You should try and sleep now," he whispered eventually, not entirely sure why he was talking so quietly. Sebastian grumbled, and Blaine climbed over so that he was lying on the other side of Sebastian and let the sick boy lie his head against his chest so that he could run his hands through his hair repeatedly and soothingly.

"You have fat fingers," commented Sebastian through a yawn that broke out into a coughing fit. Blaine frowned down at him, taken aback by the comment and noted that Sebastian's eyes were closed and that he was curling up around Blaine.

"Um, okay..." There was a moment of quiet before Sebastian began to cough hard again. "You comfortable?" he asked as Sebastian tried to burrow his head into Blaine's stomach. Sebastian grunted.

"Dormouse," he replied. Blaine blinked once in confusion and looked back down at his boyfriend with a confused frown, not entirely sure where this was coming from. A second later, after no more coughing and only the wheezy sound of him breathing deeply, Blaine realised that Sebastian was fast asleep. He snorted a little, shaking his head at his boyfriend's idiocy, and kissed Sebastian's forehead, an action that he wouldn't have dared to do if Sebastian was awake but made him feel better, and then yawned heavily himself...you know, it couldn't hurt for Blaine to get a little bit more sleep too...

---

I'm not sure whether I should be proud of myself, or questioning my sanity...well, I should probably always be questioning my sanity given the company I keep, but me and Blaine...I mean, it's brilliant that we're becoming such great friends – a part of me (probably my pining heart) wants to call us best friends, but I wouldn't go that far because Blaine's much closer to his other Warbler friends – but at the same time...It feels so strange for us to sit there and give each other advice on our relationships. Well, I doubt it's weird for him given that he's oblivious, but for me...I love it; Blaine being the one that runs after me and comforts me and all the rest, because having him as a close friend eases the heartache, but I have to acknowledge the fact that every time he does something like that I just fall for him a little bit more. So, it's perfect because when I have him as that good a friend I don't long after him so much, but it's also painful because when he's like that with me it just makes me want him more...I mean, in some ways, I think I don't want him as much anymore, but in other ways, I think do...

Kurt ran a hand through his hair, stretching, and smiled at the finished essay that lay on the table before him, completed entirely from his own brain (and the textbook, but that didn't count) and in his best handwriting.

Ha, Mrs Daniels, try and give me anything lower than a high B for this!

He had to admit that that deferral was really coming in useful because even Mrs Daniels had cut down on the amount of work that he had to do; just an essay on the different factors involved in the change in policy as regards the US policy of isolationism and an evaluation of which one was most important, as opposed to everyone else who got that essay, but it had to be longer and more complex as they needed to evaluate the sources that they used as well.

He glanced at the clock and saw that he still had half an hour before practise actually started, meaning he had about fifteen more minutes before he had to leave...well, more like ten because he had to get changed into his tracksuit. Sighing at that thought, he got to his feet and set about changing into his cheerleading outfit. He noticed as he did that that the peace he'd taken for granted whilst he'd been studying was surprisingly eerie, and he supposed that it had something to do with the fact that at least fifteen boys in Franklin alone had already gone down with a bout of, what was looking like, flu. After all, they'd come back from afternoon lessons to find about five boys sprawled on the sofas in various stages of illness induced lethargy, and Sebastian and Blaine passed out in Sebastian's bed together, and Daley had explained, through snickers and giggles at the sight, that Sebastian had been all but forced back to the house by Blaine. Kurt really hoped that it didn't spread too much around campus, and that they didn't have it at Crawford, because the last thing they needed was more people dropping out of their competitive squads.

Kurt wandered into the bathroom and set about fixing his hair for the session, grabbing a can of hairspray that sat on the bathroom counter and blasting it at his quiff until he was quite certain that it would not droop down like his energy levels. He gave himself a once over carefully because appearance and image in a competition like cheerleading was important, and he had to make sure that he presented himself as the handsome, confident lead that he normally was as opposed to the tired, worn out Junior that he was currently being. It wasn't his fault that he turned up to cheerleading ragged looking because that was what happened after a long day at school with a mountain undone homework to follow did to someone, but in all honesty, the day of Regionals was going to be like that, and he couldn't turn up there like he did to these practises.

Kurt then spent ten minutes reading some of the pages of his Chemistry textbook, which was very dull but unfortunately highly necessary, until it was time for him to go to practise. He gladly slammed the book closed when his alarm went and headed for the door, just pausing to grab Blaine's scarf to wrap around his neck.

"Hey Kurt!" said Daley, the moment Kurt stepped out into the corridor, and Kurt hailed the celebrity with a smile and a wave, noticing that he was standing outside of Sebastian's room, the door to which was half open.

"Spying, are we?" asked Kurt, waltzing over to the older boy. Daley gasped in horror, face the picture of someone who had been offended.

"Now how can you accuse me of that?" he demanded, looking positively wounded by Kurt's accusation. Kurt smirked just a little, and the two of them shared a moment of silent laughter. "I am merely basking in the adorable nature of Sebastian whilst asleep and curled like a cat in Blaine's arms – if there was ever a cure for the black blues then that would be it." Kurt peeked in at the sight once more, against his better judgement, and saw that the couple had barely moved since he'd last looked in: Sebastian's head was against Blaine's stomach and he was curled up into a tight little hall, and Blaine's arms were cradling Sebastian's head and his neck was bent round so that his head rested against the pillow. Despite himself, Kurt had to admit that it was a very sweet sight. A second later it stopped being cute, though, and instead it was irritating.

"Lovely," he commented, stepping back. Daley shot him an appraising look.

"You're a very unique person," he commented. Kurt quirked his eyebrows, asking him to expand. Daley shrugged. "I don't know. I just don't think that many people would look at the guy they loved lying with another person and think that's cute for a little bit." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"I possess numerous extraordinary features, and my unluckiness in love is one of them. Anyway, he's a good friend, and he deserves that, and I'm late for cheerleading." Daley smiled at him as he went past.

"I'm sorry, if I brought anything up that..." he shook his head, and Kurt shrugged, shooting him a smile that said it was okay. "Anyway, I won't detain you any longer or else I'll regret it." Kurt chuckled in response to that and darted around him, running down the stairs and through the common room lest he be late and get punishment calisthenics as a result.

When he was halfway across the grounds, his phone, which was tucked into the pocket of his letterman jacket, began to ring...or, more precisely, because it was on silent, it began to vibrate violently against his side. He reached in and pulled it out and felt his heart rate climb steeply at the sight of his dad's name on the screen.

"Dad?" he demanded, raising the phone to his ear in mild panic because had something happened? "Dad, is everything alright? Is your heart okay? And Finn's head?"

"Jesus, Kurt, you don't even let me say hello! Can you cut the worry act for five minutes? I could just be calling you because you're my son, and I love you, and I like to keep in touch with you!" Kurt rolled his eyes, shaking his head because his dad had to understand that all of the reasons that his dad had for calling were the reasons for Kurt worrying.

"Okay, so you're all fine?" he asked once more for clarification beginning to walk once more.

"Yes, we're all fine. I just wanted to talk to you about this whole clash thing that's going on." Kurt frowned, not entirely sure what there was for them to talk about on that matter.

"What about the clash?" he asked. "I mean, it just means that I can't come to the Football game." Burt sighed, heavily.

"I know. So...where is your cheerleading thing being hosted?" Kurt frowned for a moment confused as to why he would want that before it clicked together in his mind. Then he burst out into laughter. "What? It's a legitimate question!"

"Why would you want to come to cheerleading?" he demanded through his laughter. "It's not really a spectator sport at the best of times. I mean, seriously, no one really watches cheerleading – only people that really, really like dancing and gym and the such, and people that think the dancers are hot and want to ogle them...and you don't fit into either of those categories." His dad chuckled.

"I know, but I'm so sick of missing your solos, Kurt!" Kurt smiled at that, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder as he walked into the outhouse.

"Aren't you coming to the lacrosse game, though?" he asked, reaching for the pen to sign in and shooting Emma a small smile that was half acknowledged.

"Well, yeah," said his dad as Kurt walked out and took a proper hold of the phone again. "but I want to see you compete. Goddamnit, I want to see my son to kick ass like I know he can!" Kurt smiled at that but then shook his head because he appreciated that and everything, but his dad wouldn't enjoy the cheerleading like he would the Football game – his dad loved Football.

"Dad, I'm really glad that you want to come and see me perform – don't think that I'm not – but I really think you should go to the Football game. I mean, you like Football; you like it a lot." He sighed, shaking his head. "Look, I'll be kicking ass at the lacrosse game too, make no mistake of that, and you can come and see us at Regionals, going head to head, because I will have a solo at that competition, but don't bother with this. You won't enjoy it that much; it'll bore you like hell...Besides, I know it would mean the world to Finn if you went."

"You sure about this?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" exclaimed Kurt incredulously. "I know you love me for who I am, and that you support what I do, so you don't need to come for that, and it's great that you want to, but it's more important you go and watch Finn. I mean, he would be over the moon if he had a dad that went to a Football game and watched him whilst he won the Football Championship." Burt sighed heavily.

"You are such a good kid," he said, and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"It's not just me, you know. Do you know what Finn would say if you brought the subject up?" There was a silence that Kurt took to mean that his dad wanted Kurt to continue. "He'd go all bumbling and understanding and say of course that you had to come to the cheerleading, and that it's absolutely no problem whatsoever because you're my dad, and then he'd go all quiet and be perfectly fine, but inside he'd be really sad – not that he'd say anything, of course." There was a pause in which he heard his dad swallow.

"Is that what that means?" asked Burt. "That explains the face at dinner when I mentioned this..." Kurt rolled his eyes slightly, smiling and coming to a stop just before the other cheerleaders.

"Yes," he agreed. "he wants you to be there, but he doesn't want to infringe on you and me, not to mention that he probably doesn't think you actually want to be or anything because, well, he has issues to do with all that."

"Right..." commented Burt. "alright then...I'll take your advice on this, and I'll see you at the... lacrosse game, right?"

"Lacrosse game," confirmed Kurt, nodding and silently noting that if he continued to talk with his dad for much longer. "I'll see you on Monday, then."

"Bye Kurt."

"Bye dad!" Kurt removed his phone from his ear, smiling a little and shaking his head at his dad because he was mad for considering coming to the cheerleading. He shook his head again and tucked the phone away, running over to the others. A lot of the girls immediately smiled and giggled at him, but Met arrived at that precise moment too, stopping any unwanted conversations between him and the girls.

"Alright girls and boy!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together and talking over the sound of the wind. "We are going to get right down to businesses! We are another cheerleader down because Gwen has been kidnapped from us!" Kurt's eyebrows leapt up his forehead in alarm. Met rolled her eyes. "By the nurse," she added in disgust. "because she's "too sick" to perform."

"She's got a fever of 101.2º Fahrenheit!" exclaimed Lucy. "Of course, she's "too sick" to play!" Met rolled her eyes once more as Kurt glared at her for needing the nurse to kidnap Gwen to stop her from performing. Met ignored him, and Lucy too, and continued to talk.

"The point is that we're another person down, and we don't really need to be. You will be pleased to know that I have spent the day working hard, and I have come up with ways to adapt some of our old routines – hopefully, that will do the trick for us in Regionals. So, warm ups; go, go, go, we don't have any time to lose!" Kurt almost groaned at her words, but instead simply stripped off his jacket, knowing that he would be sweating and without need of it very soon, and threw it to the side of the playing field. Then, standing tall and wishing that Elise was here so that he didn't have to do all of this on his own, he strode to the forefront of the cheerleaders, faced them once with a grim expression that said he was going to push them hard, and then proceeded to jog around the white, outer line, leading the squad around the field, alternating between jogging, skipping, side-stepping and kicking his knees up. He didn't stop for three minutes until he stood before them once more, all of them already flushed, and began to windmill his arms, preparing to lead them in their stretching.

I am not a hundred per cent sure that I can cope being head of the cheerleading squad, even if it's just under two weeks because now there's no place to hide from their ravenous idiocy; I can't shelter behind Elise's fearsome figure as she intimidates them in a way that I can't do because they think I'm too "cute" and because she can make their lives hell day-in day-out. I mean, this isn't the worst I've ever faced because, well, McKinley, but they are unbearable, and so without reason – I think that's what the problem is: I can't talk sense into any of them, and they dismiss the sarcasm and scathing remarks, so there is literally nothing I can do...except press on and try and ignore them, but that's hard when you have to trust them not to drop you and rely on their backing to win this thing. I suppose the thing that I really need to be working on isn't my singing, dancing, gymnastics or skill of copying off others; no, I need to work on my self-control and not murdering ninety-five per cent of them!

---

"Blaine!" Blaine shifted, annoyed by his comfort being disturbed whilst he was so warm and it was all warm and snuggly. "Blaine-y!" came the sing-song voice, and Blaine peeled his eyes open, grumbling, and disturbed by the slant on the world. He blinked, frowning, and sat upright, and it was at that moment that he realised that there was something that was lying on top of him as it slid from his stomach and onto the bed. He blinked, rubbing his slightly achy forehead, and saw that Sebastian was now sprawled across the majority of his bed, breathing very heavily and with clear difficulty. Bent over by the side of the bed was Daley.

"Daley..." mumbled Blaine, blinking as his mind slowly clicked into gear and then shooting upright on the bed, almost kicking Sebastian's head. His heart was hammering very hard, and he really hoped that he hadn't brought back any of his painful memories. Daley shot him an easy smile and instead helped him climb over Sebastian and onto the floor beside Daley. Examining the older boy, Blaine saw that Sebastian was sweating badly in his sleep and that it was not an easy slumber that he was encumbered in. Blaine smiled softly and reached over to clear his hair away from his face.

"I woke you because you need to go to football," said Daley in a whisper. "but we can always tell them you're sick if you want to stay and rest." Blaine shook his head, raking a hand through his curls and looking back at Sebastian, ears painfully taking in the sound of his raspy breaths, and then bit on the knuckle of his right thumb.

"It's okay, I'll go..." he muttered in response. "It's just-" he gestured at Sebastian's sleeping form. "I don't really want to leave him when he's like this." Daley nodded in understanding, putting an arm around Blaine and rubbing his shoulder in a sympathetic manner.

"I know what you mean; he's so weak and feeble at the moment," he pursed his lips. "and, well, he's our saviour, isn't he? We've got to be here to protect him whilst he's like this, even though we're the very last people that he would want to see his mask cracked and permeated by something that he can't control and believes he should be able to overcome with ease despite that it's in regards to us that we've seen him at his weakest." Blaine swallowed, nodding in agreement and leaning against the taller boy and then wrapping his arms around him and hugging him tightly.

"I like having you back," he mumbled into the material of Daley's blazer. Daley chuckled a little, rubbing his back and holding him close.

"I like being back here with you lot, especially you; my shy, bumbling, blushing, curly-haired, nervous, uncertain, scared, short best friend's boyfriend." Blaine let out a choking, grumbling laugh at that, attempting to glare up at the red head but failing. "Now go on Bashful. I'll look after Sleepy here – you can call me Doc!" Blaine snorted at that, shaking his head and imaging Sebastian's reaction to being called a dwarf, and a sleepy one at that – though he wouldn't argue with Blaine being called a dwarf or bashful at all.

"I think he'd prefer Grumpy," he remarked as he opened the door. "or at the very least Sneezy given the flu." Daley, who had slumped down into Sebastian's desk chair and was beginning to spin around in it, snorted in response, nodding.

"I'll remember to mention that," he replied, and Blaine scowled a little at that. Daley looked back at him with his innocent, straight-man expression. "What? Perhaps it can convince him that you are not Dopey!" Blaine tried to glare at him for that, but he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from turning up in a smile. Daley flashed him one of his wide, flashy, show smiles that forced the cameras to get out from right in his face in order to capture the way it made his eyes dance with mischievous humour; eyebrows quirk jokingly and convey his light-hearted, jolly nature in conjecture to the bright, wispy hair that seemed rather carefree.

"Thanks...I think," he said before leaving the room and running to his room to grab together football his kit; he kept his spare set sitting in the bottom of the wardrobe, and hurried from the room as fast as he could go without causing too much noise and so disturbing the slumbering Sebastian, not to mention the several other boys that he knew were sick. When he got down to the common room, he saw that there was an increase of the rather sick looking students in the common room, but there was no time to really stop and look because he had to locate his muddy football boots and shin guards from the entrance area and then run across the cold grounds as fast as he could to the football pitch.

"Blaine!" hollered Mattison. "You better get out of that changing room in under a minute, or else I'm giving you a hundred push-ups, followed by a hundred sit-ups, followed by a hundred squat-thrusts, followed by-" The rest of Mattison's threat was cut off by Blaine bursting into the locker room and so going out of earshot. However, the first threat had been bad enough so he got undressed as quickly as he could, throwing his clothes on in a weird order; strapping on his shin guards before remembering that he needed to put his shorts on, but he came out of the locker room, albeit with his shirt on the wrong way round, socks around his ankles and shoes undone, in the allotted time. Mattison nodded at him to say he wasn't about to be punished, and that was when Blaine caught sight of an unusual figure on the side-lines: Flint.

The brown haired boy was standing a little to the side of Mattison, not quite with the football team that were milling around near their coach, and was looking at his boyfriend through eyes that were slightly screwed up against the cold wind. He was dressed in his Dalton uniform with a thick, black coat around his shoulders that was much too big on him; it practically went down to his ankles and shoes and the seam of the shoulders drooped down to somewhere in the middle of his biceps, and so had to be Dylan's. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of the coat, and he had a blue and red striped scarf, which Blaine knew was something that had been purchased for him by Nick, wrapped around his neck, and he had a blue beanie hat perched on the top of his head so that most of it drooped over the back of his head but still showed most of light brown hair.

"Hello," he said in a surprised tone, hobbling over to his close friend. Flint jolted slightly, looking at him in a weird amount of shock given that Blaine had been on the football team for years, and then gave him a shy smile as Blaine knelt down, doing up his laces and then yanking up his socks.

"Hey," mumbled Flint, blushing hard even though his cheeks were already nipped pink by the cold. "your shirt is on back to front." Blaine rolled his eyes, standing up and glancing over at Dylan, who was standing by Drew and Joey and looking rather scared for someone so tall and supposedly imposing.

"Your coat is four times too big," he shot back. Flint blushed some more but conceded the point silently. "What are you doing here?" he asked instead of pursuing that point as he pulled off his shirt and then put it back on the right way round. Flint shifted a little and scuffed his shoe against the grass and mud.

"Dylan was really worried about this whole thing as first goalie so I decided to come out here and support him." He shrugged a nervous smile on his face, and Blaine smiled at him, reaching out and squeezing his upper arm in a reassuring manner that said he should relax because he was doing something really good for his boyfriend.

"Blaine!" called Drew, and Blaine shot Flint a final smile before running over to his captain's side. "This is Monty," he said, dragging a small boy in a light green goalie kit towards him. "He's a Freshman, and he's your goalie now." Blaine held out his hand, and the nervous looking brunette accepted it, smiling uncertainly.

"Nice to meet you," he said, trying to give him a wide smile that said Blaine was glad to have him on his team even though that wasn't technically true because he was about the same height as Blaine so unless he had pogo-sticks for legs, or the powers of Mister Fantastic, then he was not going to be able to guard the goal at all.

"Alright, as you can see we are missing our main two goalies, and we are a couple of people down in midfield and defence too. Realistically, I think we're going to be with you these two new goalies, unless Mo makes a miracle recovery, but we should have the others back. So, what I was thinking is that Drew and Blaine, you take your team and play some passing games; do some corners, free kicks, penalties, and some half games, and then we can come back and play against each other!" Blaine swallowed, not at all pleased that he had to do more leading of the football team because he had no idea what to do.

"Okay!" exclaimed Drew, throwing his arm up in the air. "Bibs to the far end of the field – we need a couple of balls; start dribbling in twos and threes, let's go, go, go!" Blaine swallowed, looking at his team and giving them a nervous smile.

"Um, should we do what he said?" he suggested. There was a pause before the others nodded. "Okay, so, wait, hang on, Monty do you wanna go over to the goal with me so I can see what you've got?" Monty nodded, biting on the inside of his lip. "Um, Joey, you are in charge of the passing and the rest." Joey nodded and picked up some balls, lobbing them over at the other boys and lastly at Blaine, who tucked it under his arm.

"I'm sorry," said Monty as he and Blaine trudged over to the empty goal. "in advance. I mean, I was on the team in Middle School, but I've seen Will and Mo play, and I've played against Dylan too, and I'm not that good." Blaine shot Monty an easy smile, patting his upper arm.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "we don't expect you to be as good as Will when he's got a ton more experience than you." Monty shot him an appreciative smile and made to stand in goal.

"Thanks 'cause I don't wanna let you down." Blaine shot him the widest smile that he had given that he was tired and it was becoming more and more clear that winning this football game would be nothing short of an insane miracle.

"You couldn't as long as you try your best. Now, what do you wanna start with? Some tap-ins maybe?" Monty nodded, and Blaine dropped the ball, kicking it up a couple of times whilst Monty jumped up and down on the goal line, pulling up his gloves, and then nodded.

As it turned out, Monty was a little better than Blaine had been expecting, but he wasn't that great. Monty had some pretty good reflexes that meant he reacted quickly to Blaine when he shifted his weight from foot to foot or kicked out, but he had poor decision making skills that meant he fell for most of Blaine's feints or ran out of goal too early. He could also jump pretty high and/or far when he was required to make a diving save, but his timing wasn't good, and he only kept out two of around fifty that went high or in the corners. However, Blaine reckoned that it was all just inexperience as opposed to poor technique, and that he was completely unused to playing at such a high level, and that if they were very lucky – aka if Dylan didn't get sick/injured/just didn't play for whatever reason – it just might not matter.

---

"So, how's Dylan doing?" asked Blaine, standing opposite Drew in the centre circle after a gruelling hour of drills and half-games that had left Blaine exhausted, hoarse and horrified at the thought of playing for another hour and a half. Drew, who as always looked infuriatingly alert, shrugged and looked back round at his goalie, who was talking to Jack.

"Okay," he said, eventually, turning back. "I mean, he's not...he's not great, but I think it's really confidence. I mean, he thinks he's awful, but he's really not – he's got height on his side, and he- he's just good, but he doesn't believe it." Blaine nodded, pursing his lips and glancing over at Flint, who was standing on the touchline. Drew twisted around to see where he was looking and then grinned back at Blaine. "Oh, Flint's been great," he enthused. "You wouldn't believe that his self-esteem is rock-bottom if you heard him encouraging Dylan. I mean, to start with it wasn't so great because, you know, no one likes "screwing up" in front of their boyfriend, but Flint just kept shouting encouragement at him until it stopped being an issue." Blaine smiled at that, vaguely wondering whether Sebastian was still asleep and if he was observing Blaine's orders to rest.

"Alright boys," said Mattison striding over. "ready for the game?" The two captains nodded as one, and Mattison turned to Drew. "Heads or tails?" Drew paused for a moment, head tilting to the side.

"Tails," he said, finally, and Blaine bit down on the inside of his lip as Mattison flipped the coin and put it on the back of his left hand, taking the right one away.

"Heads," Blaine broke out into a grin at that. "so Blaine?"

"Kick-off," he said, instantly, and Mattison nodded, looking back at Drew who deliberated for a moment before pointing to the goal that Dylan had previously been occupying. Mattison nodded and placed the ball down on the spot, and Drew jogged back to his team whilst Blaine turned around and beckoned Lance over to his side. The Putnam Junior darted over, arching his eyebrows and questioning what Blaine was going to do with the ball. Blaine jerked his head slightly towards the midfield, saying that he was going to boot it back to them and then launch an attack from there. Lance nodded, smiling just a little bit, and the two players turned to Mattison.

"Ready?" asked their coach, and they nodded as one. Mattison raised the whistle to his lips and blew hard. The shrill sound pierced the air, and Blaine immediately knocked the ball from the centre circle, turning his back on Drew's team, and kicked it towards Kay. Kay leapt into the air and headed it down towards Joey as the opposing attack and midfield came streaming towards them. Blaine broke out into a run, straight down the centre of the field because he could. He could see the rest of the teams fanning out to occupy the rest of the field and grinned at the sight of Kay and Joey working their way through the opposition's defence with neat little tap-backs and feints.

Blaine backed up several paces, almost running into Drew. The blonde smirked at him, and Blaine narrowed his eyes and darted away again, the ball falling to his feet a few seconds later after a neat little pass from Lance, and Blaine turned square on, facing the goal and noticing the wide eyed fearful expression on the face of Dylan, who was hunched over, weight balanced between his feet which were below his shoulders, and framed by Jack and Drew. Blaine took one second to assess the scene and then found a smirk curl onto his lips: Blaine was good, and he could do this. His gaze met Drew's, and they both knew that the game was on.

Blaine tapped the ball over to his left foot and began to dribble towards the goal; the sound dimming slightly to the gentle rush of the wind in his ears and the cries of the other players and Flint, and carefully made his way past Jack, Drew tracking him very closely. Blaine glanced at him every so often, making eye contact several times with Drew and asking him whether he thought that he was big and intimidating, and knew that he was not going to get away from him anytime soon. So, instead, he looked at Dylan once more; frozen in the centre of his goal, and then across at Kay, who was coming up fast on his left, and smirked at Drew once more before squaring it to her. Kay hit the ball on the volley with the toes of her boot and sent it slamming towards Dylan. Dylan remained stock still for half a second whilst every member of his team, especially Drew, screamed their heads off at him. As if in slow motion, he dived towards the left side of the goal – Blaine's right – at the ball that sailed past his outstretched hands and into the back of the net.

"Yes!" exclaimed Blaine, punching his fist into the air and jumping in delight because that had to be under two minutes. Kay turned to him with a grin half-frozen onto her face like she couldn't believe she'd just scored so quickly, and Blaine bounded over to her side and wrapped in her a huge hug whilst the rest of the midfield threw themselves onto the pile, yelling and celebrating whilst they still had the energy to.

"Awesome work!" enthused Lance, ruffling up her hair affectionately as they disentangled themselves and made towards the centre of the field once more. Drew was bouncing the ball in the centre circle, talking to his strikers with a frown.

"Yeah, that was good work, guys," said Blaine. "like, really good, but let's not get cocky, alright? This is Drew's team, and we never know what he's got up his sleeve, not to mention that we're not playing against the first rate Garfield team – we need to up our game, if anything." There were grim nods from the others that said they grudgingly agreed that they needed to work harder.

However, that tactic seemed not to have been as great an idea as Blaine had initially thought because, whilst it worked very well for his team, it left Drew's in an utter shambles…well, it left Dylan in shambles; the others were pulling out their best defensive actions, but that wasn't the point; whilst their shambolic nature wasn't something that he would normally worry about, this time it was having a severely detrimental effect on their team because Dylan's fragile belief in himself seemed to have all but crumbled away. They'd scored five goals in just under fifteen minutes – Blaine netting a hat trick to be proud of, and Lance snatching one that so could have been Blaine's if he was an inch or two taller – and Dylan was now shaking on his goal line, dangerously close to tears. Blaine felt awful every time he shouted instructions at his team and planned ways to attack the goal, but he couldn't tell them to back down and hold their fire because they needed to practise too. Flint looked nothing short of horrified as he stood on the touch line, hands over his face and throat no doubt aching after he'd screamed himself hoarse trying to support his boyfriend. Blaine knew that they couldn't go up against Garfield and even dream of winning with Dylan as their goalie at the moment, but what else could they do? Dylan was good – Blaine believed in him with all he had – but now that he had no confidence he was all but a wreck.

"Okay, fuck this, time out!" roared Drew, throwing his hands into the air and causing Blaine to tumble to the ground because he'd just stopped running and stood still right in Blaine's path. Blaine mumbled a curse as he pushed himself up, wincing in pain because his ribs were totally not over the bruising that they'd received yesterday, and glanced around the pitch as he straightened up, noticing all the confused faces.

"Drew!" exclaimed Mattison, running over. "You can't just call a "time out" in the middle of a football game! You know the rules!" Drew rolled his eyes in annoyance and gestured over at Dylan, standing scared on the touch line.

"Screw the rules!" he spat back. "This isn't the game! This isn't all or nothing! This is practise! We have to help him, not let him get pummelled until he can't stand! How is that helping? We all want to win, and we can't do that by throwing our third goalie against the first attackers and utterly destroying him!" Blaine swallowed at the end of Drew's outburst, averting his eyes from the sight of Drew's flushed, angry cheeks and the intense staring war that was going on between him and Mattison because it felt awkward.

"Okay," murmured Mattison, standing down and accepting that Drew was right, as he so often was about sporting matters. "you're right. Change of plan," he muttered to himself and stepping backwards. "Change of plan!" he hollered to the footballers. "Get over here!" Obligingly the two teams came trudging over, Dylan arriving last with his head hung. Blaine glanced over at Drew, who pursed his lips and shrugged with an intent expression on his face that said he was going to make Dylan into a self-assured, confident, amazing goalie if he had to spend every spare hour he had training him.

A moment later, as Mattison seemed to take stock of who they had and think over what he was going to do next, Flint came hurrying over to the group with his mouth pressed into a thin line. He looked around at the already-weary looking players, giving them a tight smile, before taking his boyfriend's hand. Dylan didn't react at first to the small, raw-pink hand being slipped into his, which was still encased in his muddy goalkeeping gloves. However, as Blaine and most of the others watched, Dylan's fingers curled around his, squeezing tightly and tentatively taking comfort from his boyfriend. Blaine smiled slightly at the sight of that because at least Flint felt like he was able to give something to him, which would help them both.

"Okay," said Mattison a second later, breaking out of his thoughts and clapping his hands together. "here's what we're going to do: I want the first eleven on this half of the pitch-" he jabbed his finger towards the goal. "-and the second over on that-" he jerked his finger over at the other one. "-half, and I want you to both work with your goalies. I want you to walk them through different tactics and tricks and such nice and slowly. I want you to plan your defence options in as many of those as you can, but shake it up as well because we don't want any freezing and freaking out because there isn't a format; learn to make informed, good decisions and such."

The boys all nodded as one and began to trudge back towards the goal, Blaine relatively relieved that the leadership was temporarily removed from him. Drew was rubbing his hands together, clearly thinking and calculating in that manner that he did very well whilst Mattison began to sort out the leaderless second team.

"Dylan, it's going to be okay," said Flint, earnestly, looking up at his boyfriend with serious eyes, hand resting on his upper arm and squeezing comfortingly. Dylan shot him a grim smile but said nothing in response, silently saying that he didn't believe him. Blaine pursed his lips, and Flint fixed a glare upon him. "Listen to me," he hissed in annoyance. "you don't have to be as good as Will; no one expects you to be. All any of us are asking is to try your best and have a little faith in yourself because when you actually believe in yourself you can pull off so much more!" There was a moment of quiet at that, most people looking away to give the couple a smidgeon of privacy whilst Blaine and Drew exchanged a look that questioned, on a scale of one to ten, how much a hypocrite Flint was at the moment. Dylan sighed.

"Sure, Flint," he commented with the tiniest hint of sarcasm in his voice. "you're not asking me to give any more than my best blah blah blah, but the others are asking me to guard the goal! Something, I might add, that I am failing at monumentally!"

"Calm yourself," said Drew, walking up to his side and slapping his hands down onto Dylan's shoulders, causing the taller boy to jump slightly. "you can do this, alright? I have an eye for talent, and you, my friend, have got it, and I'm not just saying that," he added, hastily, seeing Dylan's objection. "because you are my friend – I'm saying it because we believe in you, and we believe that you can help us win. I mean, look at yourself; you're giant – there's no one on the Garfield team your height, and you are going to be so imposing on that field-" Drew strode round so that he was staring into Dylan's face with a steadfast look, causing them all to stop. "-and they will be scared of you, so if we can give them the impression that you are the biggest, bestest goalie out there, and they are going to be seriously scared of coming anywhere near you." Blaine nodded along to Drew's words because sometimes football was as much about psychology as it was skill and tactics.

"Okay," muttered Dylan, swallowing and looking around at all the upturned, resolute faces that said they were going to be relying on him whether he liked it or not. There was a moment of silence in which Flint beamed around at them before Dylan broke out into a small smile. "let's see what miracles you guys have left up your sleeves." The current first eleven broke out into laughter, and Blaine grinned, feeling just a little more hopeful because if Dylan believed that they could help then it meant he believed he could get better which meant that he would get better, and patted his shoulder, strongly.

The hour that passed after that whizzed by in a blur of shots, tackles, penalties, corners, passes and mid-air collisions. They started really slowly at first; the strikers literally passing it into the net, and Dylan threw himself around spectacularly as if each one was going at a hundred miles an hour through the air and would make the difference between winning and losing. After that they slowly ratcheted up the tempo and found that the real problem lay once the strikers began to pass between themselves and really move the ball because Dylan either committed too early or stayed rooted to the goal line when he ought to close them down. However, he was pretty awesome in the air; nearly always getting to the ball first whether with his head, fist or both hands to snatch it away from anyone else's head. He was okay at penalties, but those things were up to chance a lot of time anyway, and it seemed to be that if Dylan picked the right side, he'd save if it was going down low because he had ridiculously long arms, and they couldn't really expect anything more than that.

All in all, Blaine was feeling rather upbeat when the session came to an end, and even Dylan, who had to have been shattered by all the intensive work that he'd been doing, had a small grin on his face. Flint looked remarkably cheerful for someone who had stood on the touchline by the goal for an hour in the freezing cold and been hit by the ball every five minutes. Blaine reckoned, though, that Flint and Dylan's relationship had gotten a lot out of the session because every time Dylan saved one Flint shouted congratulations and how proud he was, and every time one went in Flint yelled condolences and encouragements, and that never failed to put a smile on Dylan's face and spur him into getting back up and keep on going, which in turn made Flint smile because he was helping and that gave him more confidence and assurance. In fact, he seemed so much more buoyed and self-assured that, just before Dylan went into the changing rooms, Flint held him back and, standing on his tiptoes, kissed him very briefly on the lips in plain view of the majority of the football team.

Blaine, like everyone else that had seen it, gaped at the couple as Flint drew back, blushing intensely and looking nervous, and Dylan stood there, dumb with shock. Flint looked nervously up at his boyfriend for a couple of seconds whilst Dylan remained frozen before the taller boy let out a rough chuckle, grinning widely, and wrapped Flint in a tight hug, whispering something that no one else could hear in his ear before letting him go. Blaine arched his eyebrows, smirking, at Flint, who blushed some more and hurried off, probably to find somewhere nice and quiet for him to die of embarrassment in.

---

"Hey Kurt!" said Blaine, brightly, as he stepped into the entrance area to Franklin, happy smile plastered to his face because they had just mercilessly been teasing Dylan about Flint for the past half hour. The tired cheerleader turned to him and looked at him with nothing short of alarm when he noticed how cheerful Blaine.

"Hello…" he replied, hesitantly, and Blaine grinned some more. "I take it Dylan makes a good replacement goalie." Blaine shrugged a little, swinging his arm around the taller boy's shoulders.

"Yeah, he's actually pretty good when he believes in himself, but Flint came down and supported him for the entire practise, and at the end, guess what, he kissed him!" Kurt stared at him blankly whilst Blaine all but bounced up and down in excitement, failing to see how Kurt could not be as hyped about that as Blaine was.

"Well, they are dating," commented Kurt as they made their way into the common room. Blaine rolled his eyes and guessed that Kurt was very tired and so unable to think properly.

"Yes, but this was in public," he said, stressing the last two words in the hope that Kurt would clock what was so shocking. Kurt stared at him for a moment longer before his mouth fell open.

"Oh my God!" he exclaimed, hands flying to cover his mouth and eyes going wide. He let out a surprised gasp, shaking his head. "Really?" Blaine nodded, grinning. "I don't believe it, the one day I don't go back to the changing room!" he grumbled in annoyance, and Blaine chuckled. "You know," continued Kurt. "when this sports madness is over, we need to have another gossip session." Blaine nodded in agreement because he, too, was interested in how things were going between Flint and Dylan. "Speaking of, how's Sebastian?" Blaine shrugged as they got to the top of the stairs.

"Sick and grumpy," he commented, eventually, and Kurt snorted, causing Blaine to smile ever so slightly.

"Blaine," came the sound of Morrison's voice, and Blaine turned in mild surprise to the doorway of Daley's room, seeing the brunette standing there with a frown. "your boyfriend is a complete jackass." Blaine groaned, wondering what on earth Sebastian had done now, and shot Kurt an apologetic look that said he had to leave now. Kurt gave him a small smile that said it was fine, and Blaine reckoned that, from the sparkle in his eyes and the quirk of his eyebrows, he was vaguely amused by the situation.

"What happened?" he demanded, traipsing over to the actor with a weary expression obliterating his previous happiness because Morrison was pissed; Blaine could see it in his tense posture, the reference to Sebastian without his name, the narrowed eyes, the taut expression, and it was actually pretty hard to piss Morrison off properly so this had to be bad. Morrison closed the door and took a couple of steps closer to Blaine.

"He brought up Tom!" hissed Morrison. Blaine closed his eyes, sighing and cursing under his breath because what on earth had possessed him to bring Tom up? He knew that Sebastian was worried about Daley remembering so why would he bring it up?

"What did he say?" he asked, tiredly, rubbing his eyes. Morrison sighed, the anger diminishing in his face at the sight of Blaine's worry and concern, and shook his head.

"He kept banging on about how Daley shouldn't be looking after him and whether he was okay and not remembering, and then he just flat out asked him about Tom and brought the whole thing up when it was barely on his mind!" Blaine groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered. "this is probably my fault; I kind of said earlier that I wouldn't leave Daley with him, and then when football practise came around I left Daley with him…" he trailed off, wincing. Morrison rolled his eyes, sighing heavily and shaking his head.

"It's not your fault," he said, tiredly, shaking his head. "just go beat the crap out of him from us…well, not literally, but do your worst whilst he's all weak and helpless." Blaine snorted and nodded, shooting him an apologetic look that Morrison waved away with a half-smile. Blaine shook his head and moved away towards Sebastian's room as Morrison went back into Daley's; Blaine really hoped that the red-head was going to be okay and that Sebastian hadn't done something monumentally stupid like he was capable of. Instead of knocking on the door like he normally might, Blaine barged into the room, half glaring at the boy lying in the bed but unable to fully because Sebastian was sick and he was also still in bed, which was really saying something considering that he'd apparently been left alone for a while.

"I'm not talking to you," said Sebastian, crossing his arms and looking away, pouting before breaking out into coughs. Blaine sighed, closing his eyes briefly and then moving across the room to sit on Sebastian's bed. He put his hand over Sebastian's, which was clammy, and was relieved that he didn't try to pull away. Blaine smiled a little at that, brushing the back of Sebastian's hand with his thumb.

"You have to talk to me," he murmured, softly. "because you really upset Daley, you do know that, right? And I know that I said I wouldn't leave him with you, but…he was actually fine, okay? I also know that you know him better than me blah blah blah, but he was fine until you brought up Tom! What were you thinking? That's the kind of stupid move I would make…not you." Sebastian grumbled slightly under his breath before rolling his head back to Blaine, accompanied by the rapidly-becoming-familiar coughs.

"I couldn't risk it, Blaine," he said, slowly, in a laboured fashion. "I *cough* *cough* couldn't take the chance of *cough* *cough* making him worse! He wants to go to Garfield *cough*!" Sebastian broke off, wheezing and rasping as he attempted to breathe, coughing some more, head rearing up from the pillows. Blaine reached over instantly, pushing him back down and wiping his forehead with a tender smile.

"I know you worry about him so much, Bastian, but you can't stop him from-" he broke off, shaking his head because that line of reasoning wouldn't help. He pursed his lips, thinking hard until the right train of thought came to him. "It doesn't help," he said, eventually, turning back to Sebastian with a tiny smile. "what you're doing, Bastian, it doesn't help." He sighed, shaking his head. "I know you're trying to look after him because you're actually really good at that but constantly trying to stop him from remembering it only makes you remember more. It just gets thrust in your face over and over, and- and it just makes you feel like you're not good enough to do anything after what happened." He swallowed, feeling the tears well in his eyes. There was a moment of quiet in which Blaine sniffed and Sebastian encased Blaine's one hand in both of his.

"You know," said Sebastian in a hoarse voice that caused Blaine to look over at him with the smallest of smiles. "when you talk like that, you almost sound wise." Blaine snorted a little at that, smiling some more down at his boyfriend, whose head was tilted to the side and was giving him a doting smile that Blaine loved. Sebastian pushed himself upright and reached over, thumbing the corner of Blaine's and wiping away the little bit of moisture that threatened to fall. Blaine allowed him that for a moment before he shoved him lightly in the chest, sending him back into the pillows, knocking the wind out of his lungs and causing him to cough harder.

"Sorry," murmured Blaine, reaching over to rub his shoulder. "how are you feeling?" Sebastian opened his mouth, and then Blaine thought better of it. "Actually, don't answer that. Have you eaten anything?" Sebastian threw him a glare that told him he was an idiot. Blaine rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay, how about I get you something to eat?" Sebastian snorted before coughing a lot.

"You *cough* *cough* make me something?" Blaine rolled his eyes, silently agreeing that Sebastian had a point.

"How about Thad makes something?" he suggested. Sebastian grumbled slightly under his breath but nodded. Blaine smiled down at him, flicking away his drooping hair once more. "I'll be gone for five minutes max, and don't you dare get out of bed." Sebastian pouted at him.

"You don't trust me?" he demanded, eyes wide and imploring. Blaine tried his very best to hold back his smile and make it into a smirk.

"Not a chance," he said, getting to his feet. Sebastian chuckled between coughs, reaching up with his hand to brush it against Blaine's cheek.

"I have taught you so well." Blaine snorted a little, smoothing back Sebastian's hair, and gave him one last smile before he walked from the room and towards his one. Opening the door and looking inside, he saw that Thad was sprawled on the bed, hair soaked from the shower, and obviously fast asleep. Blaine felt a little bad for wanting to wake him but walked across to his side regardless and shook him awake. Thad rolled over, eyes barely open, and squinted at Blaine in confusion.

"Wha…?" questioned Thad. "Is it morning? Am I late for lessons?" Blaine burst out into mildly incredulous laughter, guessing that Thad must be exhausted, and shook his head.

"No, Thad, it's still the evening. I was just wondering if you would do me a favour?" Thad sat upright, brows creased up into a deep frown, and nodded. Blaine smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you so much! Could you make Sebastian something that he could stomach?" Thad rubbed his forehead, blinking and looking a little spaced out, like he couldn't work out why Sebastian would need food. Then it seemed to dawn on him.

"Oh…" he muttered, nodding. "Right…I will make…" his eyes narrowed slightly, clearly trying to think of what he ought to do. "I will make soup!" he proclaimed, proudly, and Blaine nodded, trying not to smile at the pompous way that he said that.

"Okay, good…and will the soup be materialising in front of you, or will you be getting up to concoct it?" Thad stared at him for a second longer, blinking dumbly. Then his head tilted to the side, his eyes narrowing.

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you," he commented in a deadpan. Blaine snorted at that as his roommate got to his feet, yawning widely and stretching.

"Because you're doing me a favour, I will overlook the insult." Thad smiled at him and walked over to the door very slowly. Blaine grinned and followed him, heading back to Sebastian's room. Opening the door, he was delighted to see that Sebastian was still in bed. "Thad's making soup," he said, smiling and walking over to Sebastian. Sebastian nodded, and Blaine placed an arm over Sebastian, meaning to climb across to lie down by his side when Sebastian weakly pushed him away, coughing.

"You stink," he said, pulling a face. Blaine frowned.

"I showered after football." Sebastian arched an eyebrow, questioning that before coughing, waving Blaine away with his hand.

"Go have a bath; then you can come lie with me." Blaine arched his eyebrows.

"Someone's pushy," he commented, and Sebastian rolled his eyes a little and shooed him away some more. Blaine rolled his eyes but obligingly got up, moving out of the room and back to his own to get some loose pyjamas because he was going to spend the night in Sebastian's room, keeping an eye on him to make sure that he didn't decide to go on any night time walks because he was smart like that. When he came back to Sebastian's room, the elder boy had his headphones in, and he acknowledged Blaine with a taut smile before coughing. Blaine smiled warmly in return and then walked into the bathroom, locking the door and beginning to run the bath. He quickly found some shampoo, shower gel and bubble bath, which he reckoned had been given to him as a gift because it was untouched.

The bath was relaxing, and Blaine reckoned that he could have fallen asleep in the warm, soapy water if he didn't have the persistent question of how Sebastian was nagging away in his mind, not to mention the worries about the Garfield football game that were plaguing him. He wanted to believe so badly that they could win against Garfield, but they couldn't…not at the moment, at least. Dylan was good, and he could be really good, but after seeing him on the field of play, Blaine doubted that he could really go up against Garfield and pose a serious threat, unless he could somehow build up enough confidence to stand tall on the goal line and intimidate the opposing team and not lose it after ten minutes, or a goal.

He did acknowledge, though, that a hot bath would definitely be a good thing for Sebastian because wasn't a symptom of flu achy muscles? And hadn't the mineral-bubble-bath-thing advertised to soothe such things? But was it worth the jokes that would inevitably come about to try and alleviate just a little of his sufferings? Ahh, that was a tough decision…actually, no, it wasn't…Blaine was too soft for his own good, probably, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't do whatever he could for Sebastian, even if it was something as small and as trivial as a bubble bath.

"I have always liked your curls," commented Sebastian, just before he broke out into coughs, and Blaine, who was ruffling said curls dry with a towel having changed into his baggy pyjamas, flushed with a small smile.

"Thank you," he said, walking further into the room. "You know, I left the water in, and I put in bath salts and bubble bath and shit so I was thinking that you could have a bath. Don't-" he said sharply, holding up a finger with an intense glare. "-say anything "inappropriate" because the threat still stands." Sebastian grumbled and flopped back against his pillows. "Come on, Bastian, you know it's a good idea. I mean, you have to get out of bed and changed into something that isn't your Dalton uniform at some point." Sebastian acknowledged that with a small flicker of his mouth. "I can give you a hand to the bathroom and back, or whatever." Sebastian wiggled his eyebrows but said nothing, well aware of the threats.

"Alright," agreed Sebastian, finally, after some more coughing. Blaine smiled at him and walked over to his bed as Sebastian stood up. Blaine looped an arm around his waist and assisted Sebastian, whose legs really were weak beneath him and clearly couldn't support him fully. "Sit me down on the toilet," he ordered, and Blaine did as he was told. Sebastian leant back, sighing and putting a hand over his forehead, which was probably aching. "can you get my pyjamas and dressing gown?" Blaine nodded.

"You might want to add some more hot water," he suggested. Sebastian nodded and lolloped over towards the bath, supporting himself against the edge. When Blaine was sure that the older boy wasn't about to fall in, he left the room and opened the wardrobe, pulling out some pyjamas from the shelf and then unhooked the dressing gown from the peg on the side. Then he walked back into the bathroom and promptly dropped what he was holding at the sight of Sebastian slumped over the bathtub, head drooping down so that the brown hair was in the water. "Bastian!" he cried, running over to his side and pulling him back. The taller boy groaned somewhat and leant against Blaine.

"'M okay," he grunted, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Just got a little bit dizzy…" Blaine arched an eyebrow, demanding to know whether that was really just that. Sebastian gave him a level look to which Blaine rolled his eyes and helped Sebastian to stand back up and sit on the toilet lid once more.

"Okay, um, I'll leave you here then. If you need me – if you get dizzy again, especially if you're in the bath – then just shout, alright?" Sebastian rolled his eyes, managing a condescending look that said he knew precisely how to call someone if he was ever in need of assistance, which he never was but that was beside the point.

Blaine, rolling his eyes and feeling apprehensive at leaving Sebastian alone on his own, walked out of the room, shaking his head because Sebastian was a ridiculously proud bastard who wouldn't call Blaine until he was almost drowned and he realised that it was a terrible idea to put his death on Blaine's hands. He shuddered at the thought of that, swallowing down the idea of unimaginable pain, and flopped face down onto Sebastian's bed. Then he remembered that Sebastian was sick, and so his germs were everywhere, and then sprung upright once more. Then he remembered that he planned to stay the entire night in the same-

He froze at that thought because he was going to finish that thought with the word "bed", but could he do that? He was blushing really hard all of a sudden, and he was fighting to keep a smile off his face that was simultaneously embarrassed and excited at that. It was stupid because they weren't going to be doing anything, but he could feel weird tingles in his hands. This was impossible! How could anyone ever- ever be with someone like that when the simple thought left him paralysed with fear; chest clogged with panic, and tight white-hot tendrils of nerves coiled in his stomach.

He shook his head because he didn't have to think about anything like that yet because Sebastian wasn't interested…well, he was interested; it would be a total lie to say that he wasn't, but he wasn't interested in having it with Blaine until Blaine wanted it, which was sort of now but not really – Blaine was interested; he was curious and…into Sebastian, but he also knew that he wasn't ready; he'd probably just freak out and frighten Sebastian away with the levels of his brokenness… No, that was unfair on Sebastian; he believed more than ever now that Sebastian wouldn't just leave him, and he had to hold onto that as much as he could.

Blaine sat back on Sebastian's bed, picking up the other lead's iPod, and turned it on, curious to see what song he was listening to, and grinned widely when he saw that he was listening to Start of Something Good. Then he flicked back and saw that Sebastian had made a playlist that, Blaine saw to his increasing joy, was made up of songs that they'd sung in the Warblers, or meant something to them such as Yesterday; the first song Blaine had sung at Dalton/in front of plugged the headphones into his ears, still smiling widely, and hit shuffle.

He sat there for a good ten minutes, legs bent, chin tucked atop his knees, listening to the different songs with a smile on his face because they filled him with the warm comfort of Sebastian's love. He felt so safe sat there; the room was warm and the songs, even the sad ones, seemed to have good memories attached to them because they came from Sebastian so it all had to be good. The thing that ended his spell of listening to songs was the cautious knock on the door, and Blaine pulled out the headphones, springing from the bed, and hurried over to the door, opening it, and saw Thad standing there, holding a tray laden with a bowl of soup, two mugs of tea, two plates; one with plain toast and the other with a grilled cheese sandwich, and an apple.

"Thank you," he said, beaming at his friend, astounded by the lengths that his friend had gone to when he looked like he was going to collapse from exhaustion. He reached forward and relieved Thad of the tray, who sagged a little in relief, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"N-n-n-no problem," he stammered out, eventually, more likely because he was tired than anything else. "the soup is really weak – more like broth; chicken…same with one of the cups of tea." Thad yawned widely once more, and Blaine grinned at him in response.

"Thanks so much!" he exclaimed again, wanting to hug him for his troubles but unable to because of the tray. "I really appreciate this! Also, I'm going to be spending the night with Sebastian, not like that-" he added, glaring at Thad for the way his eyebrows quirked and his eyes widened in shock, questioning. "-so don't wait up." Thad nodded, yawning widely once more, and began to traipse away down the hallway. Blaine smiled once more before he turned around and walked back into the room, putting the tray down on the bedside table before returning to close the door. Resuming his seat on Sebastian's bed, he picked up his grilled cheese sandwich and hungrily bit into it, devouring it quickly because he hadn't had anything to eat since lunch. He also munched his way through the apple and had drained the mug of tea and was trying to restrain himself from stealing some of Sebastian's toast when Sebastian came stumbling out of bathroom.

"Dinner?" asked the older boy, glancing at the tray, and Blaine leapt to his feet and hurried to his side, assisting him on his way back to bed.

"Yes, dinner, come on." Blaine drew back the blankets and let Sebastian sit there, propping him up on the pillows, and lifted the tray onto Sebastian's lap. "Just eat as much as you can," he said, popping the spoon into the soup. Sebastian eyed the meal for a moment, clearly questioning whether it was worth attempting to eat food in case it made him sick.

It took a good half an hour, but Sebastian eventually ate all the soup and one piece of toast and drank all the tea. Blaine didn't really think that that was enough because he was willing to bet anything that Sebastian had barely eaten any lunch, but at the same time, he didn't really want to press it because if Sebastian ate too much then it might make him sick, and Blaine loved his boyfriend with all his heart, but he was tired, and he really did not want to spend the rest of the evening clearing up his vomit.

"Well, I don't think that's coming up anytime soon," said Sebastian, swallowing and wincing ever so slightly before slumping back down. Blaine smiled at him, reaching over to brush his hair back.

"Okay, I'm going to take the couch," he said, getting to his feet and walking towards the door. "you get comfortable and try to fall asleep." Sebastian pouted.

"Not gonna sleep with me?" he asked, a second before he began to cough violently. Blaine arched an eyebrow, head tilting to the side and demanding to know how stupid he thought he was.

"Do you want me to catch your germs?" he demanded. Sebastian grumbled unintelligibly, and Blaine took that as a no and walked out of the room and back to his own. He tiptoed inside, knowing that Thad would be asleep and being proved right about that a second later, and quickly grabbed his blankets and pillows and hurried from the room as quietly as he could.

When he got back into Sebastian's room, he saw that the sick boy was tossing and turning in his bed, brow soaked with sweat, clearly trying to fall asleep but unable to do so because he felt sick and all. Blaine threw his stuff down onto the sofa and crossed to his bed, sympathetic smile on his face.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" he asked, sincerely. Sebastian shook his head, hand going to forehead.

"Feel like shit," he commented. "but I'll…'M tired so shouldn't be too hard." Blaine nodded and tucked Sebastian in carefully, like he did with his little sisters.

"Okay, well, I'll be just over there." He smoothed back Sebastian's hair once more, desperate to kiss him but wanting to avoid catching germs. Sebastian gave him a half smile.

"Head hurts," he remarked, and Blaine smiled, knowing what he was giving him permission to do, and obligingly kissed his boyfriend's forehead.

"Night," he murmured, crossing back towards the door and turning off the lights as Sebastian whispered a response. Blaine picked his way back across the room and to Sebastian's sofa. Picking up the blanket, he lay down, resting his head on the pillows, and covered himself completely. Then he closed his eyes, knowing he'd drift off pretty soon and hoping his boyfriend would be smart enough to wake him.

---

"Kurt!" Kurt continued to walk down the hallway, hands curling around his bag strap. He saw both Nick and Flint look at him, demanding to know if he wanted to talk to Keats. Kurt shook his head because he was tired, and he wasn't in the mood for any conversations in which Keats patronised Kurt. The two Warblers on either side of him nodded and picked up the pace, Nick slinging an arm around his shoulders and squeezing tightly in support. "Kurt!" repeated Keats, and Kurt exhaled heavily, understanding that his boyfriend would just continue to follow him around the school doggedly. He came to a stop. Both Flint and Nick shot him questioning looks, and Kurt gave them a stiff smile that said to go on without him and that it would be fine. Then he turned around.

"What?" he demanded, hands on his hips. Keats' four friends, seeing that the couple were about to talk, all shot him smiles and then walked off, Vince patting his best friend on the shoulder once as he went by. "What do you want?" he asked, eyebrows arching in an aggressive manner. "You do realise that if we weren't in plain view of teachers and such then I would slap you." Keats winced.

"I think I deserve that. We can always go to a more private location if you want?" Kurt glared at him some more, telling him not to be smart and that it would get him nowhere.

"Shut up," he snapped. "Just shut – the hell – up and tell me what was with that temper tantrum in the canteen! How could you do that to me, Keats? How could you just stand there and tell me that I couldn't understand or help you? I'm your boyfriend!" He could feel his eyes sting with those awful tears because it hurt so much.

"I know," said Keats, stepping forward with his hands outstretched, smiling in apology. "and I'm sorry." Kurt shook his head dismissively.

"I don't care that you're sorry – I want you to explain." Keats nodded, giving him a look that said he was getting to that. Kurt folded his arms and gave him a blank stare. Keats sighed.

"Look, Kurt, it's complicated, but…" Keats sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just-" he broke off, sighing once more. "Ever since everything that happened with Blaine, I have been the pariah at this school. Everybody hates me, even the Freshmen that weren't there because they just believe the stories because Blaine's some sort of hero, and I don't really care." Kurt blinked in surprise, frowning a little at that. Keats shot him a soft smile. "I mean, I did when it was happening, and immediately after, but then I looked at my dad, and Blaine, actually, and I saw that caring about what people think of you is… It's not worth it, Kurt…" Kurt nodded in agreement at that because it wasn't. "But then you came, and somehow, you didn't let that happen, and it's not fair that it sullies you." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"I don't care, Keats, I really don't care." Keats nodded, holding up his hands placatingly.

"I know, but I can't stand it, and I didn't want to swim in that race because I can't win those races, and if Dalton loves one thing, it's a scapegoat, and if we don't place at that gala, then I'm going to take the rap for that, and I don't want that anymore, okay? I'm tired of taking the blame, and I don't want that on you, or me, or just-" he shook his head. "And I said you wouldn't understand it because you're you, and you have a perfect reputation, and the school loves you, and I didn't really want to put this on you anyway because, well, you've got enough on your plate as it is without me and my helpless ragings against the machine." Kurt sighed, rolling his eyes, and reached over, putting his hands on Keats' shoulders.

"Keats," he began, sighing. "okay, I understand where you're coming from, but I think you're wrong…I mean, not about the fact that everyone here hates you because that's sort of true, but I don't think that they'd blame you for not winning. I mean, did you or did you not hear Drew? He believes in you, and even if other people tried to put the blame on you, I know he'd put a stop to that." He gave him a tight smile, moving Keats' shoulders back and forth a little bit. "I'm asking you to trust me in that, and I know that I've never been exactly where you are, but I'm your boyfriend, and I'm here to help you…" he sighed, giving him a tight smile "I have to warn you, Keats, though, that if you do that again – if you shut me out like that and say I can't help and treat me like a child that needs their hand held at all times – then I will have to break up with you because I just can't be in a relationship with someone like that." Keats stared at him hard, clearly taking in how serious Kurt was, and then nodded, causing Kurt to smile. "Good."

"Well, I have to say that I think I'm lucky you didn't break up with me for this." Kurt nodded, arching his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I have to admit I did consider it, but…it's really only our first fight, and I don't really want to." Keats smiled at him, and Kurt could only grin back, glad that the fighting was behind them. "And I don't care – and your friends don't either – if you don't win anything, and that's all that should matter." Keats nodded.

"Yes, it should be…though I think that I'll, um, do some extra swimming anyway." Kurt smiled at him, and Keats' eyes brightened, suddenly, as though a thought had struck him. "Hey, do you want to come swimming with me?" Kurt arched his eyebrows, cheeks flushing for some reason.

"Um…what?" he asked, taken aback. Keats smiled at him.

"I asked if you want to come swimming with me before school. I need to do some extra training, and it would be more enjoyable if I had some company."

"And why should I give up valuable sleeping time to swim with you?" Keats smirked.

"Because it'll be fun," he said with a wink that made Kurt flush harder.

"And we can just waltz into Crawford in the early morning?" he questioned because that sounded like some really shit security, and Kurt had thought that they were trying to separate the two sexes in some way.

"Normally, no, but right now, yes – until the gala that is – so that we can train whenever." Kurt nodded, slightly surprised by that, and realised that all his excuses were useless.

Wait excuses? I need excuses? I had excuses? Wait I want to go? I'm so confused right now…

"Okay," he said, shooting his boyfriend a smile even though he half just wanted to sleep because he wasn't that good at swimming, and he certainly hadn't had any plans on swimming.

Oh, hang on, another excuse…

"I don't have any swimming things," he said. "I didn't really have plans on going." Keats shrugged, casually.

"You can borrow a pair of my trunks." Kurt found himself blushing again at that.

"Okay then, you've thought of everything." The bell rang, and Kurt smiled widely at his boyfriend. "I should go. I'll see you at lunch, I guess." Keats nodded, taking a moment to squeeze Kurt's hand before heading away. Kurt smiled after his boyfriend for a moment, feeling wonderfully at peace, and then turned around and hurried to his next lesson, smiling to himself the entire way.

---

I'm not entirely sure why, but this whole swimming at the crack of dawn feels kind of like it's against the rules. In fact, not "kind of like", it feels like it's definitely against the rules. I mean, I know it's not because Keats would never do that, but it's six am! Not even that, actually, it's five forty-five! No one should be up and about at this time, let alone going across to their sister school to go for a casual swim! Why did I agree to this?

"Morning Kurt!" said Keats in such a chipper voice that Kurt almost clobbered him over the head with his torch. Keats, who was wrapped in a long black coat with a scarf and sports bag over his shoulder like Kurt, grinned at him cheerfully. "I take it you haven't had any caffeine yet." Kurt narrowed his eyes at him.

"And you have?" Keats grinned even wider at that, answering Kurt's question for him and making Kurt want to hit him even more, and handed Kurt his torch before opening the shoulder bag. He withdrew a Thermos and extended it to Kurt, arching an eyebrow. Kurt took it with narrowed eyes. "How did you know?" Keats winked at him with a smirk.

"I am amazing," he said, bluntly, taking back the torch. "as you should well know." Kurt rolled his eyes, unscrewing the lid as they began to walk towards the outhouse.

"How does Juri do this every other morning? It's pitch black!" Keats snorted at that, shrugging.

"I don't know. I've never had to do it before because I'm not on the competitive team."

"And the outhouse is unlocked?" Keats rolled his eyes, giving him a mild glare.

"Why do you doubt me so, Kurt? It hurts." Kurt slapped his upper arm, unscrewing the lid and beginning to pour out some of the hot liquid.

"I doubt you so, Keats, because you are ridiculous! Oh, don't give me the puppy dog eyes!" he added, glaring at his boyfriend's baleful expression, and took another swig from the Thermos.

"What puppy dog eyes?" he asked, and Kurt rolled his eyes, tutting in exasperation.

"You know perfectly well what eyes because you're doing them right now."

"This is how I normally hold my face."

"No, it's really not. Nobody has eyes that round…unless you're Stuart," he added as an afterthought. Keats snorted at that, nodding a little.

"Touché."

"So you admit that it's not normal for your eyes to be so round?"

"I didn't say that."

They bantered back and forth right the way through to the swimming pool of Crawford. Kurt had to admit that he was a little bit surprised by the way that they could just casually stroll out of Dalton at six in the morning and into Crawford and then straight through their grounds. The security seemed absurdly lax on the inside of the school given that they had giant iron gates that got locked overnight and required special codes and had security cameras and all, though he supposed that once people got inside Dalton and Crawford that was that.

"Through here," said Keats, leading him through the door marked "gentlemen" and had the picture of the little man on it. Kurt rolled his eyes slightly but followed his boyfriend through without a word regardless. The changing room looked similar to the one at Dalton; wooden benches that had pegs above, lockers and cubicles.

"Are those loos or changing cubicles?" he asked, pointing to one of them with a frown. Keats looked up from where he'd dumped his bag on one of the benches and had begun to open it.

"Um…changing cubicles; the loos are round there." He pointed to the archway that seemingly opened onto a white wall. "The very short corridor opens up onto another one; loos on one side, showers on the other, swimming pool straight ahead…kind of hard to get lost." Kurt rolled his eyes and nodded.

"Yeah, I wasn't worried about getting lost. I'm going to go in there." He pointed to the cubicle. "Can I have the trunks?" Keats frowned.

"We normally get changed out here," he commented, and Kurt shrugged a little, shifting on the spot because he really didn't want to get undressed completely in front of his boyfriend; the very thought made him uncomfortable, and he suddenly wanted to not be here at all. Oh, maybe this was why he'd been searching for an excuse to not come because he suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to wear nothing but mid-thigh length, skin-tight, latex trunks, he saw, from what Keats had taken out of his swimming bag.

"Yeah," said Kurt, swallowing. "I think I'd feel more comfortable getting changed in there." Keats stared at him for a second longer before he nodded with a smile.

"Sure, I'll see you in the showers – we have to shower before we get in, but don't worry, they're warm." Kurt nodded and caught the pair of trunks that Keats had thrown at him. "Clean, I swear on my life." Kurt nodded with a smile on his face.

"I trust you," he said, simply, and backed into the cubicle, closing the door behind him and sliding the lock before he collapsed down onto the bench. For some bizarre reason, his hands were shaking, and he put them over his face whilst he sighed and tried to calm down. He supposed that, given all the layers that he wrapped himself up in, he was feeling rather vulnerable. After all, he was going to be physically very bare, and he'd never let anyone see him like that before, especially not someone that he liked in that way because what if Keats didn't like what he saw?

He leant back against the wall, tipping his head back and closing his eyes with a long, steady exhalation, trying to regain some control of himself. He clenched his fists and then uncurled them slowly, attempting to calm down. He didn't have to go swimming if he didn't want to, and he didn't have to get almost naked in front of his boyfriend if he didn't want to either. It would be perfectly fine – and he knew Keats would accept this whole heartedly – for him to just roll up his trousers and dangle his feet in the water and remain by the side whilst his boyfriend swam around. That was all normal. He didn't have to do anything he didn't want to.

So why, if he knew that so firmly, could he still feel this coiling sensation in his stomach that was distinctly unpleasant and painful?

"Kurt," said Keats' voice, sometime later in which Kurt had simply sat on the bench, keeping his breathing steady and attempting to keep his mind clear, and Kurt blinked, jolting away from the soft sound of his inhalations and exhalations, and wondered how long he'd been sitting there for. "is everything okay?" Kurt swallowed.

"Um, yeah…I'm- I'm fine…" There was a moment of silence before Keats snorted and leant his weight against the door, pushing it in a couple of centimetres until it came into contact with the lock.

"Bullshit…just tell me," and Kurt swore inside his head, mentally cursing his boyfriend because the way that he'd said that brought memories of their recent fight rushing back, highlighting Kurt's hypocrisy if he held out, so that Keats didn't have to convince him. Kurt sighed.

"I just- I wear layers," he settled on, finally. "and I don't take them off around other people…and that swimsuit is…" he broke off, making a sound his throat that was part embarrassed, part amused and part exasperated. "well, it's revealing to the say the least."

"And you don't feel comfortable?" guessed Keats, and Kurt, pursing his lips, nodded uselessly.

"Exactly, and I know," he continued, knowing what Keats would say next. "that I don't have to do anything, but I want to go swimming with you, but…I guess, I'm just not quite- it's the first time that I'd ever do that, and I like you as more than a friend, so that doesn't help. I just-" he faltered, shaking his head. "I just get so…there's just anxiety building up inside me, you know? It's just the thought of…intimacy, it just kind of sets off, this clogging, overwhelming panic that just psyches me out." There was a moment of silence before Keats, exhaling heavily, responded;

"I think I get what you're saying, Kurt, and I know where you're coming from, and it's probably hard for you because maybe you're just naturally a bit conservative about stuff like this, and mix that with the bullying and all you've gone through, then that's not going to make you feel very trusting, but I might have something to help if you do want to come swimming." Kurt inclined his head, curiously, even though Keats couldn't see him, and waited patiently, listening to the sound of Keats' light footsteps treading away from the door, over to bench, the faint rustle of clothes before the footsteps came back. Then a tracksuit and polo shirt were slid under the door. Kurt broke out into a smile, picking up the Dalton PE kit; the trousers were the same but with the Harriot blue, and the top bore the familiar legend the "Dalton Phoenixes" and was customised to bear the swimming badge.

"Thanks," he said, getting to his feet, and Keats patted the door for some reason.

"No problem. You can get it wet too; that's actually what it's meant for – wear it between races so that you don't freeze to death, or something." Kurt snorted and quickly changed from his clothes into the trunks, which were very tight fitting and made him feel rather self-conscious, but that was made better once he pulled the loose garments over the top. Lastly, he kicked on a pair of flip-flops and tucked his phone safely into one of the pockets, doing up the zip. Then, finally, he opened the door.

Keats stood a couple of centimetres away from him, hands on his hips like he wasn't sure what to do with them otherwise, blue Crocs on his feet that made Kurt snort just a little. Keats shot him a mild glare, and Kurt saw that he'd covered his brown hair with blue swimming hat with the red outline of a phoenix rising on it, and Kurt found that his mind became fixated with the question of whether that was ironic or not. He reckoned that it was doing that, though, to distract him from the sight of Keats in nothing but – tight, ridiculously so, in fact – swimming trunks; his chest bare, and Kurt had never really realised that Keats, like him, had very pale-white skin, and he had a completely flat stomach, and was not quite as devoid of muscle as Kurt had previously thought. In one hand, he had a water bottle, and in the other, he had a stopwatch and a pair of goggles.

"Well," said Kurt, unsticking his throat and deciding that one of them had to break the silence that was getting more and more awkward. "you look…um, you look…good…very professional…"

Smooth, Hummel, real smooth…

"And you look good in my clothes," replied Keats with so much more confidence. "It fits you better than I'd thought given how thin you are." Kurt arched his eyebrow.

"I can't be much thinner than you," he commented, gesturing at Keats' chest. "for some reason you're skinnier than I imagined without your shirt." Keats' eyebrows shot up.

"You imagine with me shirt off often, do you?" Kurt went scarlet, having not realised how that statement had sounded because it had seemed fine in his head, and put a hand over his face, avoiding his boyfriend's gaze as he chuckled in amusement. "I'll take that as a yes," said Keats, swinging an arm around Kurt's shoulder, the sides of their hips bumping together as he began to lead the way to the pool.

"Shut up," muttered Kurt, whacking his arm. "Do I have to wear one of those hats because I'm not sure that would be good for my hair?" Keats gave him a rather condescending look as he walked into the showers, hitting the buttons and standing back as cool spray hit them.

"They actually keep your hair dry…well, depending, sometimes they do, but it's up to you given that no one's around." Kurt nodded, eyeing the shower.

"I wasn't really planning to get my hair too wet." Keats rolled his eyes.

"It's a swimming pool," he commented, standing under the water, and Kurt shot him a hard glare.

"I didn't have plans on going under water too much." Keats rolled his eyes once more and dragged Kurt, albeit very briefly, under the shower and then back out. Kurt glared at him some more, even though the water was warm and hadn't really permeated through the material of the shirt and trousers, but it had made his hair exceedingly wet, something he did not appreciate. "Keats," he groused as his boyfriend dragged him out towards the pool. However, he fell silent as he came to the poolside and took in the sight of the pool.

The room was huge. Where they came out was something like a tunnel coming out into a football stadium with another one just a little further down that obviously led to the girls' changing room. There were stands going all the way up behind them that ran along that wall, all the way down the left hand side of the 50 metre swimming pool that was already divided lanes. There was lots of space around the other edges of the pool; a bench running along the wall at the shallow end, but the others were empty. The glass ceiling was high above them, probably to accommodate for the fact that, by the deep end, the building branched out so that it was sort of shaped like an upside down "L" with another pool and high diving boards, and there were three tiers of windows; the bottom two frosted but the top one clear. In the deep end, the six centre lanes had starting blocks fixed at them, and there was also a high chair, probably where a lifeguard/umpire was seated.

"Wow…" murmured Kurt, stepping out into the huge space and noting that it was surprisingly warm for such a huge building, though he kicked himself a moment later because – duh – it was warm because the pool was heated and all.

"Yep, it is very impressive the first time round," agreed Keats, stepping out and beginning to windmill his arms in a warm-up before jogging up and down on the spot. "It's kind of freaky how quiet it is, though," he said, looking around with a half-smile on his lips. "Normally, this whole place is just filled with shouting and laughter and all the rest…Kind of peaceful, kind of creepy…" Kurt laughed, nodding in agreement because it was creepy how their voices echoed in the cavernous room that was otherwise so quiet. Keats put down his stopwatch and water bottle by one of the central lanes, kicked off his shoes, snapped on his goggles and leapt into the pool without further ado, disappearing under the water. Kurt watched as the blue cap bobbed above surface someway down the pool and then struck out towards the deep end. Kurt stayed standing by the shallow end, water lapping against the soles of the flip-flops, and watched as Keats swum front crawl; arms striking forward and feet creating a little trail of white foam behind him, down to the end where he did a turn underwater and came back, still swimming at a very relaxed, sedate pace.

"Showing off?" he questioned once Keats had reached the end and taken off the goggles, which had already created red marks around his eyes, but remained submerged, up to his neck, in the water.

"Hardly," remarked the other boy, staring up at him with a smile. "Are you getting in?" Kurt looked at the water, biting down on his bottom lip even though he knew that it was stupid to come all the way here, get changed and then not go swimming.

"Is it cold?" he asked, and Keats moved his head from side to side indecisively.

"At first, but once you get used to it it's not that bad." To prove the point, Keats pushed away from the wall and kicked himself backwards down the lane. Kurt watched him go before slipping off the flip-flops and dipping his foot, tentatively, in the water. It was freezing, and he withdrew it immediately.

"Not that bad?" he hissed in a mixture of annoyance and disbelief, and Keats, rising out of the water, shrugged.

"Coming?" Kurt pursed his lips and then rolled his eyes.

"Can you turn around?" he asked, biting on the inside of his lip, and Keats nodded, putting the goggles back over his eyes and twisting around as he dived beneath the surface, appearing some metres down, back to Kurt and bobbing up and down a little. Kurt smiled slightly at his boyfriend and then pulled off the shirt, shivering a little before discarding it behind him. Then he backed away a little and nervously slipped off the tracksuit bottoms, setting them down more carefully because they contained his phone, and then walked over to the waters' edge. He took a deep breath, heart thudding very hard and feeling stupidly nervous, and sat down on the edge, the water that over spilt into the drain making his butt very cold, and hurriedly slipped in so that he was up to his waist in the water that sent shivers up and down his body.

"Can I look now?" asked Keats, and Kurt, looking down at himself and recognising that, even though the water was completely clear, he felt less exposed now that he was half-submerged, nodded.

"Yeah, you can turn around."

"Excellent!" exclaimed Keats, who spun around very quickly and beamed at the sight of him. He then ducked under water again, and Kurt watched his figure through the distorting water come closer to him until Keats broke through the surface a few feet away. He raised his goggles, looking at Kurt with a smile that made him feel a whole lot less nervous, and then extended his hand.

For some strange reason, the gesture seemed to strike him right in the gut, almost sending him stumbling backwards through the water as tears fled into eyes that suddenly burnt like the fires of Hell.

..."Mummy, I'm not sure…"…

Kurt stood, toes curled around the edge of the swimming pool, light brown hair flopping over his face, wearing light blue swimming trunks and inflated, orange arm bands and staring at his mum, who wore a light blue swimsuit of a matching shade, and was crouching in the shallow end…

"Sweetheart, you've got nothing to worry about: I'm right here."…

A delicate, pale hand extended itself across the water to him, almost to the edge…

"Okay…"…

Kurt stared intensely at the hand with his azure eyes and then crouched down, taking the hand and allowing it to pull him out into the water…

"See, sweetie, all fine."…

Kurt giggled as he was towed along the surface of the water…

"All fine!"…

…"Mum, are you really going to be okay?"…

Kurt looked at his mum from where he was treading water in the deep end, looking at his pale mum who was leaning against the side of the pool, catching her breath…

"Sweetie, I promise you, I'll be fine. Now, you ready to give your mum a hand?"…

A delicate, pale hand extended itself across the water to him…

"Okay, but only if you promise not to go away again."…

"I promise, Kurt, I love you."…

Kurt swum over, catching onto his mum's hand and beginning to assist her in her swimming to the other side…

"I love you too, mum."…

"Kid, do you need a hand?"…

Kurt, who was lingering near the poolside, absent-mindedly treading water, looked at his dad with watering eyes…

A large, dirty hand extended itself over the water to him…

"No."…

Kurt disappeared under the surface, kicking his legs to and pulling himself through the water so that he was far away from his dad as he could be and so that no one could see that his eyes were red from crying not chlorine…

"Kurt?" Kurt jolted, breaking away from his thoughts that had caused tears to begin rolling down his face, and noticed that his boyfriend was suddenly by his side, arms wrapping around him. He was so upset and caught up with the memories of his mum that he hadn't even been aware that the skin-on-skin contact of Keats' arms wrapping around his bare chest and middle was causing his skin to tingle, and his heart to pound hard.

"Hmm?" he questioned, attempting to play dumb and then dunking himself underneath the water to sore his eyes and make them red. Keats was waiting for him when he reappeared, eyebrows arched and concerned expression becoming more intense. He grabbed his shoulders, stopping Kurt from moving even though Kurt felt the strongest urge to just run – or swim – away.

"What is wrong? You just voluntarily got your hair wet!" Kurt snorted a little at that, blinking furiously because now his eyes were really stinging.

"I guess that wasn't the best course of action," he agreed. "I just- my mum taught me how to swim." Keats' face fell instantly into one of understanding. "She did it a lot when she was sick too because the doctors always said that it was a good thing for her to keep fit and all, and I always went with her: she'd collect me from school with the stuff, and we'd walk there and spend about an hour in the pool, and then dad'd come and pick us up, and we'd go out for dinner at this Italian place…" he pursed his lips as he trailed off, eyes still burning and some more tears probably trickling down his cheeks. "It was never the same again after that…I went a couple of times, but always on my own – I'm not even sure that my dad can swim – 'cause it was a nice place to think, but I haven't been in ages. Just what you did with the hand…it just really reminded me of my mum, and I don't know why, but that just made me cry." Keats nodded, eyeing him.

"Okay, well, are you…do you want to keep swimming?" Kurt swallowed, turned it over in his mind and then nodded.

"Yeah, let's keep swimming."

Kurt wasn't entirely sure how long they spent just messing around in the water; racing each other even though there was no hope of Kurt winning, seeing who could hold their breath underwater for the longest and just floating around and talking, before Keats decided that he really did need to get down to some practise. At first Kurt swam along by his side, giving him someone to compete against, but that was tiring and extraneous and made his eyes sting really badly so he gave up and was currently busy pulling on the tracksuit, but only because he was cold and not because he was too embarrassed about the swimming trunks. Keats was lounging against the side, squirting the water from his bottle into his mouth whilst eyeing Kurt in a manner that gave him tingles all up and down his spine.

"So, you gonna time me?" he asked, and Kurt nodded, picking up the stopwatch from the side. "Awesome!" he said, hopping out of the pool, and the two of them wandered down the side of the pool together, not saying anything but not needing to. Kurt took a seat on one of the blocks, and Keats got up on the other one. "Ready?" he questioned, and Kurt, crossing his legs and checking that he wasn't about to fall in, nodded.

"Ready. 50 metres?" he checked, and Keats nodded, slipping his goggles over his eyes. "Okay, so, on your marks, get set-" Kurt, who had squatted down, straightened up, one foot in front of the other like a sprinter about to take off from the blocks with his fingers hovering just away from the edge. "go!"

Keats flew off from the block, legs flailing widely behind him in a manner that made Kurt snort and almost forget to hit the start button. However, he did manage it and watched Keats hightail down the lane as fast as he could, legs creating a great waterfall of splash behind him. Kurt had to stand up so that he could see when Keats touched the end but reckoned that he managed to stop at basically the right time. Keats turned round and held out his arms questioningly. Kurt looked down at the time and saw that it was 28:36 seconds. He shrugged, pulling a face, and Keats hopped out of the pool. Kurt pulled out his phone and quickly, careful not to drop it in the water, and googled times for men's 50 metres freestyle.

"Well?" asked Keats, ambling over to his side and making sure to stay a good distance away in case he dripped water onto the phone.

"Erm, as long as you're not going for a world record then I reckon you're going to be fine." Keats laughed, extending a hand, asking for the stopwatch, and Kurt gladly handed it over. Keats pulled a face.

"Meh, that's pretty good for me, but I've done better."

They spent another fifteen minutes doing that over and over, and Kurt had to say that Keats' stamina was pretty impressive for a sprinter. His time got better by a whole second in the 50 metres, but it was really in the 100 that Kurt thought he made the most progress – almost shaving two seconds off his time when he really went for it one time, though, admittedly, Kurt had to help him out of the water that time – and though he didn't say it, he thought that Keats wasn't just doing this because he didn't want to get a worse reputation: he wanted to win; he cared about Dalton and doing well and winning.

After that exertion, Kurt was sure pretty sure Keats' levels of energy couldn't return to what they had been, and he was slipping further and further into the 30s in the 50 metres, and it was when he had a time in the 40s in the 50 metres, and then did a 100 metre and took a good minute and a half that Kurt decided it was time to stop, and he put a hand on his boyfriend's shoulder, stopping him from getting onto the block.

"You need to rest," he said, firmly, pushing Keats down onto the block. "you're going to completely exhaust yourself if you carry on." Keats huffed but obediently sat back, taking deep breaths.

"Phew, I have to admit, it's fun doing this with you. It has added benefits." Kurt arched his eyebrows.

"Like what?"

"Like so," replied Keats, leaping up and kissing him on the lips. Kurt smiled into the gesture, rising from his block and sinking into his arms, even though he was getting wet.

"Hmm," hummed Kurt in agreement. "maybe I should give you an incentive to win those races then?" Keats' eyes flashed slightly with want, and his lips curved into a smirk.

"Like what?"

"Well…" began Kurt, tracing a pattern on his arm with the droplets of water. "I could-"

"Ouch!" The echoing sound of a cry of pain broke the two of them each other's gazes and caused them to jump out of each other's arms, looking around and seeing, at the other end of the pool, Lottie, dressed in a tracksuit too with her hair tied back, was clutching her foot, hopping up and down. Kurt frowned once in confusion, and then saw the five metre flag was right next to her and guessed that she had probably come out, spotted them and then walked into the flagpole.

"Hey!" said Kurt, raising his hand in greeting as well as his voice. Lottie gave them a shy wave.

"I'm sorry," she called out. "I just came for some practise, I'll just-"

"No, it's fine!" cried Kurt in response, questioning why they were shouting at each other from opposite ends of a swimming pool. "We've been here for-" he slipped his phone out and checked the time, amazed to see that it was five to seven already. "-nearly an hour so we should probably be heading back to Dalton anyway, right?" he glanced round at Keats, who nodded and was drinking from his water bottle in an innocuous manner.

"Oh," she said, straightening upright and tucking a loose blonde lock behind her ear. "if you're sure." Kurt nodded instantly, even though the pool was more than big enough for both of them to train, but he got the impression that they were all feeling a little bit awkward so it would probably just be better for them to leave before this got any more awkward and weirdly tense.

"Yeah!" he called, waving it away. He began to walk towards the changing rooms, Keats at his shoulder, whilst Lottie began to do some warm-up stretches that suggested her practise was going to be a little bit more intense and serious than Keats' had been. However, when he got near to Lottie, he saw that she looked much too tired to be about to embark on a serious swimming practise. "Are you alright?" he asked. Lottie frowned at him, nodding instantly. Keats paused, looked between them, and then continued into the changing room, leaving Kurt alone to interrogate her because she wasn't okay. Lottie rolled her eyes.

"I know that look," she said, softly in her English accent. "but I really am fine!" Kurt arched an eyebrow and put his hands on his hips, staring her down.

"Look, Lottie, I know that face too, believe me. I know the expression of someone that's trying so very hard to hold everything together when it's all just too much, and you want to be fine, and you want everyone to think that you're fine, but at the same time, you don't – you want someone to find out, but you're scared…I know that look because that's what it was like when I was at McKinley, and the bullying was getting too much…" he exhaled, heavily. "and I know that from when I was keeping my sexuality to myself, and I also know that it feels better to tell someone…" he stared at her, passively, for a moment, swallowing, and watched her defences crumble to pieces under his steady, accepting and understanding, gaze so that her shoulders sagged and her head bowed, eyes falling to the ground as she sighed heavily.

"I just…I just need to win, is all." Kurt looked at her and reckoned that he knew exactly where this was going. "I have to- I just have to…"

"Redeem yourself?" guessed Kurt because she had clearly run out of words. "Not be the reason that we lose?" She raised her eyes to him, questioning how he knew that, and Kurt gave her a small smile, reaching out and putting his hands on her shoulders. "It's okay, alright? You are a good swimmer, or else you wouldn't be on the squad, and do you know the best thing about Dalton is that the people accept that, if you've given your best, then you can't give more than that. All I see here is someone that is trying to do right for wrongs that they didn't make, and that's all everyone else can see too, and you have to just let this go. I have; I'm completely over it, because I can't let one moment define my whole life, and to be honest, the more you worry about not doing well, the worse you're going to do. So, you know what? Go back to bed; get some rest; hang out with your friends and, most importantly, calm down and remember that if you're on the squad team normally than, given the abundance of talent in the collective pools of our two schools, you have to be one of the best."

Lottie smiled at him, rubbing a hand over her eyes, and Kurt stood back with a smile, knowing that he had gotten through to her and feeling proud of himself for doing so when she had clearly not listened to other people that had tried to talk to her.

"And I'm going to be at that gala, and I know that I'll be cheering for you, and so will all the other boys that I'm with, I know." Lottie stepped back too, smiling wider again.

"Thanks, Kurt, you're a really incredible person, you know." Kurt smiled, blushing faintly even as he shot her a cocky smirk that said – of course – he knew that he was incredible. Lottie snorted, nodding and pulling her hair out of the bun so that it fell down onto her shoulders. "I guess, I'll see you there then." Kurt nodded, raising a hand in farewell, and the girl walked back to her changing rooms, shooting him a smile over her shoulder every other step, leaving Kurt with a proud smile as he walked towards his own locker room.

I am so tired, but I don't regret the decision to come swimming for a second…

---

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Sebastian groaned irritably, rolling his head across his pillow to look at Blaine, who was crouching over his boyfriend, concerned expression on his face, pink flush fading from his cheeks and school bag still slung over his shoulder.

"Fuck life," he commented, breaking out into coughs, and Blaine gently placed the back of his hand against his forehead and felt that it was still burning hot. He frowned, sighing in exasperation even though he knew this thing took a while to pass off and Sebastian was just going to feel like crap the whole way through.

"Yeah, did you eat lunch?" Sebastian shot him a glare from under heavy lids, and Blaine rolled his eyes, dropping his school bag to the floor and threading his hand through Sebastian's hair, lovingly. "Bastian, you have to eat something."

"Screw the laws seven life processes." Blaine snorted, squatting down by his boyfriend.

"I know you're awesome, and everything, but even you can't defy the laws of nature."

"Watch *cough* *cough* *cough* me!" Blaine laughed, shaking his head fondly.

"I think I won't." Sebastian, exhaling in a laboured fashion, reached out to him with his arms, almost like a small child except there was a certain bitchiness to his pout.

"I miss you," he grumbled. "Wanna kiss you; it's been two days!" Blaine shook his head, catching hold of Sebastian's hands and noticing that they were really sweaty, and placed them back on the bed before planting a soft kiss on Sebastian's forehead.

"Na uh, no passing on the germs." Sebastian scowled at him for a moment before coughing some more, breaths coming in horrible rasps that grated Blaine's nerves and made him feel sick with worry.

"Why choose now to *cough* *cough* be responsible?"

"Because I like winning," he replied, smiling at his boyfriend and perching on the edge of his bed so that he could take off his shoes. Sebastian gave him a proud smile that grew wider when he realised what Blaine was doing. Blaine, grinning at his boyfriend, climbed over him and pushed back the covers so that he could sit cross-legged and Sebastian could rest his head in Blaine's lap. Blaine immediately began to run his hands back through Sebastian's hair, smiling down at his boyfriend, who had closed his eyes in pleasure.

"How's the team?" he asked, hoarsely, and Blaine sighed, shrugging slightly.

"Okay…Drew says that they need you back for the match, and they're down a midfielder and defender, but, apparently, Cam's broken through onto the first team." Sebastian peeled his eyes open at that, looking up at him in curiosity, and Blaine nodded. "I know, I didn't know that he could play either, but apparently he's really good. The only problem is that he's not played with the others like they have, and he's not played at this high level, but he's a natural – got good aim, or something." Sebastian made an interested "hmm" in his throat, and Blaine smiled, glad that his boyfriend was listening to him. "Did Daley say anything about that to you?" Sebastian shook his head, eyes flickering closed. Blaine eyed his boyfriend for a moment in suspicion. "You did apologise to him, didn't you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Because if he's been looking after you this whole time without you having said sorry…"

"I apologised," grunted Sebastian, jaw tensing.

"But…?" pressed Blaine. Sebastian grumbled unintelligibly for a moment, but Blaine just sat there, glaring down upon his boyfriend and waiting for him to speak.

"He shot it down, and when I didn't *cough* *cough* press, he asked me if I- *cough* I meant it, and I *cough* *cough* *cough*-"

"You said you only apologised because we told you to," finished Blaine in a tone of disappointed, annoyed exasperation. Sebastian nodded, and Blaine slapped his shoulder. "You imbecile! Apologise properly, and mean it because you upset him!" Sebastian remained silent, and Blaine, after glaring at him for a while and seeing that it was getting him nowhere, rolled his eyes and gave up. "Fine…" he muttered.

"Will you *cough* *cough* sing?" asked Sebastian, once the silence had stretched on for several minutes and it became clear that Blaine was not going to broach another topic. Blaine arched his eyebrows in surprise.

"To you?" he asked for clarification, and Sebastian managed an eye roll.

"No, to the *cough* dust! *cough* *cough* Of course to me!" Blaine rolled his eyes in response.

"Okay."

"But sing that *cough* *cough* song you did for the Sectionals audition. Not any *cough* *cough* crap!" Blaine arched his eyebrows at his strict tone of voice.

"Jeez, demanding patient much?"

"No, you just have no self-control."

"If you keep being snarky I won't sing."

"Yes you will." Blaine glared down at Sebastian, attempting to keep on a hard mask, but Sebastian had wide eye, and he was coughing and sniffing and sweating, and he was so pale and had these huge bags, and he just looked so sick that Blaine couldn't say no. He sighed, heavily.

"Okay, you win." Sebastian smirked faintly.

Hey, hey, hey

He began to sing softly, running his hands gently through Sebastian's hair and watching his eyelids flicker closed apparently against his will, and the way that his body seemed to sag, shoulders sinking against Blaine's legs, pleasured smile on his lips.

Your lipstick stains

On the front lobe of my

Left-side brains

Blaine bent low as he sang, voice still soft, barely moving his lips that were inches away from the left-side of Sebastian's brow, and even though Blaine was so close that he could see the pores and the way the skin shifted on his brow as he endured pain and the perspiration, he pressed a quick, loving kiss to it.

I knew I wouldn't forget you

And so I went and let you

Blow my mind

He lowered his mouth towards Sebastian's ear, breath causing the fine brown hairs that followed the curve of the protruding appendage flutter, and it was as he whispered the last line of the verse right into Sebastian's ear that his eyes flew wide open, suddenly so much more alert; pupils dilated.

Your sweet moonbeam

The smell of you in every

Single dream I dream

He straightened up as he continued to croon the lyrics, slightly louder but not much, eyes locked with Sebastian's and smile effortlessly gracing his face, flush tingeing his cheeks at the admittance that he had – did – dream about Sebastian.

I knew when we collided

You're the one I have decided

Who's one of my kind

And Blaine found that smile exploding into a grin because Blaine knew that the moment he met Sebastian he'd fallen for him, even though it had taken him a while to realise what it was and even longer to admit to himself that this was real and now he was still getting over the fact that Sebastian felt the same.

Hey soul sister

Ain't that mister mister

On the radio, stereo

The way you move ain't fair, you know

Hey soul sister

I don't wanna miss

A single thing you do

Tonight…

He raised his voice properly when he reached the chorus, beginning to sway his torso from side to side as he sang with so much more cheer and joy than before, and Sebastian was smiling in this really soft, quiet way that said, Blaine reckoned, that he was just content in that moment: Blaine's hands running through his hair; fingertips grazing across his scalp, and Blaine's voice sounding in his ears, and that filled Blaine with so much happiness – genuine, pure happiness – because so often Blaine felt that he could never give enough to satisfy Sebastian, who was used to getting more from a relationship, but he could. Blaine could give Sebastian everything he seemed to want in that moment, and Blaine could do it well; without thinking. This was something that Blaine didn't – couldn't – overthink because it seemed to come naturally to him, and that feeling felt so good because so much freaked him out, and he never felt like he could do anything, and even less be a good boyfriend, but here was proof that he was, as Sebastian would point out in a smug voice, wrong.

The way you can cut a rug

Watching you is the only drug I need

So gangster, I'm so thug

You're the only one I'm dreaming of

Blaine raised his voice even higher at that, beaming down at his boyfriend because basically ever since Blaine had met him, he was only one that he'd wanted – fantasises about Garth dying quickly into nightmares of what he'd destroyed – and just looking at Sebastian had been exhilarating. God, being with him was at times like a drug with all its intoxicating highs and lows.

You see, I can be myself now finally

In fact there's nothing I can't be

I want the world to see you'll be with me

Sebastian smirked back at him, even though he was all congested and tired and sick, saying that he could embarrass Blaine easily with the things that he would be prepared to do to show the world Blaine was his. Blaine could feel himself blushing, slapping his shoulder playfully whilst enjoying that invincible feeling he got from being with Sebastian; like he was king of the world.

Hey soul sister

Ain't that mister mister

On the radio, stereo

The way you move ain't fair, you know

Hey soul sister

I don't wanna miss

A single thing you do

Tonight…

He sang his way through the rest of the song, voice dropping away from a loud forte towards a pianissimo very steadily, and took heart from the way Sebastian seemed to be dozing off to the sound of his voice because he knew that, instead Sebastian being bored as the falling asleep might imply, he was gently lulling his boyfriend off into a peaceful slumber that he could otherwise not attain because he felt too ill. He felt pleased at the fact that he could soothe his boyfriend enough to enable him to fall asleep; he could really help Sebastian, and that felt nothing short of wonderful!

Hey, hey, hey

Tonight

---

"Hey Kurt!" Kurt, who had entered the boys changing room of the swimming pool with the intention of changing from his cheerleading uniform into the school one before doing some homework in the stands because he was about an hour early for the gala, jumped, blinking in surprise at the fact that most of the Dalton swim squad already seemed to be there, including Keats, Drew and Juri, and it was the former that had hailed him.

"Hi…" he replied, a little awkwardly, looking around and noticing that numerous labels of the different competing schools had been stuck up above the benches and on the cubicles whilst blushing at the fact that half of the Dalton boys were clearly midway through changing, though they had all managed to cover themselves and attain some form of decency; he was glad to see that Keats was wearing the tracksuit.

"Joining us?" questioned Drew, who was leaning against one of the benches, and Kurt had to admit that his muscles; the abs, pecs, bi and triceps, quads, calves, all of them, seemed to be accentuated and looked even more impressive now that he was wearing nothing but a pair of those tight-fitting swim trunks that went to his mid-thighs. In fact, it made Juri, who was wearing exactly the same thing, look nothing short of ridiculous by his side given that he appeared to have no muscles to speak of.

"Tempting as the offer is," he said, feeling more relaxed now. "I think I might just get changed out of these."

"Are you sure?" asked one of the other boys. "Cheerleaders are hot."

"Hey!" snapped Keats, glowering at the taller boy, who was laughing at the outraged look on Keats' expression, and the way that Kurt had frozen, blushed and then thrown him a wink. "O'Donnell that's my boyfriend!"

"Really?" demanded O'Donnell as Kurt rolled his eyes and walked into one of the cubicles. "I totally hadn't realised that!"

"Well don't hit on my boyfriend!"

"I wasn't "hitting on" your boyfriend! I told him that cheerleaders are hot – that's a pretty broad statement that happens to include your boyfriend, who is hot, as I'm sure you're well aware."

"But you can't say that!"

"Why not? He is. It's a compliment that he didn't take the wrong."

Kurt, who had half changed from the cheerleading uniform and into his school clothes so that he had the grey trousers on but the cheerleading top, rolled his eyes once more and unlocked the door, throwing it open so that it banged against the plastic frame. All eyes flew to him. Kurt arched his eyebrows, put his hands on his hips and gave his best glare to his boyfriend.

"Okay, firstly, stop talking about me like I can't hear you because those walls, which barely constitute as them, are hardly soundproof, and, secondly, Keats, stop overreacting! He paid me a general compliment that I accepted and didn't take as anything more than that. That was it! So, just in case it was unclear to anyone in this room, which I doubt it is, what my status is…" he strode over to Keats, grabbed him by the collar of his polo shirt and smashed his lips into his boyfriend's in a rough, brief kiss that Keats barely had time to register before he'd pulled back. "There you have it."

There was a rather stunned silence in which all the members of the swimming squad stared at him, and Kurt guessed that, especially given that Dalton had strong PDA rules and all, they hadn't been expecting that, and he also reckoned that they had guessed, correctly, that it wasn't his style. Keats' cheeks, which had been flushing red from anger, were blazing scarlet, and his mouth had dropped open, and his grey eyes had bugged wide open. Drew had covered Juri's eyes.

"Right, clear enough for everyone?" he said, standing back and smoothing down Keats' top. The brunette with a buzz cut nodded, extending his hand.

"Kieran O'Donnell." Kurt accepted the hand, shaking it firmly.

"I think introducing myself is unnecessary."

"That it is." Kurt let go of his hand, smiling around at the others, watching as Juri batted away Drew's hands, and the other boys dissolved into laughter. Keats still looked shell-shocked, and Kurt snickered to himself as he walked back into the cubicle, shaking his head as conversations began to break out into teasing of Keats and general chit chat to do with the upcoming gala.

Kurt got into the rest of his uniform without any hassle and wished the other boys good luck, kissing Keats much more chastely on the cheek and giving Juri and Drew hugs, and then made his way out, following the signs up to the stands. They were completely empty, and the poolside was only occupied by a couple of the coaches – Met was there, and she raised a hand in greeting that he returned – and he dropped down onto one of the benches that were kind of central on the front row. Once there, Kurt pulled out his maths textbook and immediately set to work on the hardest problems in the exercise, teasing his tired mind into giving out a couple of gems of intelligence.

---

"Hey Kurt!" Kurt looked up as a hand descended onto his shoulder, and Kurt jolted and looked up at Flint and Jeff, who had appeared by his shoulder. He smiled at them whilst checking his watch, seeing that only around fifteen minutes had gone by and that he'd only done two questions and made a poor start on a third, and they sat down whilst shedding their outer layers.

"Heard you created quite the commotion in the changing rooms," said Jeff, wiggling his eyebrows. Kurt rolled his eyes as Flint laughed.

"No more, I'm sure, than you have." Jeff conceded the point with a nod whilst Flint peered over his shoulder, taking in his calculations. Kurt sighed and shoved the notebook towards him. Jeff huffed in annoyance, pulling out his phone and beginning to text, whilst Flint took the pen and began to show Kurt with great care how to get to the right answer, losing Kurt quickly even though he kept nodding along. "Thanks," muttered Kurt, once he reckoned he vaguely understood what Flint had showed him, shoving it back into his bag so that he didn't have to look at the mind-numbing sums anymore.

"No problem!" replied Flint with an easy smile, rubbing his hand and watching what looked like Ros, Jenny, Mac, George, Norman and what had to be the other Crawford prefects setting up more signs around the edges for the other schools, and Hammonds and a female teacher came walking out. "That's Mrs Husbands," said Flint, leaning in and correctly seeing where his eyes were fixed. Kurt nodded.

"Thanks…So, how's Dylan doing on the first team? I've barely seen Blaine, he's so busy practising or looking after Sebastian. Are you still going?" Flint shook his head.

"No, I got a bit of a chill standing on the touchline for so long, and with my asthma it made it hard to breathe so he forbade me, and then Nick looked ready to concuss me with the lacrosse stick so I decided to cut my losses." Kurt snorted, smiling slightly and nodding. "But I don't think it's going that well…" he pursed his lips, sighing heavily and shaking his head. "He's pretty hard on himself, but I get the impression that they've hit a brick wall as far as improvements go, and that he's not shaping up to be the goalie they were up hoping with all his tall gangly-ness." Kurt snorted again, laughing a little whilst Jeff looked over at them in bemusement.

"Oh, well, you never know…" Flint nodded, pursing his lips and shrugging, and Jeff slipped his phone away.

"They should be coming out now to warm up and all whilst the other teams get changed." He sat forward in his seat, making Kurt raise his eyebrows and Flint snort. Kurt shot him a confused look. Flint rolled his eyes.

"He's getting ready to ogle his girlfriend from afar." Kurt nodded in understanding, smirking slightly, whilst Jeff cuffed his friend round the back of the head with a mild glare.

"Kurt!"

"Flint!"

"Jeff!" The three of them got half a second to try and look over their shoulder before one member of Trinity – Daniel, Michael and Gabriel respectively – threw themselves onto their backs, wrapping their arms around the necks. Kurt coughed slightly, the wind having been knocked out of him, whilst Morrison, Chris and Fred dropped down on the other side of Jeff.

"Nice to see you!" said Kurt whilst Flint began to entreat for Michael to let go, and Jeff wrestled Gabriel into a headlock and so the two blondes were shrieking and generating quite a lot of noise as the stands began to fill up quite quickly. Daniel and Michael let go of them soon after that to wrestle their third member free from Jeff.

"Hey Kurt," commented Morrison, leaning forward as Daniel and Michael managed to successfully tug Gabriel from Jeff and fell back onto the thankfully empty bench behind them. Kurt leant forward too, looking past Flint scolding the laughing Jeff, and shot him a smile that said he was listening. "I totally forgot to say early; thanks for what you said to Lottie – it did her a world of good to hear that from someone that's not really, you know, a "friend", so to speak…I mean, you don't know her that well so…" he shrugged. "Just thanks." Kurt shrugged, rolling his eyes, both at that and at the fact that Trinity had sat down next to him.

"It was nothing; I just did what anyone would do." Morrison grinned.

"I know, but that doesn't mean I can't thank you for it." Kurt opened his mouth to argue, but Chris cut him off, shaking his head and pulling Morrison back.

"Please don't try to beat Morrison in a row about thanks."

"Yeah really don't," seconded Fred. "he'll just keep saying it over and over and over until he's beaten you into submission because he just won't give in." Kurt arched an eyebrow.

"If it's a competition of stamina than I think you might have found yourself an even match – I am, after all, a cheerleader." There was a moment of silence at that in which Trinity stared at him in a quizzical manner, and Jeff shot him a highly suggestive look that Kurt knew Morrison, Chris and Fred could all read from the back of his head. Kurt rolled his eyes. "You're as bad as Nick," he commented, shaking his head.

"I doubt that," muttered Flint in a stage whisper, and Jeff cuffed him around the back of his head. Kurt, shaking his head and laughing, looked up to take in how the multiple swimming squads were all on the poolside, warming up in their large, noisy clumps, and the way that the stands had mostly filled with a mixture of Dalton boys, Crawford girls and students from other schools, mostly in their own clothes. Just before he was about to turn around and face front, he caught sight of Vince, Parker, Stuart and Andy and raised a hand in greeting. Trinity bounced to their feet to go and hug them in that order, and each time one was released they hurried down towards Kurt, rubbing their ribs and wincing.

"Hey!" said Kurt to Vince "You wanna sit here?" he gestured to the space that Trinity had occupied – they were busy hugging Stuart – and suppressed an eye roll at the way the boys along the bench stiffen, and Vince raised his eyebrows. "Please don't make me sit next to Trinity!" Vince seemed to weigh it up in his mind, but Stuart, who had abandoned Andy to the excitable trio, jabbed him in the back, gesturing with his head, and Parker gave him a brief nod that said they should try.

"Okay, but any fights are on you." Vince dropped down next to him, and Fred shuffled up the bench to the end so that there was just enough room for all the Juniors to sit together whilst Kurt rolled his eyes and held up his hands, privately thinking that whether it was "on him" was irrelevant because Hammonds would expel them all.

"We aren't expecting anyone else, are we?" he asked, looking over at Jeff and Flint. Flint shook his head.

"No, Jen, Ros, Lottie and Cat are down there; the former two supervising and the latter swimming, and El, Bea and David are at gym…oh, and Wes is helping the gym team with something, and Daley's got a meeting with Alex – Goody – over stuff…" Kurt nodded, glad that they weren't going to try and squeeze anyone else onto the bench, and that there was no room for any of the insane Crawford girls.

"Well," said Parker, taking his camera out of his bag and uncapping the lens. "is the newspaper wagon ready to roll?" Kurt watched in amusement as Stuart, rolling his eyes and cursing Keats, probably for swimming, pulled out a notebook and pen, setting it on his knee.

"I think we're good," commented Vince in a rather dry tone of voice. "it's not like we've got lots of time at hand." Kurt looked over at him in alarm, picking up on the sarcasm all too well.

"These galas are long, then?" he asked, hesitantly, knowing that he wasn't going to like the answer to that question. The boys all the way up and down the bench broke out in laughs.

"Oh, Kurt," said Jeff, rocking forward and looking at him with a wide grin. "you have no idea." Kurt groaned, running a hand down his face because there was no way he was getting any work done to night, or an early night's sleep either, and the other boys all laughed at his expense, Flint patting him sympathetically on the back.

"You guys are sitting together?" Kurt jumped in surprise at the sound of a voice appearing behind them, accompanied by a rather dry chuckle, and twisted around to see two boys, who definitely weren't from their school or the same school as each other, sitting down behind them.

"Donovan," said Stuart, extending a hand to the boy whose left sleeve of his blue check shirt hung empty, and the dark haired boy with only a half-smile accepted it whilst the other boy with a green tipped Mohawk slapped the backs of Flint, Jeff, Morrison, Chris and Fred as fast as he could.

"Kurt," began Vince, when the boys were done exchanging greetings. "these are Donovan Mallory, from Fowler, and Murphy Hughes, from WeHeHaHi." Kurt blinked, staring at him in with a look that said he had thought he was one of the vaguely sane ones. The other boys all snorted in amusement.

"We like Fowler," commented Jeff with a straight face. "we sort of like WeHeHaHi." Kurt blinked, staring around at all the pseudo-straight faces at the use of the phrase "WeHeHaHi" like it was normal.

"William Henry Harrison High," said Chris, shooting him a sympathetic smile. Kurt rolled his eyes, "ohhing" because he had heard of that school, and recognised the school logo on the front of his hoodie. The Mohawk guy – Murphy – smirked and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, these guys dubbed us that – I'm on the school newspaper, and I've met this lot on numerous, colourful occasions covering stuff." Kurt nodded, smiling at him, and turned to the guy from Fowler.

"Fowler Institute of Science-y…something." Donovan snorted, nodding.

"Fowler Institute of Scientific Learning," and extended his one hand to Kurt for him to shake, and Kurt shook it, kicking himself for not spotting the fact that the name of his school was printed on the grey t-shirt that was visible as the shirt was open. "Also on the school newspaper, but I'm just sports reporter." Kurt smiled at them, nodding and then clocking onto what they'd said when they'd arrived.

"Wait, you know about the fight?" he asked, arching his eyebrow. The two boys looked at each other and then snorted.

"Yeah," said Murphy. "everyone knows about the fight – it was kind of obvious when one meet they're sitting side by side, and the next they're on opposite sides of the hall." Kurt rolled his eyes, conceding the point, but before they could continue with some conversation, all the boys hissed as some hulking guys in letterman jackets with "CB" on the breast that were in gold on the green body of the jacket went past.

"Carter Beard?" guessed Kurt, lip curling, and the other boys all nodded as one. Kurt felt his jaw tense a little because Kurt had stumbled across their green and gold webpage which had boasted that school somewhere out near Cleveland, like Dalton but not like Garfield he'd discovered, to have a zero-tolerance for harassment policy that had resulted in a group – three people – suicide that had been hushed up into internet whispers and circumstantial evidence, and any comments on the webpage that had pointed out that and other intolerant actions were blocked or trolled into submission.

"We all have to beat them and Garfield," muttered Jeff, darkly, narrowing his eyes and glaring over at them.

"I wouldn't worry about that," commented Donovan. "We're kicking all your asses."

"I wouldn't be so sure," countered Murphy, narrowing his eyes.

"We're-" began Fred, but then stopped, scowling. "we're totally not going to beat you two." Kurt sighed, guessing that their squad wasn't up to the standard of the other schools, as the others laughed and trained his eyes onto the blocks as the first swimmers began to line up to start the first race. He found his insides knot together, shoulders tensing, and hoped that this sports fiesta was going to get off to a good start.

---

Blaine propped the last, huge pillow behind Sebastian, gently releasing his hold on his boyfriend's shoulder so that he was being supported by them. Then he drew the blanket up to Sebastian's waist, tucking his boyfriend whilst he coughed heavily. Then he reached into his bag and pulled out a DVD case, shooting his boyfriend an almost-smirk that said he had found the perfect thing to cheer him up on a Friday evening.

"What do you have there?" asked Sebastian, and Blaine smiled at him.

"Season one of Turn Left for Hell," he replied. "I know how much you love it." Sebastian grinned at him, interposed with coughs.

"That sounds perfect as long as you're right here," he said, patting the bed next to him. Blaine nodded and got to his feet to put the DVD in the player. He felt the world – or maybe his brain – spin, and he took a moment to compose himself before walking over to the player and putting it in. "You alright, Blaine?"

"Yeah," he said, immediately with a smile that he knew Sebastian had bought. In reality, he felt awful. His limbs were aching, and his head was pounding like Pedro was banging a timpani drum inside his head. His nose was also getting stuffed up, and he was suppressing the urge to cough as much as he could because he didn't want to worry Sebastian when he was actually doing a little bit better; his fever had gone down a point degree or two, he was eating a little more and he was less congested.

"Good," commented Sebastian with a nod. "come on then." Blaine immediately hopped onto the bed and crawled over to Sebastian's side, allowing the sick boy to rest his head on his chest and running his hand through his hair once more, and quickly clicked through the DVD menu until the screen darkened and atmospheric music began to play.

The yellow Fiat sped down the street lined with three-storey buildings that sat atop steep front steps with black fire escapes mounted on the front, level with the windows on the front. The sky was a light blue with pearly white wisps of clouds scattered across it, wafted around by the gentle breeze that was ruffling the drying, decayed orange-brown leaves on the trees plotted at regular intervals along the street, creating a faint rustling sound that was accompanied by the noises of an unhappy engine, and the shouts of the occupants of the car.

"I told you to not to take that road!" yelled the woman of African-American birth with her black hair done back in tight braids that reached her shoulder blades and had the look of utmost frustration and contempt on her face. The man, white skinned with brown hair, shot her a venomous glare in return.

"I know a short cut!" he snapped in response, taking his left hand off the wheel to gesticulate in the air, flicking the cuff of the lilac dress shirt he was wearing overdramatically.

"The only short cut you know is into a woman's pants!" she spat back.

"Wendy…"

"Oh don't "Wendy" me, William. The only reason I dressed up in this godforsaken dress-" here she eyed her garment; a tight fitting dress with a black bodice and flowered skirt that reached her ankles. "-and came out here is because I wanted to save your job because I want a good divorce settlement, so don't try and tell me what to do, and don't think you're forgiven." William bowed his head slightly, hair flopping over his forehead, and said nothing in response. Wendy sat back in her seat, relaxing into the leather of the chair, and smirked in victory.

Blaine found it hard to focus on the screen because Sebastian kept shifting his head on his chest, snorting every so often as the little yellow Fiat continued to trundle along the streets, beginning to reach the edge of town, and the occupants continued to snipe at each other, and the pounding in his head was getting worse, and he was feeling much worse. He tried not to let it bother him, but he was finding it harder to suppress his desire to cough, and the time that was spent on that meant that he completely missed the pointless argument that sent the unhappily married couple smashing into the bollard that sat smack bang in the middle of the fork.

Blaine focused back onto the screen as the filter shifted slightly, but instead of the picture muting, the colour contrast became sharper and brighter. However, the couple, who were clambering out of the smoking vehicle, now wore the same clothes in different shades of grey, and their skin seemed to have paled and dulled somehow. They were arguing as per usual, and Blaine leant back against the headboard, trying to relax and get back into the TV series.

"You've been wearing grey this whole time!"

"I'm not wearing grey you blind imbecile, but you are!"

"What the fuck? We're fucking wearing grey! What the actual fuck just happened?!"

"Obviously you crashed the car into a magical bollard that changes the colours of our clothes!"

"But why?!"

"I was being sarcastic."

"Yes, I'd noticed, thank you!"

"You know for two dead people, you're awfully concerned about the colour of your clothes, but if it helps, everyone is wearing grey."

Blaine found himself smiling at the sound of Daley's drawling voice, and the sight of the teenager swaggering into the shot as, as per tradition, it began to pour with rain. He was wearing what had to be the eighteenth century version of a three piece suit: breeches, doublet and coat of a dark grey – it was black, as shown in flashbacks – with a tie of the lightest shade of grey – really white – and there was a watch chain that looked silver but had been gold and a cane of that same dark grey that had been black to complete the outfit. His hair was its usual bright red, and it was in its perpetually messy, wispy state, understandable of someone who died in a carriage crash. He had a smirk on his face that would rival Sebastian's, and he saw his boyfriend shift slightly, becoming even more attentive, at the arrival of his favourite character.

Blaine had to admit, as Daley – Master Alistair Atkinson – exasperatedly went through the whole spiel about being dead and how they could sometimes touch things and sometimes not and how now it relied on emotions but they'd learn to control it, that of all of them; the Goody kids, Daley was the best looking.

QT were that kind model kind of good looking; their features were sharp and defined with their sharp nose and cheeks bones and the pointed eyebrows and the too perfectly done blonde hair, that made them look distinctly cold and hard – the kind of person that you'd think was handsome and all, but you'd not really want to date.

Morrison was different because in a strange way, he was the most normal looking with the brown hair and brown eyes and the normal complexion. He was still good looking, though, and the sparkle in his eyes and his smile gave him that youthful, boyish charm. He was sort of like the-boy-next-door, but not exactly…he was handsome, but he was the sort of handsome that was normal – there'd always be one guy at high school like that.

Cam was the odd one. Cameron was the one that looked different to how you expected because with all the arrogance, you might expect someone either like QT or more conventional like Morrison; the chubby cheeks and that button nose seemed too cute to really belong to that person. In many ways, he was good looking in an eccentric way, what with the blonde hair always grown long like his dad, and the amber-copper eyes; probably either someone you'd like, or you wouldn't.

Daley, though, Daley seemed to have all of those things going for him, and something a little more. Daley had the quirky look with the flyaway red hair that never seemed to be tameable, and the easy sparkle to his grey eyes gave him that little bit of youthful enthusiasm that made his whole face seem younger when it was on. Then he had the cheekbones and the features of a model very much like QT, though never a career, which was what made him stand apart – the sardonic persona that he said never to take any of that too serious. He had a slight swagger, but that wasn't "I-am-the-most-talented-person-ever" but more "hey-guys-I'm-on-TV-WTF?!", and the smirk that was…it was self-deprecating, self-accepting and assured, but never too arrogant, and it always seemed to make his features just more appealing. Of all of them, he had this approachable, affable aura that, coupled with all the rest, made him seem strangely perfect.

Sebastian chuckled, and Blaine looked between him and Daley, remembering those times when he had been absolutely terrified that Sebastian and Daley would become a thing. In his defence, the similarities between their personalities, what with their love of sarcastic, scathing and snide comments and/or expressions and all, and Sebastian's open love of Daley's character, made it actually incredibly sane for him to think, but that didn't stop Sebastian mocking him. That had been painful, especially as when it had kicked off to its worst inside of him was when Daley had been worse – the shirtless moment etc – so it had been coupled with feelings of self-loathing and guilt that had made Blaine feel utterly shit, and like there was no one to help him because Sebastian was busy with Daley. Sebastian had barked with a dry laughter when Blaine had admitted it to him, saying wryly that he'd offered sex but Daley was too honourable for that, having always had a girlfriend who he at least liked when his bisexuality was still a secret to the wider public. He'd said there never would have been a relationship between them, just sex, but it still made Blaine feel more and more like Sebastian was way out of his league, and that he'd never like Blaine, but for some miraculous reason, he did.

"So where do we go from here?" Blaine sat up, knowing that the tag-line for the show was coming. Daley's lips curved into a smile that said he had heard that question numerous times, and always liked giving the answer.

"Turn right for the only safe civilisation – "Ghost-town" – and turn left for Hell…" The ominous silence that followed was broken by the sound of the rain and of a bird; a fat little yellow chick that was perched on the top of the bollard, chirping away brightly. The couple, normally so at odds, looked at each other with terrified looks. "Well," said Alistair, head tilting to the side and smirking even wider. "I say "Hell"…I really mean the unknown place to which many embark and never return, leaving us with only with their melody of agonised screams…If you can think of a better word for that then do tell, though I do appreciate the melodrama."

"So," began William in a quavering voice, moving to brush a hand through his hair but failing. "if we come with you we can get somewhere to live and stuff?"

"Live?" challenged Alistair, the scarlet eyebrows arching. Wendy shot her husband a scathing look.

"I don't think there's any "if" to it – is it far because I may be dead, but I am not walking for miles in these heels."

"Oh, how I detest the modern youths – you're on Satan's doorstep, you imbeciles, attain some perspective! And you're also dead, you are incapable of feeling pain, you blithering idiots! I am not staying to hear your whining; it's really very simple: turn right for Ghost-town, turn left for Hell…"

---

I have no idea why I agreed to come to this. This thing is dragging on for hours, and it is less interesting than any other sport that I have been unfortunate enough to watch. I thought that it would simply be rapid race after rapid race; I forgot to factor in heats…I was enthusiastic for about the first two races – and by that I mean first four heats – but then I realised that if I did that I was going to lose my voice, and that was not an option. We've qualified for each final, which is good, but I couldn't bring myself to be excited over that. Now the real races are going to be starting, but I fear that the fun has rather been sucked out of it all…

"Okay, here we go," Kurt jerked his head upright, eyeing the starting blocks, and noticed that Parker had taken up his camera, and that the display board said that it was the men's 200m breaststroke final. An expectant, well-practised hush fell over the stands, and Kurt watched as the Dalton swimmer got up onto his block, crouching down. Kurt bit down on the inside of his lip, crossing his fingers in the hope that they got off to a good start.

"On your marks…get set…"

The whistle sounded; sharp and shrill.

The six boys sprang from the blocks, as all the supporters sprang to their feet in relieved excitement, their bodies straightening out into streamlined positions, and they flew through the air for a little bit before slicing through the water and disappearing underwater. There were a couple of seconds in which the swimmers pulled themselves along before they broke through the surface one at a time in quick succession, and then their heads began to bob up and down as they swam.

"Come on, Harry!" roared Jeff, waving his arms in the air, and Kurt copied the action (the shouting, not the arm waving because that was incredibly undignified). The boys completed the first lap very quickly, though it was a hell of a lot slower than the other strokes, and were soon making a good time on the second. However, it was after the first 100 metres that things began to get interesting because the field had thinned out considerably. The green and gold hat of Carter Beard was pulling out in front with the black and orange hat of WeHeHaHi – Kurt had to admit that it was a good nickname – was on the guy's shoulder, and the white hat of Fowler and the blue and red Dalton hat were just behind that, neck and neck for third. The other two swimmers were straggling some way behind; the last guy a good 30 metres off the front of the pack, and Kurt couldn't help but feel bad for him, after all the other boys had finished: WeHeHaHi pipping CB at the last minute and Dalton stealing third, because everyone was staring at his scarlet face as he dragged himself down his lane. Kurt gave him an extra loud cheer as Harry patted his shoulder over the lane rope whilst the swimmer pulled off his goggles and shook his head in a dejected manner.

After about an hour and a half of swimming, it became clear that the competition was going to be won by WeHeHaHi, and that the real battle was going to be fought for second place, probably between Fowler and the combined forces of Dalton and Crawford (the other schools, excepting Garfield and the team that didn't look like they could win a race, were all mixed). Drew had won his two individual races effortlessly, Lottie had staged an impressive come back in the 800m freestyle to take gold, and had come second in her two other races, and Cat had won one and come third in the other. Keats had come fifth in his race, but, as Kurt had predicted, he still got warm applause and cheers from the home crowd just because.

The longer that the gala went on for, the more it became apparent that Crawford swim squad were, unfortunately, not quite up to the standard of the other girls, or maybe the others were just a lot better; the Fowler girls were much better than their male counterparts as was St Emily's. However, the Dalton boys were certainly doing their bit to try and catch up with WeHeHaHi; the most evenly balanced team, winning the medley relay and the 4x 100m freestyle one too, with the help of Keats. It was strange, but in the heat of the moment, in the middle of the competition, the enmity was gone: Keats was pulled out of the pool by Drew, who slapped him heartily on the back, and then got caught up in the group hug of jubilation after Drew came slamming in first.

Juri looked ridiculous when he climbed onto his starting block because he was so much shorter and thinner than the other competitors, who were all broad shouldered and muscular like Drew. The guys on the blocks either side of Juri – Fowler on the inside, and Thurnston on the outside – seemed quite amused by it, but all three of them appeared to be laughing as they got ready to dive so Kurt guessed that the whole thing was quite good natured. Those expressions died, though, as they got ready and the whistle blew, and they flew from the blocks.

For the first two laps, it looked like Juri had been a bad choice for the race because he was considerably behind the five other swimmers, but when they switched onto the backstroke lengths, he began to steadily gain on the others so that by the time they'd started swimming the freestyle, Juri was well up in contention. Kurt was screaming himself hoarse, trying to encourage their little guy to swim just that little bit faster, but he knew that his voice, which was fading from all the shouting and screaming and cheering, was lost completely in the wall of sound being generated by all the other supporters, and the yells of delight from the Dalton boys at Juri coming second was lost in the roars of the small contingent of William Henry Harrison High fans screamed in delight at their swimmer picking off Juri and the Fowler swimmer. Murphy punched Donovan's arm, causing him to yelp loudly, in victory. Juri looked completely exhausted, struggling to get out of the pool, but Drew was on hand to pull him out of the water, picking him up from under his armpits and then setting him down on the poolside.

However, the real piece of drama – frankly, the only, and it was unpleasant as hell for Kurt – occurred after Juri had placed fourth in the 200m IM, and Garfield had actually won a race or two as opposed to just lots of third and second places. It was the 100m freestyle final, and Keats had clambered onto the block on the outside lane nearest to them. Kurt saw the way Vince and the others on his left tensed. His other friends on his right seemed to take a moment to breathe, having cheered Juri and Drew as loud as possible; Chris and Fred going insane, and Kurt was so glad that Trinity were on the other end and Andy's problem as they went mental, before the inevitable wave of support that would rise from them because a Dalton boy was a Dalton boy.

The shrill whistle sounded once more, and Kurt jumped up with a yell, screaming Keats' name and encouraging his boyfriend to swim because this was his best race, and he remembered what Drew had said about how Christian, the Fowler boy in the white hat who had stormed the 50m race, and the CB student were up for first place so that meant Keats had to pip WeHeHaHi, Thurnston and Garfield for bronze.

He's doing an amazing job at it, too; the Thrunston guy is floundering in their dust, and I reckon the WeHeHaHi guy is going to fade out pretty soon…yeah, there he goes…bloody hell, that Christian guy is fast! He's pulling away: he's won that hands down. So, second goes to CB, and third place is looking like a good old Dalton-Garfield battle…well, one of them was bound to happen at one point…

"Yes!" screamed Kurt as Keats slammed his hand into the wall, only half a second before the Garfield swimmer. The Dalton and Crawford students roared in approval. Kurt found himself grinning uncontrollably as if Keats had won the race whilst his boyfriend pulled his goggles off and hailed the home fans with a huge smile. Kurt waved at him and blew him a kiss for good measure. Keats winked at him before he pushed himself up and out of the pool. The competitors were milling around like normal to congratulate each other, though Garfield and CB ones were scowling, and Kurt watched with a smile as Keats was patted on the back. Then they began to move towards where their teams were encamped.

That was when it happened. The Garfield guy spun around and punched him squarely in the face. Kurt barely had time to gasp or scream or react at all when he followed through with a swift uppercut under his chin. Keats' head arched backwards, and he fell backwards in an arc, head first, into the water with a large splash.

"Keats!" yelled Kurt, throwing himself forward until he slammed into the safety bar, arms reaching out uselessly to try and catch his boyfriend, who had vanished under water. Vince had sworn loudly and also started to his feet, joining him at the bar. However, before they could panic anymore or do anything else, there were two more splashes. Kurt blinked and noticed that both Drew and Lottie had dived into the pool. Kurt swallowed, feeling Flint's hand – or he presumed it was Flint's – curl into his shoulder, but a second later, Drew broke through the surface, Keats clasped against him. Kurt, whose heart was thudding incredibly fast, felt himself relax just a little as Drew turned onto his back, resting Keats' head against his shoulder, and Lottie raised the lane ropes to allow him to glide along the surface of the water, keeping Keats' head above the surface. Kurt clenched the metal bar as hard as he could because Keats' eyes were still closed, and he didn't really seem to be moving that much, although it was kind of hard to see because they were on the other side of the pool. The prefects were on hand though to help Lottie and Drew take him out of the water. He was lain down, and Kurt couldn't see what was happening. Vince was continually pounding against the bar, swearing, and Kurt waited, completely tense, along with the silent crowd, but then George turned around and gave them the thumbs up. Kurt let out a relieved laugh as Hammonds, who was fuming, stalked over towards the Garfield coach, and Kurt got a good view of Keats, lying on his side and coughing but obviously fine.

Kurt felt his entire body go limb at the sight of Keats' tiny smile as he coughed heavily, water dribbling over his lips, and he sagged against the bar, dropping his head and breathing heavily, trying to calm his thudding heart down. His head was spinning because this was Dalton – well, Crawford, but it was the same thing – and Keats could have been really badly hurt by that. If Drew and Lottie hadn't been so quick then he could have inhaled a lot of water and drowned.

"Parker," Kurt looked up at the sound of Norman's voice and saw that the prefect was standing before them. Parker was also at the bar, and Kurt, looking around, saw that Stuart was pale white, hand curled into Andy's sleeve. Trinity were frozen where they stood, halfway to the safety bar, clearly at a loss as to what to do. Flint had stood up, hand on Kurt's shoulder, and Jeff was sitting there, gaping. Chris was also on his feet, clearly having started up in the shock, and Fred was bent double, eyes wide and squinting below the bar.

"Here," said Parker, handing him the camera instantly. "I filmed the whole thing." The boy with the sliver scar running down his face gave them a twisted smile as he accepted it.

"He's fine. George is going to take him over to the clinic, and Hammonds is going berserk; he's going to get that kid for something." Kurt sighed in relief, giving Norman a faint smile. Vince's face relaxed, and Norman reached up to pat Kurt's fingertips before moving away. Kurt looked back over to see that Keats had had a blanket thrown over his shoulders, and the mousey haired prefect was leading him away towards the changing room. Kurt exhaled heavily and sat down. Vince huffed once and dropped down onto the bench.

"Well, that doesn't normally happen," commented Jeff, running a hand through his blonde hair.

"Normally," spat Vince. "unknowns don't steal the last respectable finishing spot." There was a moment of silence after that that was definitely quite tense.

"It could have been worse," offered Chris eventually, and Kurt looked at him with an arched eyebrow, demanding to know how it could be worse. He shrugged, defensively. "Well, I mean, if you consider Norman worse." Kurt frowned at him at that.

"Norman?" he asked in confusion. There was a moment in which the others all looked at each other, sharing that far too familiar "oh, he doesn't know about that?!" look before Jeff put his hands on his knees, ready to explain.

"Okay, so you know that we own the fencing competition?" Kurt nodded. "Before Blaine was here, the three fencing champs were Norman, Sebastian and Sam. In the meet that started the whole disaster thing with Sam, Norman got into the final against this Garfield guy; it was that guy that was homophobic to Sam when he beat him in the semis…anyway, Norman wins, and he takes off his mask and goes to shake this guy's hand. He refuses so Norman turns away to celebrate with his friends, but the guy calls him back, and Norman turned around, and he, like, flicked his foil-" Kurt gasped, eyes widening. "-and if Norman hadn't have reacted as fast as he did, he could have put his eye out 'cause there's this safety cap-button-thing on the end, but he took it off, and that's how he got the scar." Kurt nodded, swallowing and focusing his gaze back on the pool as normal races began to resume, feeling just that little bit more unsettled about Garfield.

I don't know if that's worse than what happened to Keats, but I have to admit that I am becoming increasingly nervous about these upcoming series of encounters with them, but more importantly: what if St Emily's play just as dirty? If we're the only team on the field playing fair at Regionals, what chance do we have of winning?

---

Kurt ran a hand through his hair as he stepped inside the warm porch of Franklin; Keats was fine – like, really please-stop-asking-me-if-I'm-okay-because-otherwise-I-will-kill-you fine – and Dalton and Crawford had come in third place, beating both CB and Garfield and knocking them back into fourth and fifth place respectively, but he didn't feel that great. Maybe it was just the tiredness, or the worry about what would happen at the lacrosse and football games and the cheerleading and gym regionals, but he was finding it hard to partake in the cheerful smiles that most of the boys were wearing, not to mention the happy high-fives and back slaps.

"Kurt!" Mac was hurrying down the stairs, gold ringlets distinctly messy and tangled, and Kurt felt the frown fall onto his face and hurried towards the harassed looking prefect.

"Mac, everything okay?" Mac shook his head, sighing heavily.

"This flu thingy is getting worse. How are you feeling?" Kurt blinked, shrugging because he didn't think he was feeling ill or anything; he hoped he didn't look it.

"Fine, I think…"

"Excellent," he commented, clapping his hands together, and it was at that moment that Kurt, glancing around to take in the common room more carefully, noticed that Thad was in the kitchen, clearly halfway making an industrial sized batch of soup if the amount of ingredients and the size of the pots were anything to go by.

"What's going on?" Mac sighed.

"Okay so a load more people are sick, which includes Juri, erm, which is bad because he doesn't normally get sick here, and Daley, which is even worse for reasons that are complicated, and also- no wait, ignore that – well don't ignore it, but the one I wanted to tell you about was Blaine." Kurt frowned in alarm.

"Is he okay?"

"Well, no, he's sick, and because Thad is the resident chef, I was wondering if you could look after him because Chris is looking after Juri, and, as previously said, Thad is cooking." The dark haired boy looked around, clearly registering the sound of his name, and Mac shot him a smile, and Kurt raised a hand to give him a feeble wave. Thad blinked in confusion and then turned back around. Kurt and Mac both snorted, quietly, at the totally baffled look on his face.

"Um," said Kurt, raking a hand through his hair. "of course I can look after Blaine…except when I have to go to cheerleading." Mac shook his head, waving it away.

"Oh that's fine, there's lots of us, but I have to warn you-" he said, catching Kurt's arm lightly. "-Blaine's been through some traumatic crap, as I'm sure you know, and when he gets sick, it sometimes hits him pretty hard; sometimes because it reminds him of how it feels; sometimes because he's feverish and his mind's taking him on a terrifying trip; sometimes both…That's why I really want you to be looking after him most." Kurt nodded, grave expression on his face as he swallowed down a feeling of sickness. "Well, I say "I" want you to look after Blaine; you're one of the few people Sebastian, sick as he is, agreed to." Kurt couldn't help his eyebrows arch a little, surprised that Sebastian agreed to him given how much he seemed to despise him, and couldn't help but feel a little bit glad at that, pointlessly.

"Okay," he said, nodding. "okay, I think I'm up to that – I looked after my dad when he was recovering from his heart attack, so I think I can handle this." Mac shot him an appreciative smile, releasing his arm.

"Good, and thanks…" he shook his head. "Now that Sebastian's primary carers are sick, it's up to us…" Kurt pulled a sympathetic expression, feeling like he'd lucked out with Blaine given that Sebastian seemed to be a horrible patient. Mac rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I've handed him over to Alan for now given that there's about six other boys that are really sick and need care…Including, Cam…" he rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell, I hope that Morrison doesn't get sick…then what are we going to do?" Mac shook his head.

"Okay, is Blaine in his room?" Mac blinked, clearly stuck in his problems of being in charge of the house, and then nodded. Kurt shot him a smile and moved past him, jogging up the stairs, and then pushed open the door of Blaine's room. Blaine was slumped in bed, breathing heavily, and Kurt walked over to him, smiling as Blaine's head rolled to look at him. "Hey," he said, bending over by his bed. "how you feeling?" Blaine coughed, weakly, with a plaintive expression on his face, snuffling and breathing in a raspy manner.

"Like *cough* *cough* fucking shit! Stupid Bastian…" he slurred, and Kurt snorted at that, smiling.

"Yeah, let's keep that a secret. Is there anything I can get you?" Blaine coughed, shaking his head.

"No…unless you have a miracle cure?" he questioned, coughing some more. Kurt shook his head, pulling an apologetic, regretful expression.

"Sorry, I'm all out of magical flu remedies." Blaine groaned, putting a hand against his forehead, and Kurt patted his shoulder, trying to ignore the twists in his heart that said it was painful to see Blaine sick. Blaine caught his hand with his clammy one, looking at him through narrowed eyes. Kurt squeezed his hand, waiting for Blaine to find the breath and strength to speak.

"Do you *cough* *cough* know something?" Kurt arched an eyebrow, not entirely sure what that question was meant to mean.

"Yes, I'm pretty sure that I know things." Blaine laughed, but then choked on it, beginning to cough hard. Kurt could tell that he was struggling to breathe, and Kurt quickly pulled him up right and propped him against the headboard, reclaiming his hand and dashing into the bathroom, spotting a soap dish that would have to work as a bucket, and then ran back to Blaine, sticking it under him so that he could hack up some phlegm. "It's okay, you're okay," he said, reaching over and squeezing Blaine's shoulder comfortingly as he choked, and Kurt could see that he was dangerously close to tears. "You're going to be fine," he whispered, reassuring, rubbing his back comfortingly.

"Sorry…" breathed Blaine, leaning back against the headboard. Kurt gave him a smile that said he was fine, putting the dish to the side and walking over to Thad's bed, robbing him of his pillows and then sticking them behind Blaine.

"Just calm down," he said, reaching up and wiping away the tears that were trickling down his face. "you're fine." Blaine sniffed heavily, rubbing his face weakly.

"I hate being ill…" he whispered. Kurt took his hands carefully in his own, squeezing gently to let him know that he wasn't alone. "Last time I was really ill *cough* *cough* I tried to…" he trailed off, closing his eyes, tears sliding down. "I- *cough* *cough* *cough* it's so painful…" Kurt rubbed his shoulder sympathetically.

"I know," he said, giving him a reassuring smile. "I know, believe me…I lost my mum to cancer, Blaine, and my dad had a heart attack, and he's not healthy…and every little cold sets my heartbeat racing." He reached over and put a hand on Blaine's cheek as Blaine stared at him through his watering eyes. "But you're going to be fine, and nothing bad is going to happen to you because I'm going to be looking after you, and you're at Dalton, and every boy in this house will look after you." Blaine gave him a small smile.

"You know lots of things," he murmured, coughing, and Kurt shot him a smile.

"I know." Blaine gave a weak laugh, and Kurt got up. "Now, I'm going to find more pillows, and I'll get my pyjamas because I am stealing that bed, and if you need to get me in the night then just wake me, and if I'm sleeping through you then you can…" he trailed off, glancing around the room before spotting a couple of bouncy balls on Thad's bedside table. "you can pelt me with these." He said, picking them up and popping them down by the dish.

"Okay…" muttered Blaine, closing his eyes, and Kurt shot him a final smile before he walked out of the room, hurriedly collecting some more pillows and some of his personal effects before he walked back to Blaine's room. He smiled when he saw that the black haired Warbler was dozing slightly. He threw down his things onto Thad's bed and walked over to Blaine, tucking him in with a tender smile on his face.

Why did I agree to this? Everything that I'm doing, I'm just doing without thought, but now that I have time to reflect, it feels like everything is…I don't even know the word they just feel…"romantic", or maybe desperate even though I have a boyfriend…Eurgh, I need to sleep, I can think about that later…

---

Kurt rubbed a hand over his eye, questioning why he had agreed to look after Blaine again. As it was, Kurt was exhausted, but after a night of looking after a sick Blaine, he was beyond fatigued because Blaine had woken up at sporadic intervals, coughing heavily, struggling to breathe and close to vomiting. Kurt had had to hold his hand and assure him that he was, in fact, not about to die because he really just had a bad case of flu at the moment. Kurt had almost consistently failed to get any sleep between those periods so he wasn't actually sure how he was still standing. At least Blaine had seemed to have fallen into some kind of slumber that he didn't appear to be waking from any time soon.

"How many hours did you get?" Kurt blinked and turned around, noting that Morrison was standing at the top of the steps, holding a steaming mug of what Kurt knew had to be coffee. He rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Uh…three hours?" he guessed.

"Lucky," he commented. Kurt arched his eyebrows, and Morrison took a big gulp and winced. "I got about one. Daley being ill…" he trailed off, rubbing his eyes. "I get the impression I'm going to be living here…which is exactly what we're all trying to avoid unless Mrs Daniels finds out." He rubbed his eyes once more, and Kurt gave him a small, sympathetic smile. "I thought I'd be used to it, but I'm not…" he sighed. Kurt frowned.

"Daley gets sick often?" he asked, wondering whether he knew that and was just too tired to remember, or if this was the kind of gossip that got hushed up like lots of stuff to do with Daley. Morrison stared at him blankly for a moment before he slapped himself on the forehead.

"Right, yeah, don't watch Turn Left for Hell, but the long of the short is that a load of it is ironic; they drive a yellow car, there's a fucking little chick singing just after they die, and one of things is that it's always sunny, or almost always. However, when Daley arrived on set it began to pour with rain so, eventually, they just decided that they couldn't postpone filming anymore, and it is now a long running joke that it perpetually rains when Daley arrives in shot, and-"

"That makes him sick a lot," finished Kurt, rolling his eyes and smiling a little at the ridiculousness of that. Morrison nodded, shaking his head as he gave a dry, sleep roughened chuckle.

"Yeah, a lot. I mean, one time Daley got sick, and he passed it on to QT and Cam, and I was literally the only one around to take care of them." Kurt winced. "Daley's a bad patient, but only in the sense that he doesn't want to be looked after or anything so he's frustrating, but on the whole he's manageable. Cam just gets bored and restless, and he's had worse illnesses so he's also frustrating but manageable. QT on the other hand…I was on QT's beck and call for one week! If Harper hadn't appeared at the end of that I honest to God would have slaughtered them!" He paused to drain the rest of the coffee whilst Kurt winced again and yawned. "Anyway, you should go get coffee, and I should go back in there." He jerked his head at the door. Kurt nodded, yawning.

"See you," he commented, shuffling down the corridor and exceedingly glad that it was a Saturday so that he didn't have to do anything…except work and do cheerleading.

Fuck that…

He reached the bottom of the stairs and saw that Thad had face planted into one of the sofas and was apparently fast asleep. Kurt rolled his eyes at the sight, smiling a little, and turned into the kitchen, which was a complete mess, and grabbed one of the mugs of coffee that was sitting, readymade, on the counter. He also grabbed the thermos marked "Blaine" and unscrewed it, seeing weak soup, and then made his way back towards the stairs. He was halfway up them when the door to his room opened, and Chris stumbled out, dragging a rather hurt looking Daniel with him and looking like he hadn't had anywhere near enough sleep, or caffeine, to be dealing with a member of Trinity.

"Kurt," whinged Daniel as Kurt got to the top of the stairs and the two other Juniors spotted him. "tell him that I can help look after Juri." Kurt stared at him through sleep hooded eyes, demanding to know whether he thought Kurt was insane and/or stupid. Daniel pouted. "But I wanna help!" Kurt shook his head, drinking some of the coffee and trying to remain patient and understanding.

"The problem is that they need rest, and I'm pretty sure you guys suffer from ADHD of some sort so just…" he gestured weakly with the thermos, trying his best to find something that was inoffensive to say and would spare Daniel's feelings. "just…tone down the crazy, okay? Give them some peace and quiet," he said, finally, yawning widely. Daniel pouted some more but nodded in a defeated manner. Chris patted his shoulder.

"Just go hang out with Heel and Peel, and do whatever it is you do when no one else is around." Daniel remained rooted to the spot for a moment before nodding, breaking out into a grin and then bounding down the stairs, yelling a goodbye to them. Chris groaned and pinched his forehead. Kurt shot him a sympathetic look.

"There's lots of coffee downstairs." Chris smiled weakly.

"Great…" he shook his head. "we're so screwed!" Kurt blinked and shot him a mildly confused look, not entirely sure what he was talking about. "I think Trinity were the only people that got a decent night sleep…" Kurt groaned loudly, tilting his head back in dread.

"Oh god…" Chris grunted in agreement, and Kurt shot him a feeble smile before they both decided they had other places they had to be, and Chris went down the stairs in search of coffee, and Kurt went back into Blaine's room and saw that the dark haired boy was still asleep. Kurt put down the thermos on Blaine's bedside and then rested his hand against Blaine's forehead – it was scorching. Running a hand through his own hair, Kurt retreated back to Thad's bed and sat down, sipping on the coffee and trying not to worry about everything.

About five minutes later, Kurt could hear the sounds of the general population of the house waking up and let out an exasperated sigh because there went his chances of getting back to sleep. Blaine rolled over in his bed, entangling his legs further in the blanket. Kurt tensed, hand freezing so that the mug hung in the air before his mouth, but Blaine simply mumbled something to himself and then carried on sleeping. Kurt sighed again and leant back against the wall, shutting his eyes.

Not long after that, the door opened, and Thad stumbled in. His eyes were almost glued shut from sleep, and it took him several minutes to notice Kurt because he made a beeline for Blaine, taking his temperature and tucking him back in, and then turned towards the wardrobe. It was after he'd taken out some clothes and shut the doors, and Kurt was beginning to wonder whether he should clear his throat to announce his presence or something, that he spotted Kurt and started in shock. Kurt gave him a small smile.

"Hey."

"Hi…how's Blaine?" Kurt shrugged, sipping the coffee.

"Asleep, currently; sick otherwise." Thad nodded, narrowing his eyes.

"You'll sssleep in here?" he questioned, and Kurt nodded, pulling an apologetic expression.

"Sorry, but Chris is in my room so…" Thad shook his head waving it away before rubbing his eyes and prising them open a little bit more.

"No, that's fine."

"I'm sure you can sleep in Chris' bed if you wanted to," he offered, even though he was mentally wincing at the thought of sharing a room with Daniel. Thad nodded in absentminded fashion, clearly not clocking what that meant, until he froze, staring at Kurt with widening eyes.

"Err…no, I think the sofa's good." Kurt snorted, smiling slightly.

"Yeah, good choice." Thad ran a hand through his hair.

"Can I use the sshower?" Kurt gave him a look that questioned his apparently considerable intelligence.

"It's still your room," he pointed out, when Thad had stared blankly back at him.

"Right," he commented, nodding. "yeah…see you." And with that, he walked into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind him. Kurt raised the coffee cup back to his lips and drank down the last dregs, shaking his head in mild amusement at Blaine's roommate.

---

For the rest of the morning, Blaine mostly slept. He woke up three times, and Kurt managed to force some soup down his throat, though half of it did come back up which was incredibly unpleasant for both of them and made Kurt wish he hadn't fed him anything given that there was now vomit all over his Marc Jacobs'…though why he had thought it was a good idea to wear that when tending to a sick person he'd never know.

Furthermore, the exact moment Kurt had had his hand down the front of Blaine's top to apply more vapour-rub to his congested chest, was also the exact moment David, Nick, Jeff and Flint had decided to come and see how Blaine, who had mercifully been conked out, was doing. Kurt had gone crimson, and his cheeks had been burning, in embarrassment and humiliation, not to mention at the suggestive, evil, knowing looks that he'd gotten. He'd been tempted to throw the tub at Nick's head, but he didn't want to incur the wrath of Drew for injuring another one of his lacrosse players so he'd refrained and instead promised swift and painful death in the middle of the night where there were no witnesses if they didn't leave. They'd all looked suitably terrified at that prospect and had immediately dashed from the room to go bother someone else.

The rest of the time, though, Kurt had attempted to crack on with his homework and had discovered that the one benefit of looking after Blaine was the fact that Thad had left all his work scattered all over the room, and, when he had been able to decipher what it said, and it was relevant, Kurt had managed to scrounge several answers from the part-academic scholar. However, it was definitely cheating done the hard way, and so he liked to think that he'd done all of his History and English due to his own prowess. That was the reason he was embarking on his Biology with a whole hour and a half before cheerleading.

Kurt was halfway through explaining how the dog on the worksheet could be cloned when the first sign came that Blaine might not be as okay as Kurt thought he was. Kurt had been writing how the cell had to be stimulated by electricity when Blaine let out this low moan. Kurt's head had jerked up and saw that Blaine's whole face had scrunched up, and his hands had balled into the blanket. He moaned again, and Kurt was on his feet in an instant, sending paper, textbook and pens flying onto the floor, because he really sounded like he was in pain. He grabbed the thermometer off the bedside table and prised Blaine's mouth open, sticking it inside, waiting nervously whilst gnawing on his bottom lip because he just sort of knew that Blaine probably wasn't feeling worse; it was a mental thing.

The thermometer beeped, and Kurt hurriedly pulled it out and saw that, as he'd expected, Blaine's fever was at exactly the same temperature as it had been before, and that, for a sick person with flu, it wasn't that high – more borderline, really. Rubbing a hand over his mouth and setting down the thermometer, Kurt pondered what he should do. Blaine seemed to have gone quiet again, his face slackening ever so slightly even though his hands were still clenched into fists. Kurt didn't know if he should wake him, or continue to let him sleep: it would definitely be better for his physical health if he slept as much as he could, but if it was a nightmare of sorts then it would probably be best for Kurt to wake him…

After a minute or two of standing, indecisively, by Blaine's bed, and nothing more happening, Kurt decided that he might as well leave Blaine be – whatever had been bothering him seemed to have passed off – and get back to his homework. He collected all his things off the floor and sat back down on Thad's bed, uncapping his pen and picking up where he'd left off; this induces mitosis so that it develops into an embryo.

Kurt had moved onto the wonderfully fascinating – not – world of Mendelianinheritance (Kurt could seriously not believe that that guy had genuinely had so little to do in his life than he had hand pollinated thousands of pea plants! Sure, he was a monk, but didn't that mean he had to be praying and doing monk-y things as opposed to experimenting on pea plants!) and Punnett squares when Blaine stirred again. He let out another moan that was then followed by several gasps as he apparently began to hyperventilate in his sleep – or, at least, he tried to; his airways were blocked so it made the whole thing very raspy and heavy.

This time, Kurt decided it that it was definitely in Blaine's best interest to wake him up, so he carefully crouched down by the side of Blaine's bed and shook his shoulder as gently as possible as Blaine began to writhe and kick in his sleep, twisting himself up in his blankets and moaning.

"Blaine!" he hissed, shaking his shoulder some more. "Come on, Blaine, wake up. Wake up!" Blaine began to mumble, his movements becoming more frantic as he apparently got trapped in the throes of a nightmare, and Kurt knew that this was going somewhere very bad unless he woke him up and so clamped his hand, hard, into Blaine's shoulder and shook him roughly, yelling his name. Blaine twisted, voice rising from a mutter so that Kurt could hear that he was talking about spiders, and then jerked awake with a piercing scream.

"Get off me!" he cried, writhing in Kurt's grasp, and pushed him surprisingly hard for a sick person. Kurt fell backwards in shock as Blaine began to scramble around in his better, trying to get the covers off of him and still muttering to himself about spiders.

"Blaine," said Kurt, getting to his feet very slowly. "Blaine, it's-"

The door banged open, and Blaine yelled in shock, hands going up over his head and curling into a ball. Chris had appeared in the doorway, eyes wide with shock, and Mac just behind his shoulder. There was a moment of stunned silence that was punctuated by the sound of Blaine's crying whilst his whole body trembled. Kurt held up his hands and made a shooing motion with them, telling Chris and Mac to leave them. Mac looked at Chris, who looked very hard at Kurt before nodding. The two of them left the room, closing the door as quietly as they could.

"Blaine," said Kurt, softly, crouching down by the crying boy and putting a hand on his shoulder. Blaine flinched at the contact, something that stabbed somewhere in the vicinity of his heart and gut, but made no move to uncurl. "it's just me; Kurt…I'm not going to hurt you; I'd wager that you're stronger than me with the Football, football and fight club…and Warblers too. So come on, Blaine, let's get you sat up." Blaine unfolded himself, and Kurt gave him and easy smile as he felt him trembling. Blaine sniffed, eyes watering, and Kurt slid onto the bed next to him and opened up his arms. Blaine gave him a tremulous smile and slipped gratefully into his arms. Kurt held him gently, rubbing his shaking back, whilst Blaine pressed his face into his shoulder. Kurt kept Blaine pressed against him, even though he was sweaty and clammy and sick, whilst the feverish boy shook, making hushing noises.

"Apples," muttered Blaine, and Kurt drew back, noticing the sheen of sweat that coated his face, the glazed look in his eyes that said he wasn't quite with it and the way his chest rose and fell heavily, and frowned.

"Apples?" he questioned, frowning some more and wondering what he was talking about. Blaine nodded seriously, and Kurt set up the pillows and leant him back against them.

"The story about the apples and the two boys," Kurt felt his brow wrinkle up even more, not sure what the story was.

"I'm not sure what story this is that you're talking about," he said, and Blaine's eyes filled with tears, bottom lip trembling before he broke down into some more coughs. Kurt could tell that his lack of knowledge about the story was upsetting him so he cast his mind around for a solution. "Why don't you tell me the story?" he suggested. Blaine frowned, coughing some more.

"I *cough* *cough* don't know…I've never told it before." Kurt smiled slightly to assure him.

"You can do it," he said, smiling as Blaine coughed and wheezed. "I need to hear this story." Blaine sniffed, and Kurt wiped his forehead and gave him another smile.

"Okay; it's a two person story, but I'll have to do both parts." Kurt nodded and leant against the headboard next to Blaine, looking at him with a fond, curious smile on his face. "Once upon a time there were two boys in an apple yard. One of them was tall and strong whilst the other was small and fast. Every day they picked apples. The tall one would pluck them from the branches whilst the small one ran around and caught them in a wicker basket. When the day ended they'd walk up the hill and then down the hill and then up the hill and down the hill and then up the mountain and down the mountain and then up the mountain and down the mountain until they arrived by a lake. The tall one would jump into the lake and the small one would jump onto his hands and then across with the apples. He'd pull the tall one onto the bank and they'd walk through the dark forest. There was a path and they stayed on it, putting one foot in front of the other. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. When they were halfway through the woods an old hag appeared. Boo! Every day and she asked the children; Oh won't you come with me? And the children said; Not on our lives. So the witch asked; Would you like some cookies? And the children replied; Not on our lives; And so the witch, who was beyond desperate, said; Are you afraid of me? And the children turned their noses up and shouted; NOT ON OUR LIVES! And they danced around her and back down the path putting on foot in front of the other. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. When they made their way out of the woods they came to a field of corn. They had to run through it in a zig-zag pattern because of the farmers who hated the children because they thought they were stealing corn but they weren't because they were both honest and hardworking. They dodged the farmers who brandished their pitchforks and yelled; GET OFF OF ME CORN! They didn't drop a single apple and soon they were home and dry. A long field of low cut grass lay before them and they ran as fast as they could. They were evenly matched as the taller one had longer legs but the smaller one was faster. They burst through the door at the same time. Their mother was baking apple pie from the apples that they had picked the day before. She turned to them with a wide smile and the smell of apple pie and clematis. Both boys opened their mouths and shouted at the same time; I LOVE YOU! And she said back to them that I love you more."

Kurt sniffed at the end of Blaine's story, which had been interjected here and there by coughs and sniffles, finding that tears had filled his eyes and wetted the corners of them, because he knew where that story had to have come from, and who the two boys were, and he understood why Blaine was crying, bottom lip trembling and looking nothing short of utterly wrecked.

"Your mum sounds like a wonderful story teller," he said, looking at Blaine with a soft smile. "not to mention her prophetic powers. I mean, how did she know that Cooper would grow up tall and strong, and you'd be small and fast?" Blaine made a choked noise, nodding in agreement.

"I miss my mummy," he whispered, beginning to cry in earnest, and Kurt wrapped his arms around him, holding him close and allowing Blaine to cry into his chest because he understood that whilst Blaine was sick, he was clearly a little bit spaced out, and if he was reminded off his attempted suicide, then he was going to be in a severely disturbed mental state – it was completely normal for someone in that situation to want their mum. Blaine's need for his mother was likely exacerbated by the fact that she'd abandoned him and his brother, who, from what Kurt could divine, was not exactly a brilliant brother, with their severe, disapproving, homophobic father. Besides, to say that Blaine had been damaged by all the things he'd been through would be a gross understatement. Of course, Blaine wanted the one figure in his life that was supposed to love him unconditionally.

"I know," he said, rubbing Blaine's back because – God! – he knew that feeling of aching desire for his mum. "I know exactly how you feel," he soothed as Blaine continued to cry, and cough, into Kurt's shirt. After a while of just crying, he began to talk – or, rather, babble – about his mother. Kurt didn't get all of what Blaine was saying what with the crying and coughing and the raspy tone to his voice etcetera etcetera, but what he mainly got from it was something about apples and clematis, which he got because that was what his mum had smelt of, and Kurt always found the smell of his mum comforting when he missed her and felt empty and lonely.

I had no idea how badly the loss of his mum affected Blaine. I mean, I know how awful it feels, but I also know that Blaine is very close to Emily and sees her, in some ways, as a replacement, and that he would rely on her over his actual parents. I wish there was something that I could do to help him, but I'm not sure if there is…or is there? Maybe he'd feel better if he had the scarf so I could give that back, but would he accept that? No, I doubt it: Blaine is too noble and self-sacrificing. However, if I were to make a replacement – Dalton will have any fabric I require, that I'm sure of – that maybe reminds him of his mother; apples or clematis related most likely, then that would work…especially if it were red…Oh…

---

Blaine peeled his eyes open, becoming aware of how ridiculously hot he felt and how much his head ached, and blinked dozily. Everything felt heavy, and his nose was stuffed up. However, he didn't feel feverish or anywhere near as bad as he'd felt on the weekend. He looked down and saw that he'd cocooned himself – or maybe Kurt had done that (Kurt had been looking after him, right?) – in an insane amount of blankets. There had to be three of them plus a comforter, and though it was January, that was too much.

With a sweaty hand, Blaine pulled off the top three layers and then collapsed back against his pillows. His throat felt kind of sore, but other than that, now that he was no longer drowning in blankets, he felt so much better. He hoped that Sebastian was feeling as good as he was. After all, the lacrosse game was- was today! He sat bolt upright, and the world spun. Blaine fisted his hands into the blankets to steady himself and then supposed that that was to be expected given that he had only eaten weak soup for the past two days. He turned to face the room, wondering whether he could get out of bed, and then spotted that there was a plate of apple slices, a clear glass that was filled with apple juice and a thermos that was labelled;

Sorry, no apples in this, but it's more of Thad's soup – stronger, though, because your fever went down over night! – Kurt

Blaine felt a smile break out across his face at the sight with another glass filled with water with a sprig of clematis sitting in it. He then remembered Saturday, and the emotional breakdown in Kurt's arms in which the gaping hole in his heart that his mum's absence had seemingly widened into a bottomless cavern. He leant back against his pillow, taking the plate of apple slices with him, and it was at that moment that he noticed there was something else lying next to him on the pillow. He frowned, setting the plate onto his lap, and picked up the red cushion. Tilting his head to the side as he did so, Blaine realised that it was actually an apple with two little brown legs, two brown arms and a brown stalk coming out of the top of his head complete with little green leaf along with a brown-stitch nose and smile and two hazel eyes.

Blaine felt a grin burst across his face at the sight of it, somehow feeling immeasurably better just because of Kurt's one small action to make this, especially comforted by the fact that it was the exact same red as his scarf had been, and it was soft too. He couldn't believe Kurt would do that just to make him feel better because it had to have taken a lot of effort and time, and Kurt was so busy with cheerleading and work and everything!

Blaine took his time eating the food that Kurt had left him, not wanting to rush and make himself throw up again, and even though he was itching to get up and see how Sebastian was, he also stayed in bed, knowing that that was his best chance of going to the lacrosse game that evening. He kept the little apple-cushion thing tucked next to him, and every time he looked at it, he got a stupid on his face because it was so cute, and Kurt had made it for him, and it had a little leaf and everything!

Kurt walked into the room when Blaine had finished all the food and drink, and Blaine shot him a wide beam that made him start and do a double take. Blaine's grin slipped, though, when Kurt came further into the room, and Blaine got to inspect his appearance; he had large bags and he was so pale and tired looking, and Blaine had done that to him because screwing other people up was what he did!

"Blaine, I'm fine," commented Kurt, tiredly, dropping down onto Thad's bed and raking a hand through his hair and pulling his scarf – Blaine's old one, and the sight of Kurt wearing it always made him smile – from around his neck. "really. Taking care of you has not made me look like this." Blaine stared at him flatly, trying to resist the urge to sniff or rub his forehead because his head was pounding because he needed to appear well and completely fine. "Well, maybe a little, but it wasn't that bad." Blaine sighed, knowing that he wasn't going to get anywhere with that argument.

"Thanks for the apples," Kurt shrugged with a smile. "and this guy…" he said, picking up the apple. "Do you think I should name it?" Kurt's eyes widened, cheeks reddening.

"Shit! I left that on your bed! I- no, Blaine I- give it back."

"Why?" asked Blaine, holding onto it, narrowing his eyes. "You made it for me, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, but you weren't meant to-" Kurt was blushing hard, and he could barely articulate, and that was when it hit Blaine what was going on. He laughed a little.

"Kurt, I love it; don't be embarrassed 'cause this is awesome!" Kurt faltered, still scarlet faced, and Blaine knew that he had won. Kurt bit down on his bottom lip before scowling, heaving a huge sigh, and then shot Blaine a rueful smile that Blaine returned heartily. Kurt flopped down on the bed next to Blaine, and Blaine grinned at him whilst Kurt pulled out a face that said he was thinking hard.

"Do you want to talk about your mum?" he asked, eventually, arching his eyebrows, and Blaine felt his heart skip a beat for some reason, something plunging in his gut because his good mood had just been sucked out from him. He swallowed, face falling, and turned it over in his mind. He knew that he had to talk about it because it was pressing down on him, and Kurt was the best person to do that with, but he was hesitant. "You don't have to if you don't want to," added Kurt, putting a hand on his shoulder. Blaine shook his head, swallowing and putting the apple down in his lap.

"No, I do…I think I need to, but I don't know…" he shook his head, leaning back and avoiding Kurt's gaze, biting down on the inside of his lip. "It's just- mum's been living with Cooper since August, and she didn't want to tell me…she didn't once ask to talk to me in all that time!" he could feel his eyes burning, and he rubbed his aching head as Kurt's hand clamped down onto his shoulder. "It just hurts that she'll talk to Cooper; she'll live with him, but won't have anything to do with me…and I know that I decided I don't want to talk to her at the moment, but that's because I don't understand why she wouldn't want me, and Emily…Emily doesn't ever presume to…you know? But I think I love her more than mum, and I feel like that's a totally horrible thing to do because, I mean, my mum's alive, and I'm shunning her, and that's so selfish because, I mean, you lost your mum, and you can't ever see her again, but I can…"

He pressed his hands over his eyes, beginning to cry, because why was this so hard and so painful? He could feel nothing but pain whichever way he looked at this because he didn't want to push his mum away, but he didn't want to do that to Emily either, which was what Cooper seemed to think he would need to do, because she was there, and she loved him, and it just hurt so much! And he was so selfish because he was sitting here crying because he might have two mums when Kurt had lost his, and he might love his step-mum, but he knew that he'd never replace his mum with her!

"Blaine," hushed Kurt, wrapping him up in another hug and resting his chin on top of Blaine's head, and Blaine sniffed, trying to pull it together but failing hopelessly. "Blaine, it's okay. It's okay…" Blaine leant into Kurt and tried really hard to believe in that, but he couldn't because he just couldn't see how that could be the case. "You know, I know how it feels to lose a mum; I know how much pain you're in, and don't say that it's not as bad for you because your mum is alive because I think that makes it worse. I mean, I know how it feels to lose her, but I don't know how it feels to have a parent walk away from you and leave you on purpose. Blaine, this isn't your fault, and this isn't on you. If anyone should be feeling bad, it's your mum because she chose to leave you behind, and not to talk to you, and it's okay for you to not want to talk to her because of that. Blaine," said Kurt, turning his shoulders around so that he was facing him, and Blaine reluctantly peeled his hands away from his tearstained face to look at his friend. "it's okay to love Emily because from what I've heard, she's the one that loves you, and if she's there and giving you what you need and deserve then take it. Who cares who is technically your "mum" – care about the one that loves you the most. Your mum might have loved you when you were a little kid, but she's not shown you the love when you needed her the most." Kurt put a comforting hand on his cheek, and Blaine sniffed and smiled at him. "Emily has, hasn't she? I mean, wasn't she the only one that was there?" Blaine nodded, swallowing.

"Yeah, as much as she could…I mean, Anna and Meg were scared shitless by the whole rock-smashing-the-front-windows-toy-spiders-sometimes-real-ones." He saw Kurt's expression had become shocked and remembered that Kurt only knew bits and pieces of the whole story – someday, Blaine needed to sit down and just tell him everything…not today, though. "I mean, it traumatised them, and they were so little, and I felt so guilty that I locked myself in my room, but she tried…" he felt the tears water in his eyes, remembering when he'd woken up. Kurt nodded in understanding, taking his hand from his cheek so that he could clamp them both onto his shoulders, and Blaine felt better for having the pressure exerted on them.

"Then she's a good mum for you, and if you and your mum can resolve your issues then that's great! You can have two mums, and if she doesn't like that then that's her problem, not yours…I'd say that's your problem, Blaine; you take everything on as your burden to bear alone, it's not." Blaine swallowed, staring into his honest, serious, azure eyes, and then managed to give him a small smile.

"Thanks," he said, swallowing again and sniffing. "um, yeah…just thanks for looking after me…" Kurt shrugged, pulling a face.

"I didn't really have a choice; Mac came up to me after the swimming meet and told me that Sebastian agreed to me looking after you." Blaine snorted a little, rolling his eyes at his boyfriend's ways of looking after him.

"How did that gala go?" he asked. Kurt sat back, taking his hands off Blaine's shoulders.

"Okay, we came third…" he pursed his lips, and Blaine tilted his head to the side, questioning what he wasn't telling him. "Some Garfield jerk punched Keats in the face, twice, and he fell backwards into the pool and just sort of sank." Blaine gasped, feeling himself become concerned despite his normal feelings to Keats, because that could have serious consequences. "He was okay; Drew and Lottie dived in to save him." Blaine sat back in relief at that. Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Not surprised that the two heroes of the hour were two people firmly on your side of the argument?" Blaine shot him his best condescending look given that he felt grotty and ill.

"Lottie's super nice, for one, so she'd never let that happen to anyone, and she never really got too bogged down in that whole thing anyway, and as for Drew…well, Drew's really nice too, and he's not going to let someone get hurt on his watch, not to mention he's the captain of the squad so it would be on him." Kurt nodded, eyebrows flickering slightly.

"True…especially about Lottie, but he was fine, and Parker caught the whole thing on camera, and Hammonds has gotten him a suspension, or something that was surprisingly severe." Blaine smirked, nodding in satisfaction and agreement because that was much better than he would have expected.

"How's Bastian? Is he playing?" Kurt nodded, shooting Blaine a small smile that he couldn't quite read. "What?" Kurt smirked at that, and Blaine frowned at him in confusion.

"I'm surprised that it took you so long to ask," he stated, and Blaine rolled his eyes slightly. "but, yes, he's playing – he went to lessons today. He's still looks pretty crap, and I think that all Senior Franklins want to murder him after the game, and Cam bounced straight back into good health after, like, one night, which was weird, and both Daley and Juri are up and about too." Blaine's eyes widened.

"Daley got sick?" he demanded. "How was he?" Kurt shrugged, looking a little alarmed by Blaine's wide eyes and intensely worried expression.

"From what Morrison, and Cam, have said, he's doing alright and wants people to stop asking him if he is alright." Blaine rolled his eyes, leaning back on his pillows.

"Right, yeah…of course, Juri's fine, and Cam's weird like that with illness from what I've heard." He rubbed his forehead and then shot him a winning smile that said he was fine. "So…lacrosse game…" Kurt rolled his eyes, and Blaine pulled out his best puppy dog eyes. "Please," he begged. Kurt sighed and chewed on the inside of his lip.

"Well, I'm not really sure it's my call, but…your fever has gone down so I suppose that if you make it through the afternoon lessons then you can go, but if Sebastian or any of the prefects say no then I'm not going to defend you." Blaine shot him a grateful smile because he would make it through those lessons, and he now knew that he had the potential to manipulate Sebastian so he could win that battle, and threw his arms around Kurt, hugging him tightly and so grateful for everything he'd done for him during his illness.

"Thanks so much!" he said, squeezing Kurt as hard as his tired arms would allow.

"I haven't done anything," commented Kurt, and Blaine withdrew, staring at him with wide eyes that demanded to know whether Kurt was insane and/or stupid.

"Kurt, you stayed with me whilst I was sick and threw up and cried all over you, and you got me food and flowers that I'm pretty sure shouldn't be in-flower right now, and made me this insanely cute little apple thing!" he picked up the little apple and waved it in Kurt's face. Kurt shot him a fond smile and brushed the apple away, rolling his eyes in apparent amusement.

"I had no idea you were so easily pleased." Blaine narrowed his eyes, scowling and shoving him slightly.

"Meanie."

"Shorty."

---

I don't know what I'm doing. I mean, I do know what I'm doing right now – I'm standing on the touch line watching them setting up the lacrosse pitch and waiting for the New Directions and my parents to arrive – but I don't know what I'm doing with Blaine. I keep ending up in these situations that require me to look after him and offer him support and just be so close to him, and every time, I just want to say "don't think that about yourself like that: I love you, and that can make everything better!" but I can't do that…I mean, I spent the entire night making him a stuffed toy apple-man because I thought it might make him feel better when I ought to have been getting my sleep…well, not the whole night, but a considerable portion of my time. It's like quicksand; the harder I try to get out, the more it sucks me in. The worst part is that he has no idea, and I don't know why, but he just can't see, and I don't know why, but it hurts so much! I'm an idiot; I shouldn't have agreed to look after him, but how could I have said no? Stupid Sebastian making me feel like the only one that could help…

Kurt squinted over to the stands and saw that his friends had filed into the first row, and that Blaine and Juri, and Daley too, he reckoned, were wrapped up in numerous layers with all the other woolly accessories. He could tell, from the way Sebastian was lingering next to them with a straight, stiff back instead of the easy posture he adopted when he flirted with Blaine, that there was something serious going on that was worrying the others. Kurt got the impression that it also had a lot to do with Daley, but they had reservations about telling him what had happened between Blaine and Keats, and Kurt was directly involved in the fallout of that, so there was no way anyone was telling him anything about this.

Kurt glared at the St Emily's cheerleaders that were warming up on the field and wondered where the hell the Crawford girls were. This was his first match on his own up front, but right now it was looking like he was going to be completely on his own. He was seriously going to hit the roof – well, not the roof because he was outside – in anger if they didn't turn up within the next five minutes. It was a shame that he couldn't really do anything to them when they got there because they would need to start acting like they were the home team straight away.

Stupid Garfield travelling fans!

"Kurt!" Kurt was shaken from his thoughts about how much he hated a large portion of the world at the present moment by the sound of his name. He spun around, and the scowl dissolved from his face into a huge smile at the sight of his dad, Carole, Mr Schue and the New Directions. He let out a laugh of delight and ran over to them, allowing his dad to hug him tightly before disappearing into the folds of the New Directions, who all welcomed him back with warm smiles, and it was then that he realised they were three short.

"Where's Quinn, Santana and Brittany?" he asked, standing back with a frown on his face. All the other members sighed as one, and Sam in particular averted his eyes and shuffled his feet.

"They picked the cheerleaders," explained Mr Schue, trying hard not to scowl in annoyance at that. "so they're at practise." Kurt pressed his lips together because – damn! – when Finn had said they had to choose he'd really been hoping they'd pick the New Directions.

"For someone who's just heard that their biggest competition is currently ineligible to compete at Regionals, you look awfully glum." Kurt threw Rachel a scathing look, arching his eyebrows.

"You're our biggest competition?" he demanded. "Have you forgotten what Vocal Adrenaline did to us last year? Besides, the Warblers didn't have me at Sectionals, did they?" There were rolled eyes and chuckles at that, Rachel shaking her head at Kurt's supercilious expression, and Kurt smirked widely at her.

"Kid," said his dad, and Kurt looked at him, noticing his narrowed eyes and guessing that he had noticed the pale quality to his face and the dark bags underneath his eyes. "you alright?" Kurt sighed, seeing that the others were all peering at him shrewdly.

"I'm fine, dad," he said, finitely. "but there's been this bug going round campus – I didn't catch it, but I was looking after Blaine-" he shot the girls a glare as they giggled at that. "-and I've got long cheerleading practises and plenty of homework so I'm just not quite getting my beauty sleep…not that I really need that."

"Of course," muttered Finn, rolling his eyes, and Kurt narrowed his eyes at him. Finn held up his hands, eyes widening, and attempted to appear innocent but really just came across as terrified. Everyone laughed. Burt nodded, shooting him a look that asked if he was really okay, and Kurt sent him one back that he could ask the same thing. He watched his dad concede the point because he didn't want Kurt to interrogate him about his health and smirked slightly in victory.

"So, are you excited for your solo?" asked Mr Schue, and Kurt shrugged because, yeah, he was looking forward to it, but in reality, he was more nervous. He'd fronted the McKinley cheerleaders, but they were intimidating and had a presence in their own right in a way that the Crawford ones weren't, and that meant that it was really on him to be a charismatic front, and if he didn't pull this off here than they were in serious trouble.

"More nervous," he admitted. "this is our only performance before the competition – if this doesn't work then we are totally screwed, and Coach Sylvester will win Regionals." There was a moment of tense silence in which they all acknowledged that that was not an eventuality they could accept.

"You'll be great," assured Finn, eventually, shooting him a confident smile.

"Yeah, son, you'll kick ass unquestionably." Kurt snorted but shot his family a grateful smile as the New Directions nodded with almost complete confidence.

"Thanks," he said.

"Kurt Hummel?" asked a questioning voice, and Kurt spun around to see a girl that he didn't recognise standing behind him. She had glossy, dark brown that hung loose before her face and almost obscured her hazel eyes. However, Kurt felt his confused expression turn dark when he realised she was wearing St Emily's uniform.

"Yes…" he replied, hesitantly, sub-consciously squaring off to the girl. She held up her hands.

"Don't shoot. My name's Grace Hawthorne; one hundred per cent lesbian and the only one of several hundred students that is prepared to say that." Kurt snorted and relaxed at that, laughing and holding out his hand. Grace accepted it, shaking firmly, and smiled some more. "Glad to know I'm mentioned."

"Only once," he shot back, and then he stepped aside, indicating to the people behind him. "this is my old show choir the New Directions, our director; Mr Schue, my step-mum; Carole, and my dad; Burt. Guys, this is Grace, she's the girlfriend of one of my friends from Crawford; Ros, and she's a prefect at St Emily's – our enemy, but she's on our side; the only openly gay student there, or so I'm told." Grace nodded in agreement, giving them a tight smile and a wave that was returned by all the others.

"You haven't seen Ros, have you?" she asked, and Kurt turned back to her, eyebrows quirking slightly, and shook his head, glancing over her shoulder at their friends and saw that they were still not joined by the Crawford ladies.

"No," he said with a sigh. "it's annoying, though, because I can't cheerlead on my own." Grace pulled a face that said she was considering the idea, and Kurt shot her down with a glare that made her snort.

"Okay, well, is Daley here?" Kurt nodded and pointed over to the friends as a thought struck him: he hadn't told the New Directions about Morrison, Daley, Cameron and QT! Oh, this was going to be good. He tried to fight the smirk curving onto his lips as Grace turned to him with a frown. "Is he okay?" Kurt shrugged.

"I don't think I'm qualified to answer that question." Grace shot him a confused look through narrowed eyes for a moment before she whacked her forehead with her palm.

"Right, new, of course…" Kurt rolled his eyes, not sure how she had managed to forget that in the couple of minutes they'd known each other, and watched as she shifted her weight between her feet and looked torn, clearly not sure what to do with herself, and Kurt noticed that quite a lot of the Garfield-St Emily's fans were sending glares and sneers in her direction.

"You know," said Kurt, rolling his eyes. "if you really wanted to know how Daley was, you could just go over and ask him. Or if you want to live, you could ask Sebastian or Morrison." Grace snorted and nodded.

"Yeah, I should probably do that." She gave him a wide smile. "Nice to meet you, Kurt, don't forget to kick ass." Kurt arched his eyebrow at her, giving her a condescending look.

"I don't need to remember how to kick ass; I do it all the time."

"I'm sure you do," she replied, patronisingly before turning to walk away. Kurt smirked as he watched her go and then cast his eyes back around the field for any signs of the Crawford girls – still nowhere to be seen. He heaved a sigh as he turned back to the New Directions and his parents. They all looked a little bit perplexed by the interlude, but they broke out into smiles now that they had his attention again.

"So, you're going to be kicking ass without any cheerleaders?" asked Rachel, arching her eyebrows, and Kurt rolled his eyes, shooting her a brief scowl.

"If needs be, I will," he replied. "though it's not ideal, I admit."

"Kurt *cough* *cough* have you seen the *cough* *cough* *cough*…" Kurt turned around and saw Blaine, almost doubled over slightly and coughing hard, standing behind him. Kurt rolled his eyes, sighing at how sick Blaine looked, and reached over to tighten Blaine's bright pink scarf.

"You really need to go back to bed," he commented. "I'm amazed that Sebastian hasn't had you dragged there." Blaine, coughing and straightening up, shook his head, clearing his throat.

"He's too sick to – he's saving his strength. Anyway, he's distracted by Daley." Kurt nodded.

"How is he?" he asked, and Blaine shrugged, shaking his head.

"Keeping it all together, I guess. I mean, Daley's not said anything, but we're all on edge so that's not helping."

"Who is this Daley guy?" asked Mercedes, hands on her hips with a frown. Blaine and Kurt both turned to her, Blaine's eyes lighting up in delight as he seemingly registered the fact that they were there, and Kurt tried to suppress his joy at how happy Blaine was to see Kurt's other friends. Blaine then looked at Kurt, eyebrows arched questioningly, and Kurt shook his head subtly. Blaine grinned, and Kurt couldn't help but copy that.

"What…?" asked Finn with a hesitant look on his face that said he could tell there was something going on between them. Kurt smirked a little, glancing at Blaine.

"Nothing," he replied in a sweet voice that made everyone narrow their eyes at him. "Blaine, do you want to take the New Directions over to sit with you?" Blaine nodded instantly.

"Course, but, um *cough* *cough* adults normally sit in that stand." Blaine pointed over to the one that seemed to separate the home fans from the away ones…well, Kurt could see the logic in that. Kurt watched as his dad looked at him questioningly, and Kurt nodded a little because that was fine.

"Alright," said Burt, clapping his hands together and then rubbing them together, probably to warm them up. "I take it kick-off's not too far away?" Blaine shrugged a little.

"It shouldn't be, but *cough* Kurt, do you know where the cheerleaders are because…" he gestured, weakly, at the St Emily's cheerleaders that were dancing around and totally dominating them. Kurt pursed his lips, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head.

"No, can David shed any light on where his girlfriend is?" Blaine shook his head.

"Hasn't got a clue," he said, scowling. Kurt sighed, and then looked over at his dad.

"Well, I guess you better go and get some decent seats." His dad nodded, reaching forward to clap a hand on his shoulder. Kurt took heart from the gesture, smiling at both Carole and Mr Schue, before the three adults walked away. Blaine, coughing some more and struggling to breathe for a second, shot the New Directions a weak smile and then beckoned with his gloved hand.

"Guys, you should come with me – you haven't met all of us yet, have you…?" Kurt smiled at that as the New Directions began to file past him, clapping him on the back and wishing him luck, as Blaine talked through his coughs. It was so nice to see all his friends, even though they were technically rivals, getting along so well. He eyed the Garfield fans, who were shouting general abuse, and then noticed that the prefects and some of the teachers were sitting along the front bench and around the Garfield fans, almost penning them in, and Kurt guessed he could sort of see the logic in that decision too. He looked back over at his friends and grinned at the sight of some wide eyes, and people jumping up and down and laughing. As he watched, Rachel turned around. Her eyes were even wider, and she threw up her arms. Kurt smiled politely, clasping his hands behind his back in a casual way.

"Kurt!" Kurt spun around, breaking the disbelieving eye contact that he had with most of the New Directions, who were all freaking out at the celebrities, and glared at the cheerleaders that were coming towards him. He put his hands on his hips, glaring at them with all his intensity.

"And where have you been?" he demanded, pressing his lips into a fine line. El held up her hands.

"Sorry, we got a little bit side-tracked misdirecting reporters…not to mention the sabotage." Kurt arched an eyebrow, looking at all of them with wide eyes.

"Sabotage?" he asked. El smirked at him.

"There were some Garfield banners that couldn't be allowed to get here and the like." Kurt frowned, looking around and turning over all the different things in his mind.

"This has something to do with Daley, doesn't it?" he said, finally, arching his eyebrows at Elise. The blonde cheerleader nodded, and Kurt took the silence to first appreciate that the cheerleaders were all warming up of their own accord and not messing about with him, and that whatever was going on with Daley was huge. He shook his head, not sure what to say. Then he looked at the St Emily's cheerleaders, and the posturing Garfield lacrosse players and fans. He shook his head once more. "Alright, never mind, what say we retake our field together just one last time?" Elise's face broke out into a grin, nodding, and let out a short, sharp whistle that called the other cheerleaders to attention. Kurt smirked at the business-like expressions on all their faces – it seemed that Daley was something that united all of the school in his defence.

"Kenny Loggins style?" asked Elise, eyebrows arching. Kurt smirked some more.

"Is there any other way?" Elise snorted, and Kurt clapped his hands in the air, drawing the attention of the sound guys. He held up three fingers, telling him to play track three on the CD, and the guy nodded. Kurt and Elise, flanked by the rest of the cheerleaders, walked onto the field as the backing track began to blare. He got about one second to take in the amused expressions on his friends' faces at the song choice before he turned his back on the crowd, as the cheerleaders took their positions before him, moving along to the beat and trusting that the rest of the squad were doing what they were meant to be doing in the intro and that no one was miss-stepping.

I've been working so hard

I'm punching my card

Eight hours for what?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elise turn around as she took the vocal line, just like people would be expecting, and begin to make her way down towards the front. It didn't take long for her to go out of his limited range of vision, but he knew El; she never screwed up, ever, and that meant Kurt could relax and dedicate his mind to not focusing too hard on the fact that all of his family were in the stands, judging his performance.

Oh, tell me what I got

He heard an appreciative cheer go up as El came to the end of her line and shook his arms around, trying to dispel all his nerves, and closed his eyes for a moment – he was a performer; this was his stage; the floodlights were spotlights; this was his time to shine…

I've got this feeling

That time's just holding me down

Kurt spun around, voice sounding out across the pitch and immediately making his way down his channel between the cheerleaders, and he smirked as he found himself "closed down", and as the backing track pounded away, Kurt moved through the choreographed dance moves that included a high kick for no reason other than Met seemed to be showing a desire to be a fight choreographer not a cheerleading coach, and then did a flip clear of them.

I'll hit the ceiling or else

I'll tear up this town

Kurt could see the faces of Dalton crowd better now that he'd made it to the front, and although it was kind of hard to watch them whilst he was dancing and pulling off the acrobatic routine, he could see the signs of energy beginning to show in the crowd – everyone seemed to be clapping along at the very least – and as Elise fell in beside him for the chorus, Kurt knew that they could give them something to cheer about

Now I gotta cut loose, footloose

Kick off the Sunday shoes

The entirety of the cheerleading squad burst into completely synchronised movement as they hit the chorus; Kurt and Elise's voices combining into one strong sound, and as Kurt had predicted, this sight elicited a cheer from the home crowd – it wasn't particularly loud, but they were getting there.

Please, Louise, pull me off of my knees

Kurt smirked at Elise as he was lifted into the air by the cheerleaders, thrown into the air only a little, and he landed with complete ease, challenging Elise.

Jack, get back, come on before we crack

However, he had to react very quickly because Elise had already started running, launching herself into an aerial cartwheel, and so Kurt had to throw himself backwards into a back handspring.

Lose your blues, everybody cut footloose…

They moved back together for the end of the chorus, dancing in sync as opposed to "competing", and then for the next verse they fell back into the same routine that they'd had for the first verse with Elise taking the start whilst Kurt joined the rest of the squad, and then Kurt taking the front, dancing as hard as he could because he could see that the crowd had had their spirits lifted by them – their energy hadn't been wasted in preparing for this because it was the platform for their players and supporters to build on.

Cut loose, footloose, kick off the Sunday shoes

Ooh-wee Marie shake it, shake it for me

Kurt spun around El under her arm, and as she shimmied her shoulders and shook her hips, causing the pleats of her skirt to twirl in the air, and there was a shout of approval, and Kurt could see David's angry expression in his mind's eye, and he fought the urge to laugh.

Woah, Milo come on, come on let's go

Elise beckoned at him, sparkle in her eyes that said she was enjoying herself, and Kurt didn't hesitate to launch himself towards her, catching onto her thighs as he cartwheeled over, feeling her catch onto him around her waist, and as he put his feet on the ground, helped her go over to wild applause.

Lose your blues, everybody cut footloose

In the predominantly musical interlude with only a couple of vocal lines that were allowed to fade into the background, they fell into their group routine with no fronts – all of them participating equally in the acrobatics and formations – and that provided Kurt the opportunity to take in the crowd some more. Their energy seemed to have been completely ignited, and he could see all his friends jumping around on the touchline or in the stands. Naturally, it was hard for Kurt to watch them fully because he was participating in the routine, constantly moving around and all that, but it was also hard to miss the fact that Drew had this huge smile on his face, or that Trinity were bounding into the air to ridiculous heights, or that Artie was waving his arms in the air with as much energy as anyone dancing along, or that his dad was sort of moving around in the crowd in an awkward manner next to Carole, seeming thoroughly enjoying the performance. He managed to Keats' eye once, though the presence of the lens of Parker's right next to him was quite distracting, and he was pleased to see that his boyfriend was clapping along with enthusiasm (that group weren't the most…involved), and he had a really large smile on his face that lifted Kurt's spirits just that little bit higher. It looked like his boyfriend might be learning to cut loose (he hadn't quite made it to footloose, but he was getting there) in front of the school!

You got to turn me around

Kurt ran back out to the front, glad to be singing again, and then leapt into the air, kicking his right leg high and spinning around, smile growing as the world blurred for an instant before he came a full 360°, left foot touching down first and bringing him to a graceful stop.

And put your feet on the ground

Elise came walking forward on her hands, singing of course, and Kurt laughed as she energetically bent her arms and managed to flip herself back onto her feet to the considerable cheer of the crowd.

Now take a hold of your soul

They joined voices again, coming close together in the middle of the pitch as they danced, and Kurt caught Sebastian's eye, and though the head boy was standing stock still on the touchline, not joining with the energy, Kurt caught the small smile on his face and got a wink in acknowledgement.

Ah ah ah ah ah

Kurt broke the brief eye contact, and the weird moment of connectedness, that he'd had with Sebastian a second later to fall into position with the rest the cheerleaders to get ready for his and Elise's big lift, the voices of the whole squad layering upon each other's.

I'm turning you loose

Both him and Elise were thrown up in a basket toss, and Kurt took that moment of flight to enjoy the sensation of soaring – physically, vocally and emotionally – above people before he was back down on the ground.

Footloose, kick off the Sunday shoes

Please, Louise, pull me off of my knees…

They spread out as they reached the familiar chorus, simply going through the old steps once more with a practised ease, and Kurt found himself finally relaxing as they reached the end of the performance, knowing that there weren't going to be any slip ups – technically, of course, it was possible, but it just wasn't going to actually happen – because, once all the stress and pressure was done away with, this was fun. More than that, though, he was going to miss performing with Elise: she was one of his closest friends; easily the closest from Crawford, and performing with her had become something that was natural, and they fitted well together, complimenting each other, and she made everything that little bit better.

Everybody cut, everybody cut

Elise cartwheeled a little bit further forward – they had slowly inched closer and closer towards the touchline and the lacrosse players – so that she could take centre stage for her little bit of freestyle gymnastics.

Everybody cut, everybody cut

Kurt dashed even further forward, shooting Elise a smirk as he overtook her, and did a couple of jumps and twirls that he knew weren't quite as impressive as Elise's, but he didn't want to get too out of position.

Everybody cut, everybody cut

Footloose

The rest of the squad came up behind them as they performed the last two lines, moving in complete sync, and with a final flourish with a flick of their heels, they struck their final poses – Kurt kicking his leg up in what was clearly becoming his trademark move, chest heaving and sweating heavily, but feeling elated.

Well, I think our job has been fulfilled and then some. We're in full voice, and all that energy we possess has been sparked after such sickness around our campus. I mean, don't get me wrong, our team look rough around the edges – Sebastian in particular, naturally – and not really looking ready to play in such a huge grudge match, but at least we've given them hope and got the rest behind them properly. After all, we've lit the fire under the furnace, and as long as we keep at the bellows, the forge can burn hot enough for us to melt this Garfield team and mould it into a victory for us…

---

The lacrosse game was turning into a disaster. They weren't being routed because, for one, they had Drew on their team, and they were doing a decent job in defence; Nick was doing a remarkable job in goal, but up front…Sebastian, Kurt knew, was one of the best players on the team, but he certainly wasn't acting like it at the moment. His passing was sloppy; often giving it away or throwing it into no-longer-occupied areas, and his accuracy was dreadful – he'd only netted one ball so far. Kurt supposed that a combination of still being ill and being out of practise was affecting his play, and that was understandable, but he had really been expecting more. After all, if Sebastian wasn't fit to play, shouldn't he go off and let someone who could play on? Still, from what Kurt could understand, they were already playing half of their reserve squad, so they were understandably hesitant to bring any more on, even if it meant that Garfield were slowly but surely pulling ahead.

The problem was that that was only half the disaster was the lack of their best players; the other was morale. The Garfield players and supporters were on a high from being consistently ahead, and whilst the players had been afraid of Sebastian at the start, they now delighted in colliding with him and knocking him to the ground accompanied by rapturous cheers from the fans. Kurt and his cheerleaders – minus Elise, who had retired to the bench to watch them – were doing their best, but it didn't change the fact that over half the home fans were watching the game through their fingers, unable to fully view their shambolic performance but unable to completely look away from the spectacle.

The only really good thing that Kurt had seen so far, apart from Drew's goal from just inside his own half (what the actual fuck?! Kurt was pretty sure that shouldn't be possible!) was the sight of the New Directions integrating themselves perfectly with Kurt's friends: Puck and Mike were getting along really well with the boisterous David and Jeff; Finn was chatting to Blaine and Dylan, probably about sport; Artie was talking to Juri with frequent input from Trinity that made the wheelchair bound boy's eyes go wide; Mercedes and Tina were talking Flint and Thad, though with rather more input from the former than the latter; Sam was chatting and laughing with Chris and Fred; Rachel was talking animatedly to Morrison, and so Lottie, in a manner that was probably disturbing/boring him; the rest of Kurt's Dalton friends seemed to be listening in and talking occasionally, but Daley was their main focus. The only downside to that was that Keats, who was sat with his friends on the other side of Trinity but markedly further down the bench, had a scowl on his face.

It hadn't occurred to Kurt at the time, but Keats would probably want to get to know Kurt's friends given that they were dating and would undoubtedly feel jilted by Kurt telling them to sit with Blaine. Still, Kurt's decision had been a perfectly sound one given that Blaine had been there, and they had a common interest in singing and that, on the whole, they were just a bit more friendly…not that he'd ever say that to Keats because that would really upset him.

Ah well, nothing I can do now, especially as it's half time, and it's my job to help turn this around…

Kurt strode out onto the pitch the moment the players began to file off, exchanging a hi-five with Drew and getting a strong half-hug from Nick. The cheerleaders assembled themselves without instruction, and Kurt, rolling his neck, looked out at the crowd. He saw that his dad, Carole and Mr Schue had sat forward in their seats in anticipation, and that the New Directions had expectant smiles on their faces as did all his friends around them; Morrison, Lottie and Daley all looked curious, and Keats was already on his feet and was leaning against the rail whilst Parker had trained the long lens of his camera on him. Kurt smirked in his direction, dropping the camera a wink.

Then he looked at Elise. She was still sitting on the bench in the dugout, but she was observing him, and the rest of the squad, carefully. However, when Kurt made eye contact, she shot him a smile and a wink that said "you got this". Kurt smirked response that said "I know".

Taking a last deep breath and assuring himself that this was going to be fine, Kurt cued the music so that the intro blared across the grounds.

You say that I'm messing with your head

All 'cause I was making out with your friend

Kurt strode out from where he'd been nestled in the middle of the front line of cheerleaders, smirk on his face because this was that type of song, with all of his confidence and swagger, not dancing himself yet, but he knew that the cheerleaders were doing that for him.

Love hurts whether it's right or wrong

I can't stop 'cause I'm having too much fun

Kurt put his hands over his heart, prowling around, letting his body sway and undulate along to the music, giving them all a very slow, teasing intro to the performance, and then fell still on the next line before shimmying his shoulders and beginning to dance.

You're on your knees begging please stay with me

Kurt slid forward onto his knees on the pitch that had become a lot messier during the first half, glad that he wore trousers, clasping his hands together in a begging manner and shooting the crowd puppy dog look and a smirk.

But honestly I just need to be a little crazy

Kurt sprang to his feet with a shrug, the smirk on his face becoming cheekier, and he threw himself forward into a roundoff and then handspring, smirking and shrugging casually at the applause even though he loved it.

All my life I've been good but now

I am thinking what the hell

All I want is to mess around

And I don't really care about

The cheerleaders burst out into active movement as the floodlights that illuminated the pitch flared slightly as the volume of the music increased as the girls behind him joined in the song too. Kurt focused his mind onto the steps of the routine because the temptation to look over at his dad was huge, but he didn't want to let himself get distracted because depending on what his expression was, Kurt could either get lightheaded from praise or completely downhearted, and neither seemed to be good.

If you love me, if you hate me

You can't save me baby, baby

All my life I've been good but now

I am thinking what the hell

Instead, Kurt let his gaze find Keats quite naturally, expression becoming just that little bit more flirtatious in the way that Kurt reckoned came from a genuine sexual attraction. Any look of annoyance had completely melted from Keats' features, and Kurt might have been afraid of showing a blush at Keats' intense gaze – Kurt was still trying to work out how such calming eyes could get so intense – but given that he was dancing as hard as he could; upper body constantly undulating and feet twisting and turning, he reckoned that that wasn't a problem.

So what if I go out on a million dates

You never call or listen to me anyway

Kurt shot Keats a cheeky wink, smirking in a supercilious manner because he was in charge, as he stalked off along the touchline, breaking eye contact and feeling a little bit evil given the way that Vince was laughing hysterically at Keats in the seat next to him along with Andy.

I'd rather rage than sit around and wait all day

Don't get me wrong I just need some time to play…

Kurt felt a bit calmer and more relaxed over the fact that he was leading the squad on his own now as he jumped around (it was meant to look sort of childish and petulant, but a lot more choreographed and harder to pull off) now that he'd interacted with Keats because it meant he could take his mind off things slightly yet still perform. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd forgotten how much grace and poise and natural performance skills that he had, especially given that he'd just performed with Elise, but this was all on his own, for a whole song, in front of the entire school, plus his old best friends, his favourite teacher and parents… He reckoned that he was rather allowed to panic just a little bit about that because his more experienced cheerleading was standing on the touchline, but he'd won cheerleading Nationals for crying out loud! He was better than that! Still, a part of his brain knew that he cared more about the opinion of the student body of Dalton than winning a trophy, no matter how big and important, and the entirety of that student body was clapping along and cheering right now, dancing on the spot, so he reckoned that that battle was won.

You say that I'm messing with your head, boy

I like messing in your bed

Kurt smirked triumphantly as he strode forward, looking over at the team that were arranged on the touchline and unable to resist the urge to flirt with them, not really bothering to dance or cheerlead properly as he decided to favour swaggering around, scraping a hand through his hair.

I am messing with your head

When I'm messing with you in bed

He took pride from the fact that Cameron was dancing along a little (not that much, he still had some of that "I'm-too-cool" demeanour, but enough for Kurt to notice) as his eyes skimmed over the players, bypassing the stationary Sebastian and smiling Drew, and locked onto Nick, who winked at him, and as Kurt bent down at the knees, squatting to the ground and still looking at him, Nick put a hand over his heart and pretended to swoon.

All my life I've been good but now

I am thinking what the hell

All I want is to mess around

And I don't really care about…

Kurt fought back a laugh at the sight of that as he rocketed back to his feet and then did a flip as they burst back into the chorus. Kurt tore his eyes away from the dark-haired goalie, holding the laughter at Nick's antics inside of him with a smirk, and finally looked at his dad. He met his gaze and felt something balloon within him at the sight of his dad's burning, intense look of pride. He was on his feet, clapping along in time, and his gaze never wavered from Kurt as he watched him with a large, pleased smile. Kurt could feel himself choking up, feeling more overwhelmed than he thought he would seeing his dad looking at him like that; he'd forgotten how that felt given that he'd been away from home for so long, and in the end he did have to break the gaze because he had to finish the number with a characteristic flourish, and the last thing he wanted was to screw this part up (he wouldn't – that wasn't like him – but he couldn't escape the thought of it). He smirked as wide as he could, straightening his spine, and simply continued to perform to perfection.

All my life I've been good but now

Woah what the hell

Kurt's chest was heaving when he'd finished, cheeks flushing scarlet and overtly aware that the bright floodlights were illuminating the sweat that glistened on his forehead. The Dalton crowd was still going wild, and the team, with the exception of the haggard Sebastian, looked pumped and ready to go. Kurt led the cheerleaders off to let the team back on, and Elise came hurrying over to meet them.

"Awesome!" she enthused, sharing a brief hug and hi-five with Kurt. "Seriously, guys, that was epic! We – or rather you – can totally do this!" Kurt beamed at her and glanced over at the New Directions, who all grinned, waving their arms in the air and cheering in approval. Kurt laughed to himself, feeling his insides glow and swell at the combination of that and the proud looks that he was getting from the adults, especially his father.

---

For the first ten minutes or so after play had resumed, it really looked like Dalton could turn it around. All the players, even Sebastian who had no doubt benefitted from the rest more than anything, seemed galvanised to go out and turn the game around, seemingly believing they could do it better now, and Garfield clearly struggled under the unexpected barrage that ensued so that Dalton was able to claw the score back to a one goal lead to Garfield. It was at that pivotal moment when Dalton seemed seconds away from going level and opening back up the game, that disaster struck once more: Sebastian collapsed.

Their pale head boy had been giving the game his all from the get go, and after the break, he seemed to have more energy than ever and netted three balls in quick succession, throwing the Garfield defenders into a panic as to what to do with the reappearance of an old threat. Rather predictably, then, they had resorted to underhand tactics, namely tripping him with the sticks and pushing him over. On the whole, he seemed to be holding up pretty well from all that, though Kurt had noticed that he had to stop frequently to cough.

Either way, disaster struck after one of said coughing bouts when a Garfield player slammed into Sebastian. Sebastian had stumbled slightly and scowled, but otherwise had seemed fine. Then he made to run down the field, and he got approximately three paces before his knees gave way and he tumbled to the ground. All the Dalton fans had winced and then resumed their cheering as Drew pulled off an awesome tackle. Sebastian, however, failed to get back up, and it was Blaine's strangled cry of

"Bastian!" that alerted everyone to the fact that he really wasn't okay.

Blaine ducked under the bar and went pelting towards the pitch. The referee blew the whistle, and the Dalton boys all darted to their fallen leader. Drew hauled him up whilst Kurt, heart genuinely beating fast in worry, threw out an arm to stop Blaine from running onto the pitch and then put his hand reassuringly onto his shoulder. Blaine shot him a nervous smile of thanks whilst gnawing on his bottom lip, and the two of them looked back at the field where Sebastian was arguing with Drew.

"I'm fine!" snapped the older boy.

"No you're not!" shot back the other. "You can barely stand! Get off the pitch already so we bring on a sub; we're losing our advantage!" Sebastian's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"What makes you think that you can give me orders?" he hissed. Drew squared up to him, and Kurt felt his mouth drop open at the sight of the two of them facing off in the middle of the lacrosse game.

"I'm the captain of the team," he snapped. Sebastian took a step towards him, trying to look intimidating but failing miserably.

"I'm head boy," he replied.

"Yeah, but you see the thing is that I'm captain of this team, and I think it's best for this team for you to go off. This is my squad, and so this is my call: get off the fucking pitch!"

There was a moment of still silence in which everyone stared at them, wondering whether Sebastian was going to bow to Drew's authority and do as he said. Kurt had never seen anyone challenge Sebastian's command before, and from the dumbfounded look on Blaine's face, Kurt knew this was wholly unprecedented. The school was Sebastian's domain, but Kurt reckoned that Drew was right: he was captain of the lacrosse team – pretty much every sports team – and sports was his thing. Kurt reckoned that you'd have to be insane, or very stupid, to ignore Drew's decision about sporting matters, and Sebastian was a lot of things, but not those by a long shot.

Sebastian stood down. He coughed a little bit but kept his head held high as he gave his captain a stiff nod. Then he proceeded to walk from the field, using the lacrosse stick as support. Kurt let go of Blaine's shoulder to allow the sick boy to hurry to the touch line and wrap an arm around the waist of his ill boyfriend and help him to the substitute bench. Drew, with wide eyes that said he was shocked that that had worked, turned and looked at the bench too before clearing his throat loudly and saying into the awkward silence;

"Err, Cam, you're up." Kurt looked over at the bench curiously and watched the blonde actor start and look around nervously. Kurt let out a loud whoop of encouragement at the same time as Morrison and some of the other boys. Cam got up, grabbing his lacrosse stick with a little bit more of his usual swagger, and then jogged onto the pitch to the rapturous applause of Dalton and the beginnings of catcalls from Garfield. Drew pointed him to his position up front, and Cam, throwing the stick between his hands a few times, adopted a strong stance opposite the Garfield players, who looked quite pleased with Sebastian's replacement.

Play resumed with all of its previous animosity that bred ferocity and aggression, and Cam's presence showed itself to be both a blessing and a curse. On the upside, Cam was full of energy, unlike most of the squad and almost certainly Sebastian, and he had an acuteness that meant his passes were ninety-nine per cent accurate so they had an increased amount of possession, which was obviously good. On the downside, though, Cam's short stature meant that the Garfield players found it easy to impede his shots on goal, and just generally overpower him in a way that hadn't seemed to be a problem with Sebastian.

However, the biggest problem with having Cam on the team presented itself about five minutes, which was roughly how long it took for the away fans to clock that it really was Cameron Gaylin on the pitch: they started whistling…or at least, that's what Kurt had thought it was. Several minutes later, Kurt realised, after it happened every time Cam got the ball and it distracted him, that they were imitating bird calls… Kurt had thought Cam would shake it off because he'd made up the ridiculous tale in the first place, but there was something more going on because it was severely affecting him, and, worse, it was affecting Nick, who kept glancing at the stands. Nick, with the help of Drew, was the main thing stopping this from becoming a humiliating defeat, but he couldn't keep focus anymore.

Glancing around with a suddenly pounding heart, Kurt saw that most of his friends in the crowd had gone stiff – the New Directions were looking baffled, and Keats and his friends were sharing rather tense looks – and Sebastian had pushed himself off the bench and was stumbling towards the stands, hand out to stop Blaine from following, probably with the intention of getting to the rather sick looking Daley, who was clutching tightly to Morrison's wrist.

Kurt swallowed, frowning, and knew that he had to do something…but what? He cast his eyes round again and caught Elise's gaze. She mouthed "do something", and Kurt arched an eyebrow in response, asking what. She rolled her eyes in response like the answer was obvious. Kurt frowned for half a second before it hit him: sing something! He mulled it over for a moment, trying to think of a song that everyone could sing, before a brilliant idea struck him.

Kurt broke out into a grin and a run simultaneously, getting curious looks as he dashed across the dugout and called out Blaine's name. The dark haired boy turned around to look at him with a frown.

"Kurt?" he asked, head tilting to the side in confusion. Kurt came to a stop, taking a moment to catch his breath.

"Can I borrow your tie?" he asked. Blaine frowned at him in obvious confusion.

"Huh?" he questioned, and Kurt rolled his eyes in exasperation because he got that it was weird but he was kind of in a hurry.

"Your tie," he repeated. "can I have it?" Blaine continued to frown at him, though his hand had drifted up to catch the fold of the obstructing scarf.

"Um, can I ask why?" Kurt rolled his eyes at how tentative he sounded.

"You'll see in a minute; can I just have the tie?" Blaine stared at him for another second before he shrugged and loosened the scarf, reaching in to pull off the red and blue striped tie. He handed it to Kurt, who shot him a grateful smile and hurried towards the stands. Keats' eyes lit up at his approach, and Kurt felt bad that all he could do was shoot him a smile and keep on his path towards his other friends because they'd be the most helpful in getting his plan off the ground.

"Hey Kurt," said Jeff, hailing him with his right hand. "everything okay?" Kurt shot him a mildly condescending look, glancing across at Daley as surreptitiously as he could and noting the way Sebastian stood over him, one hand curled into the material of his blazer, and Morrison held his hand, Wes leaning in close.

"I have an idea to block out the whistles, but I'm going to need your help." Everyone looked at him with curious eyes, Sebastian shooting him an appraising look that Kurt reckoned it was best to ignore.

"What is it?" demanded the head boy. Kurt smirked ever so slightly and grabbed onto the tail ends of the tie.

"Like so," he said, beginning to whirl the piece of clothing in the air above his head with his right hand and jump up and down, encouraging them to join in with his left. "Raise your tie if you are wrong In all the right ways-""-All my underdogs, we will never be, never be-"

"-Anything but loud!" roared the Warblers, Trinity and his others friends, all pulling off their ties and copying him. "-and nitty gritty, dirty little freaks Won't you come on and come on, and Raise your tie Just come on and come on and Raise your tie!"

By the time that Kurt had finished the chorus, just about everyone was singing Kurt's amended version of the chorus and twirling their ties around their heads like lassoes whilst they bounced up and down on the spot. Those without ties, like the New Directions, were whirling their scarves, or whatever they had to hand that worked, in the air instead. Kurt smirked broadly as he turned around to face the pitch, leading them through the chorus once more, and saw that the Dalton players had smiles on their faces as they played, Blaine had frozen where he stood in shocked wonderment and Elise looked insufferably smug.

"Kurt!" roared Drew when Kurt had reached the touchline and was reorganising the cheerleaders, and the game had momentarily paused whilst the Garfield captain once more argued over a decision that had gone against his team. "I could bloody kiss you!" Kurt laughed and shot his friend a cheeky wink.

"Maybe later," he called back. "when you're not stinky and sweaty!" Drew let out a bark of laughter as everyone else chuckled and snorted.

"I agree with him," commented Blaine, who had sidled over and was watching Kurt with a mildly bashful expression, and Kurt felt a hot flush swoop up his face and tried to hide the way his insides knotted together painfully in excitement, nerves, joy and guilt. "it was a genius move!" Kurt felt his smirk become more flattered at Blaine's words.

"Thanks," he said in response, finding himself staring into Blaine's hazel eyes and beginning to get a little lost there as the music faded out and he vaguely wondered if it was anywhere near this intense for Blaine.

"You're welcome, I guess," he said with a shrug. "though I didn't realise it was customary to thank someone for stating the truth and how awesome they are." Kurt flushed some more, knowing that this conversation couldn't go on in this manner; there was other stuff to do and think about, and that was their priority, and it was borderline flirting, but he couldn't stop.

"Hypocrite," he muttered, fondly, and Blaine snorted, ducking his head and smiling before coughing a little, and Kurt saw Elise roll her eyes in the corner of his vision and hastily broke eye contact with Blaine and began to jump and down and sing again.

This has to stop. I have to stop looking at Blaine and wondering if he likes me more, and I have to stop considering that, but I can't. For some reason, getting over him is much harder than anyone else, but there's no time to think about that now, right now I need to think about the lacrosse game, Daley and winning…

---

In the end, they couldn't claw the game back. Thanks to the singing, Nick and Cam were able to focus once more, and mainly due to them, and Drew's prowess in midfield, they managed to drag the score back to a draw, but Garfield had just built up too much momentum and dominance, and they won by quite a respectable margin in the end.

Kurt pursed his lips and shared a look with Elise and Blaine that said they had seen that coming. Blaine hurried off, muttering to himself about Sebastian and self-destructive tendencies, and Kurt walked onto the pitch to help console the players that were still standing there.

"Hey," said Nick, shooting Kurt a tight smile from where he stood next to Drew and near Cameron. "you're really hot as a cheerleader…not that you're not hot in uniform, but in that uniform…" he let out a whistle, and Kurt rolled his eyes, blushing slightly.

"Thanks, you were awesome in goal." Nick shot him a wry smile.

"Are you leader of the conciliation party now?" Kurt rolled his eyes.

"No, I'm leader of the let's-not-lose-touch-with-reality party." Nick snorted along with most of the other plays. Drew grinned at him.

"Does that mean I don't get that kiss?"

"It most certainly does," agreed Kurt in a firm voice. "you're still disgustingly sweaty and stinky."

"Well then, boys, let's roll out to the showers." Kurt snorted, shaking his head fondly.

"You know," piped up Cam as they began to walk away. "for a heterosexual bloke, you're very desperate to kiss another guy. How long has it been since you got some?"

The sharp sound of Drew slapping Cameron round the back of the head accompanied the team towards the locker rooms. Kurt smiled after them, glad that he'd been able to put them in good spirits even though they'd lost. The Garfield players were still milking their victory in front of their jubilant fans, but most of the Dalton supporters were still singing and whirling their ties in the air, almost drowning the Garfield ones out. Kurt smirked triumphantly at that, proud of himself for thinking it up, and turned around, deciding to go back to his friends and family and trying to pretend that there wasn't a shiver running through him at the thought of going into the changing rooms. However, his path was impeded by two hulking Garfield defenders, who held their sticks threateningly by their sides. Kurt pursed his lips, knowing what was coming, and straightened his spine.

"So they were right: it's all over when the fat faggot sings." Kurt repressed a scowl at their words and sycophantic laughter and arched an eyebrow condescendingly instead, mentally telling himself that there was no way for them to harm him because there were dozens of witnesses, and he was at Dalton so they would be punished.

"So that's the answer!" he exclaimed. They both blinked at him dumbly, and he smirked some more. "I was asked how many Neanderthals it would take to damage my self-esteem and belief to make me renounce my homosexuality. I said two, but they told me I was wrong. I couldn't work out the right answer, but now I know that infinity homophobic imbeciles couldn't change me." There was a moment of silence, as anger began to contort their features and Kurt stood his ground, ready for whatever would come next, that was broken by snide laughter and clapping.

Kurt whirled around to see Sebastian advancing on them, deadly smirk riddling his features and his old presence back. Kurt felt himself almost sag in relief at the sight of him, knowing that nothing bad could possibly happen to him, and allowed himself a grin in satisfaction.

"Wells, Christianson," drawled Sebastian. "we meet again…need I remind you what happened last time?" The two players stood there for a second longer, mulling it over in their tiny brains whilst Kurt smiled politely, and Sebastian smirked imperiously, at them, before they exchanged looks and bolted. Kurt laughed at the sight of two boys twice their width fleeing with their tails between their legs, and Sebastian broke down into a coughing fit. He hacked up some phlegm onto the grass before straightening up. Kurt shot him a tight smile.

"Thanks," he muttered. Sebastian shrugged.

"You were doing good on your own, but they're dangerous bastards, and with your track record at these fixtures, you can't be too careful." Kurt rolled his eyes as Sebastian coughed some more. "Though I have to say," he continued as if he hadn't just been coughing uncontrollably. "it was pretty impressive, looks like you know who you are after all." Kurt swallowed a little as Sebastian patted his shoulder but not in a condescending manner, not entirely sure how to feel: he had a deep rooted dislike of Sebastian that said his opinion was worthless, but that part of him that lived off praise was glowing, not to mention the hope bubbling away in him as he remembered what Sebastian had said about why Blaine would never want to go out with him and the confusion as a result of that because why would Sebastian allude to Kurt now being a better match for Blaine?

Eurgh, it's too late to be thinking about this now…

"You know," continued Sebastian, completely unfazed by Kurt's reaction, or lack thereof, to his praise. "I might have to note that down for future use."

"Copyright Kurt Hummel," he shot back with a smirk, and Sebastian tutted with a small scowl.

"And that's the reason for never monologuing," he commented lightly, beckoning with his arm for Kurt to fall in by his side. Kurt, glancing around, noticed that they were the only people still on the pitch, and that they were being eyed by numerous Garfield players, and so had no complaints with walking shoulder to shoulder with his supposed enemy, or at least competitor.

"That's your idea of an evil plan?" he questioned, eyebrows arching. "I'm disappointed." Sebastian snorted lightly, rolling his eyes.

"Well, if you must know, I'm working my way up from petty theft," he said conversationally with a nonchalant shrug that made Kurt chuckle in disbelief, half scandalised that he was allowing himself to be taken in by Sebastian's charms, but they didn't seem fake, or for show; he had no reason for them to be for starters.

"Kurt!" the sound of Keats' voice cut off any further conversation, and Sebastian sent the talented Junior a distasteful look before nodding civilly to Kurt and moving off, coughing. Kurt barely had time to start thinking of formulating a greeting when Keats had grabbed his face and slammed their lips together. Kurt froze slightly, taken aback by the gesture, but then relaxed, leaning into the kiss for a second as Keats' fingers grazed through his hair before pulling back. Keats let out a whine of disagreement that sent Kurt's insides into riot, but instead of caving and re-joining their mouths, he simply smiled at his boyfriend and said;

"Hello to you too." Keats rolled his eyes and leant back in for another kiss, but Kurt stopped him, noticing his dad and the New Directions coming towards them.

"But Kurt," whined Keats. "do you have any idea how hot your performances were." Kurt pulled a deliberating face.

"Yes," he said finally. "isn't the whole point of cheerleading to be sexually appealing to get the hormones of the fans working?" Keats sent him a rather dark, possessive look that said Kurt had done his job well latched his hands onto Kurt's waist tightly. Kurt smirked and leant in to coo sympathetically in his ear; "but don't worry, baby, I'm all yours," and Keats let out a cavemanly grunt and kissed him hard once more, pulling their bodies as close together as he could, and Kurt had to admit he was seriously enjoying these aspects of being a cheerleader, but he had to pull back because his dad was within earshot. Keats let out a small moan this time and briefly pressed his face into Kurt's neck before straightening up.

There was a very prominent awkward silence in which Kurt and Keats, whose faces were flushed bright scarlet, stared at Kurt's parents and his old teacher and glee club, who all looked disapproving, amused or slightly smug – all the New Directions were for some reason – respectively. Then the New Directions burst out laughing and flocked forward to hug him. Kurt began to laugh too, readily accepting the group embrace and loving the warm feeling he got from everyone patting his back and hugging him (some of the guys were also ruffling his hair, much to his chagrin) whilst they told him how awesome he was.

"Dude, you were epic!" exclaimed Finn, punching the air.

"You're so ready to take down Coach Sylvester," agreed Tina.

"The tie thing was ingenious!" enthused Artie.

"I have to say that it was so much better than 4 Minutes," said Rachel in a prim tone, nodding succinctly.

"Hey!" exclaimed Mercedes, looking at Rachel with a dangerous expression. "What you talking about?" Rachel sighed, rolling her eyes and tutting whilst the others laughed.

"That wasn't a comment on you, Mercedes; I simply meant that Kurt's voice has improved considerably since then." Kurt arched an eyebrow, demanding to know what that mean, and Rachel rolled her eyes again, sighing at their stupidity whilst the others snorted.

"Well, I've got to say that you've got me worrying even more about Regionals." Kurt beamed at Mr Schue at that and stepped forward to accept his hand clasping onto Kurt's shoulder. "I mean, there's Vocal Adrenaline, and now you plus Sebastian and Blaine…" he trailed off, pulling a face. "we've got a lot of work ahead of us."

"Yeah, but it wouldn't be fun any other way, would it?" Kurt chuckled at David as he glanced around to see that the Warblers, and his other friends, in his year, including those on the lacrosse team, had reappeared with Cam in tow. Rachel let out a squeal at the sight of another celebrity, and she led the girls in diving at him. Cameron grinned at them, happily signing the pieces of paper that Morrison had procured for him and Daley to sign.

"Do you really eat your birds?" asked Sam curiously, and Cam rolled his eyes, running his hand through his loose blonde hair.

"No," he said, emphatically. "it was just a complicated lie, but don't tell," he added hastily. The New Directions turned confused eyes to Kurt, and he gave them a serious look that said not to question it, or tell. They shrugged as one and looked back at Cam with baffled but placated expressions. Cam shot Kurt a thankful smile that Kurt rolled his eyes at, smiling too and shrugging.

Then, as his two groups of friends fell into easy conversation, Keats moving away to his own friends – Kurt was going to have to do something about this soon because he could see it becoming a huge issue given the animosity between the two groups of Dalton boys, though they were both doing a good job of hiding that at the moment even though someone was going to question the way they didn't interact at some point – Kurt caught his dad's eye and saw him motion with his head to call him over. Kurt, frowning slightly, slipped out of the group and over towards the two adults. Carole hugged him warmly, telling him that he'd been brilliant, but Kurt was more focused on the serious expression on his dad's face. His dad gave him a sturdy hug, and Kurt smiled up at him as his dad wrapped his arm around Kurt's shoulders and walked him a little away. Kurt tried not to worry, but there was something serious about his dad that was unnerving him.

"Dad," he began in what he hoped was a calm voice. His dad turned to him with a small smile, rolling his eyes.

"I'm fine, kid," he said, reassuringly. Kurt arched an eyebrow and was stared down in return. He sighed, deflating and looking at his dad questioningly. His dad shot him another smile. "It's really nothing, Kurt; I just wanted a couple of minutes to talk to you on your own." Kurt frowned a little bit but waited patiently for his dad to sort his words out. "I just wanted to tell you," began Burt after a couple more seconds of silence between them as the sound of other conversations drifted over to them. "that your mum would have been so proud of, and happy for, you if she'd seen this today." Kurt swallowed heavily and ducked his head to hide the way tears had filled his eyes. He felt his dad squeeze his shoulder tightly and felt able to look back up at him, nostrils flaring in order to try and keep the emotions at bay and mouth twisting up into a smile.

"Thanks," he whispered thickly, and his dad shrugged.

"She would have been: you sung and danced incredibly, you kicked ass like all Hummel's do, you proved you're damned cleverer than the rest and most importantly, you've got an overflowing group of friends. The first two times I was here, I didn't really take it in, though both Carole and Finn pointed out, because I was so worried about you, but now I see that every kid here is your friend! It's wonderful! You know, you were so lonely for so long, and the New Directions are a great bunch of kids, there's no questioning it, but there's only twelve of them, and this is what you deserve…" he shook his head, putting both hands on Kurt's shoulders and staring down into his eyes. "Your mum would have loved to have seen you surrounded by so many friends with more people that admire, and appreciate, you than you can count, and I wanted you to know that I'm doing my all to be all of that for both of us." Kurt swallowed once more, raising a hand so that he could wipe away the tears that were beginning to spill over his lids, and sniffed heavily, looking away for a moment to compose himself. When he was sure he wasn't about to break down, he looked back into his father's face, aglow with happiness and pride, and smiled.

"Thanks for telling me that," he muttered, and Burt pulled an unconcerned face.

"It's all true, and you shouldn't ever forget that." Kurt shot his dad a warm, confident smile.

"I won't, dad; ever." His dad beamed at him in return, and they stayed like that for a moment before his dad pulled him into a tight, crushing embrace that allowed Kurt to close his eyes and soak up as much of his dad's love as he possibly could.

The moment they broke apart, there was a small cough. They looked around to see Blaine standing there, looking rather awkward and very apologetic. Kurt shot him a reassuring smile that said it was fine to be disturbing them, and Blaine visibly relaxed, most prominently his shoulders sagging as his entire body loosened.

"Sorry," apologised the short Warbler. "but basically, Hammonds wants me to take Sebastian back to the house because he's running around trying to be head boy when he should be resting so I was wondering if I could have my tie back?" Kurt blinked and then looked down at his waistband where half of the Dalton tie was hanging out, fluttering a little in the gentle breeze.

"Yeah, of course," he said, blushing and pulling it out. "I sort of forgot I had it; sorry!" Blaine shrugged, sending him a look that said that was fine, and held out a hand for the tie, which Kurt dropped into his open palm with an embarrassed smile.

"Thanks!" exclaimed Blaine, shooting him a bright smile. Kurt grinned in return, hoping the flush in his cheeks was minimal, and Blaine made to walk away but then stopped, turning back to Kurt. "I did tell you that you were all round awesome today and that every time you perform my fear for my lead sport increases, didn't I?" Kurt fought to contain a beaming grin as he flushed scarlet at the praise that was being doubled by Blaine's sincere but glittering eyes.

"I recall you saying something to that effect, yes," he replied. Blaine grinned.

"Excellent…well, I'd better go find Sebastian. It was really nice to see the New Directions again, and you too, Mr Hummel." Burt nodded at Blaine, shooting him a polite smile. "I'll see you back in Franklin, I guess, Kurt." Kurt nodded and waved at Blaine as he turned and began to hurry away. However, he hadn't gone very far when he began to cough, and Kurt, feeling worry spike in him, called out Blaine's name and made the other boy turn back to him with a quizzical expression. Kurt swallowed and took a couple of steps towards Blaine.

"You should be resting too," he said, gently. "so look after Sebastian by all means, but don't forget to look after yourself too. I mean, your fever only broke yesterday so put your stubborn boyfriend to bed, and then do the same with yourself, alright?" he gave Blaine his hardest stare, and Blaine nodded instantly, and so Kurt was able to smile kindly at him again. "Good, and don't think that I won't check up on you because I will." Blaine nodded meekly. "Okay then, sleep well."

"You too, Kurt," said Blaine before turning around and running off. Kurt smiled fondly after him for a moment before turning back to his dad, who was watching him with an amused smile.

"What?" asked Kurt, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at his father.

"Nothing!" denied his dad, throwing up his hands in a surrender but smiling wider. "It's just nice to know that I'm not the only one you mother." Kurt rolled his eyes at that, and his dad flung an arm around his shoulder, and they began to walk back towards Kurt's friends.

It was so heart-warming to look at them from afar and seem them all talking: Mr Schue and Rachel conversing with David and Thad, no doubt about show choir; Finn and Drew chatting through their laughter, undoubtedly bonding over sport, whilst Puck, Mike, Sam and Artie stood next to them and watched with interested expressions as Nick and Cam waved their sticks in the air and attempted to explain lacrosse; Mercedes and Tina were giggling with Jeff, Morrison, Lottie, Elise and Cat, who seemed to have reappeared out of nowhere, and Carole was listening to Chris, Juri and Fred talk with an interested expression. Flint and Dylan seemed to have vanished, though Kurt would hazard a guess that the former was trying to calm the latter down about the football game, and so had the Seniors and Bea whilst Trinity where talking with Keats, Vince, Parker, Stuart and Andy several metres away. Kurt smiled, internally hoping that Trinity were going to keep Keats occupied because he didn't want to have to deal with tension, and walked back towards the large conglomeration of his friends. Most of them shot him smiles as he approached, and Drew bounded towards him with the expression of an excited puppy on his ruddy features.

"So?" he asked, holding his arms out wide so that Kurt could inspect him and deem him clean enough to kiss. Kurt rolled his eyes, sighing heavily as everyone stared at them expectantly.

"Oh for crying out loud!" he exclaimed and grabbed Drew's face, pulling his head closer, and planted a kiss on his forehead. Everyone roared with laughter as Kurt released the sportsman, who was pouting at him with wide, baleful eyes, and shook his head.

"You didn't specify where!" he said in a sing song voice, and Drew shook his head.

"I'm not pouting because of that," he explained. "I'm pouting because I said that I could kiss you, not the other way around, so…" Kurt barely had time to acknowledge the truth of Drew's words, and the storm of laughter they had caused, before the stockier boy had grabbed his face and planted a sloppy kiss on Kurt's forehead.

Once more, everyone howled with laughter as Kurt withdrew, burning face scrunched up in disgust, wiping away the spit from his forehead. Drew shot him his most incredibly charming smile, and Kurt mock glared at him. The rest laughed, and Kurt shook his head because he knew that there was no way that they were going to let this drop any time soon…he supposed that he just ought to be thankful that Keats hadn't stormed over in a jealous rage similar to the fit he'd thrown in the locker rooms. Perhaps, though, he had calmed down after their open displays of affection both there and just now.

Well, you never can fault the wheels of progress…

---

"Alright, bedtime, mister," said Blaine in his most fearsome, hoarse voice, dragging Sebastian across the threshold to his room. Sebastian pouted, doubling over and coughing slightly, and Blaine gave him his hardest stare that said there would be no wheedling his way out of this. He was going to bed after all the physical exertion that he had put himself through, and that was final.

"You're really no fun," grumbled Sebastian, rounding on him with a wounded expression. Blaine heaved a sigh, knowing that his boyfriend was about to emotionally manipulate him, and stared into his eyes.

"I've been told, but you need sleep."

"And kisses – I've been told kisses make everything better." Blaine rolled his eyes, knowing that he should have seen that coming and what argument was coming next, and swallowed, attempting to think of a solution.

"Okay, one kiss, but that is it. I need to go to bed too, or Kurt will actually murder me." Sebastian rolled his eyes and leant in. Blaine eagerly followed his lead, pressing his lips against Sebastian's, intending for it only to be brief but giving his boyfriend a couple more seconds because he'd missed this. However, what he hadn't counted on was Sebastian enticing his mouth open with his tongue – how was Blaine meant to resist that, especially when he was painfully aware of his own humanity? – and deepening the kiss, pulling Blaine's tired body against his, and Blaine couldn't help surrendering to the rightness of the situation.

The two of them were forced apart not that long later by their need to cough. Blaine stayed close to his boyfriend as he covered his mouth, head swimming just a little from oxygen deprivation, and Sebastian, when he was done, shot him his mischievous grin.

"You never said how long the kiss had to be." Blaine rolled his eyes, unable to argue with that because he really should have known to be specific and say one brief kiss.

"You're right, I didn't, but I did say one so bed now." Sebastian heaved a huge sigh and glanced at the door. Blaine followed his gaze and shot him a comforting smile. "Daley'll be fine, Bastian. Besides, you have start trusting him to look after himself sometime." Sebastian sighed and nodded, turning away to indicate that he didn't want this conversation to go on any longer. Blaine bit down on the inside of his lip, supposing that this was never going to be a topic open for him to discuss, and turned to the door, opening it and walking out, leaving Sebastian to his brooding thoughts. He ran a hand down his face, wishing that the day had ended better for them and feeling the pressure to win the football game increase. The odds should hopefully be swinging back in their favour, but still…he didn't feel hopeful.

---

Kurt literally felt like he was on his last legs as he turned into the Dalton gym. He was ridiculously tired, and if this went on for much longer he would probably just face-plant the moment the routine started. Thankfully, Met seemed to have finally realised that they were people, not wind-up cheerleading dolls, and so had given them the rest of the evening off to rest, but Kurt reckoned, given the backlog of homework that he'd managed to build up despite his deferral, he would probably do very little resting.

Besides, before he could go back to Franklin, he had to talk to Blaine after a frightening possibility had entered his mind, and he'd been instructed to find Blaine here by a rather pissed off looking Jack, who had grumbled something about him keeping their goalie hostage, whom he'd encountered on his way back from Crawford by the football pitches. He wasn't entirely sure why Blaine was the best option for this conversation in his head; Drew, who had also been by the football pitches, would probably provide just as much information as Blaine, but Kurt found something in him just commanding him to speak to Blaine; to find an excuse to be in his presence given that they barely saw each other at the moment, and he was far too tired to fight it.

He had been expecting to find Blaine in the gym, kicking about a football with Dylan because Sebastian, Kurt and probably everyone else wasn't letting him outside yet to play, and though that wasn't ideal, it was part of the compromise struck to stop Blaine from pouting and rebelling. He wasn't expecting, and he was pretty sure that this wasn't part of the deal, to find him in the ring, boxing against a boy that loomed ridiculously above his head and hopelessly outweighed him, and though Kurt knew nothing about boxing, he was pretty sure that the point of weight categories was to stop this kind of fight (right?).

Rolling his eyes in exasperation and dropping his school bag onto the floor, Kurt walked up to the ropes, leaning against them and arching his eyebrows disapprovingly at Blaine. It took the boys a little while to notice him, and it was actually Dylan that did first, holding up his hands to signal time out and then nodding at him with a look on his face that said he was slightly frightened of what Kurt might do. Blaine turned around and adopted a rather sheepish expression.

"Um…" he began, clearly attempting to find an excuse. "you didn't say that I couldn't," he pointed out, and Kurt arched his eyebrows some more. "and it helps with Dylan's reflexes." Kurt stared him down flatly, and Blaine sighed. "Sorry." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Dylan, I think they want you outside." Dylan's eyes widened, and he glanced at the clock.

"Shit! We're late," he pulled off gloves and ducked under the ropes. Kurt arched his eyebrows.

"We?" he demanded, sending Blaine a look that demanded an explanation. Blaine held up his hands.

"I agreed it with Sebastian and the others," he explained hurriedly. "at lunch: you were with Keats!"

"I trust that you're not lying to me," replied Kurt, giving him a warning glare. Blaine put a hand over his heart.

"I swear on Mr McApples." Kurt rolled his eyes, unable to stop the smile from spreading on his face, and Dylan stilled from where he'd been gathering his things.

"Mr McApples?" he questioned in confusion, looking between the two other boys with a frown. Kurt rolled his eyes once more whilst Blaine beamed his toothy, child-like grin.

"The little Apple-man that Kurt made me; I call him Mr McApples."

"Yeah…" replied Dylan slowly in a rather disturbed voice. "I got that." Kurt felt himself colour up in embarrassment like he did every time Blaine brought the Apple-man – Mr McApples – up, which was something that he managed to do a lot. His eyes, deliberately staying away from Blaine and Dylan until they'd moved on from that topic of conversation, alighted on a rather strange sight on the mats: Thad was down in the splits, and his head was resting on knee, his upper body folded over completely, and, going from his steady breathing and completely lax position, he was asleep.

"Is that normal?" asked Kurt, pointing over at Thad with a rather perturbed expression, not knowing if that was a safe thing to do. Blaine and Dylan looked over, and Blaine shrugged.

"As normal as anything at Dalton can be," he said. "Thad's pretty tired, but he's a light sleeper, so I'm guessing he must be comfortable 'cause otherwise he would not be asleep." Kurt flickered his eyebrows in surprise and then turned back to Blaine and Dylan.

"Anyway, I actually came to ask you something, Blaine," he began, and Blaine's eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise – Kurt wasn't sure why – and he looked over at Dylan. The taller boy nodded instantly.

"Okay, I'll see you on the pitch in a bit; bye Kurt!" Kurt raised a hand in farewell as Dylan sprinted from the gym, and Blaine leant forward against the ropes, frown on his face.

"Is everything okay?" he asked in concern, and Kurt, whose heart was unhelpfully beating that extra bit faster at the genuine worry that it was distracting, pulled a face, shrugging.

"Yeah, sort of, I mean, I'm tired and everything, but it's not about that, it's about St Emily's." Blaine's face fell into a serious frown at that, and everything about his posture tightened.

"Yeah," he said, telling Kurt that he was listening and so should continue. Kurt sighed.

"Well, I was thinking…I just- right now, our chances of winning are not great, but we've still got a chance, right?" Blaine nodded, frown getting more and more intense as he listened. "Well, I was wondering, do you think St Emily's will play fair? Because Coach Sylvester doesn't really, and if they don't, then we don't stand a chance…" he trailed, looking up at Blaine in desperation as the other boy mulled it over.

"Come on," he said, ducking under the ropes as well. "let's walk and talk." Kurt grabbed up his bag whilst Blaine collected his things and then slung an arm around Kurt's shoulders as they made their way towards the exit of the gym. "Okay, so what exactly do you mean by not playing fair? I mean, are talking about sabotage, or steroids, or bribery…?" Kurt shrugged, having not put that much thought into it.

"I don't know, just something that they would do to win that we, as the school that seems to hold the moral high ground, would find ethically deplorable." Blaine "hmmed" in thought at that, nodding absentmindedly, and Kurt watched him as he thought it over.

"Well, I guess that I wouldn't put it past them, no," he said, eventually, and Kurt sighed, closing his eyes and cursing because they were utterly doomed. "but," continued Blaine, forcefully. "I wouldn't worry too much about it." Kurt arched his eyebrows.

"Are you seriously telling me not to worry "too much?! I'm not just thinking about them but McKinley too! If their evils are combined then we're sunk!"

"Hey!" exclaimed Blaine, shooting him a fierce look. "I wasn't done!" Kurt snapped his mouth shut, telling him to continue whilst also saying that what he was about to say wouldn't change anything. "As I was saying, I wouldn't worry too much because St Emily's are not as bad as Garfield, or at least that's what I've garnered from personal experience, and the way that Garfield cheat is by, you know, physically cheating, but how can they do that in a none-contact environment? Besides, the winner is decided by judges, and there's an audience – they can't not award it to the best performance, right? As long you as you work hard like I know you have been, and you perform as well as I know you can, then there's no reason for you not to stand a chance."

Kurt stared at Blaine as they came to a halt in the corridor so that Blaine could bore his eyes into Kurt's, half smile appearing on his face at Blaine's optimism and unwavering belief in him. What he'd said hadn't changed Kurt's worries over the situation, or the fact that winning seemed to be nothing more than an unattainable, distant dream, but it did make them fade a little into the background: Blaine's unwavering faith, and his almost-out-of-character belief that something good would happen, just paused everything for a little bit and made Kurt feel a whole lot better about himself.

The moment was broken, though, by the sound of sirens. Blaine straightened up, eyes widening in horror, and Kurt felt his heart skip a beat – the last time an emergency service had been called to Dalton, it had been the ambulance that rushed Luc to hospital after his heart attack. Without a second thought, both boys ran towards the window like all the other boys that had frozen in the hallway at the sound of the siren. Peering through the large, fixed windows, Kurt saw that an ambulance was going to their left down the drive.

"It's going to the clinic," whispered Blaine with wide eyes.

"Who's in the clinic?" he asked, his voice also hushed. Blaine seemed to think it over for a moment before his already pale face, still showing the signs of his recent illness, blanched.

"Mo…" he breathed in horrified voice, eyes widening, and Kurt barely had time to comprehend that before Blaine had grabbed his hand – a breach of school rules, but Kurt, and no one else, cared – and set off at a run – another school rule broken in Blaine's flight to his friend – down the hallway towards the clinic, towing Kurt ever so slightly behind him.

"Is Mo still down with flu?" called Kurt over the sound of the panicked voices and their pounding feet and hearts. Blaine nodded his head furiously, not looking around to make eye contact as he replied;

"Yeah, Mo's never been good with dealing with infections and such; I think he has an immune problem-thingy, and I think it has been getting worse of late; needing to go to the clinic more, but it's never been this bad." As he said that, he skidded around a final corner, Kurt tripping over his feet as Blaine unbalanced him, and the clinic came into sight at the end of the hall. Mr Kerr, Professor Lloyd, Norman and Mac were manning the crowd, whilst Sebastian was standing by the door along with several other teachers – Sutherland, Hartfield and Daniels – along with George, whose arm was around Flint, who had tears streaming down his face. Blaine dropped Kurt's hand as they got to the front of the crowd, just in case Daniels decided to punish them, and sped up when Norman and Mac didn't impede them, tearing down the corridor, Kurt on his heels.

"Blaine! Kurt!" exclaimed Flint, ducking out from under George's arm and throwing his arms around Blaine, burying his head in his shoulder. Kurt skidded to a halt by them and put a hand on Flint's trembling back, rubbing his shoulder and noticing the way that Sutherland held Daniels back to stop her from shooing him and Blaine away. He and Blaine also looked past them into the room, and Kurt felt himself fight the urge to be sick at the sight he saw: Mo, eyes closed, was being wheeled into the back of the ambulance, oxygen mask covering his mouth whilst the paramedics bustled about, conversing with the nurse, Booth hovered by Mo's shoulder and Hammonds talked on the phone, one hand tangled in his hair. This was bad, really bad.

"What happened?" asked Blaine in a whisper as he continued to hold Flint, who was just shaking now, and looked about ready to start crying. Kurt stood in closer, putting a comforting hand on Blaine's shoulder too, and stared up at Sebastian. The grave looking head boy patted George on the shoulder, eyes trained into the room as Booth climbed into the ambulance after Mo, and the doors were slammed shut. The siren started up again, and the emergency vehicle began to tear away from the school.

"I'm not sure," he admitted at last, turning to look at them. "I think his breathing became increasingly impaired, which screwed with his heart rate, and he rapidly lost consciousness so they called the ambulance. Flint was keeping him company at the time – he called me over."

"It's going to be alright," said Sutherland as Daniels moved into the clinic to talk to Hammonds, and Hartfield nodded with a tough smile. Kurt arched his eyebrows, questioning whether he really believed that, and the unwavering look he got from his Social Studies told him that, yes, he did – Sutherland had faith and hope enough to justify his belief. Kurt wanted to argue that there was no possible way he could be so sure, but he didn't because what good did that achieve? All it would do was upset Blaine and Flint some more, and it wouldn't help him feel better either way.

"Alright," said Hammonds, coming up behind them with an incredibly serious expression on his face. "Sebastian, George, Flint, please come with me. The rest of you could you please spread the word – make sure that people know what has happened, especially his friends, but also that he is in a stable condition: don't want to spread panic." Flint stepped back, wiping his eyes on his sleeves and looking at Hammonds with a rather frightened expression. "Relax," intoned their headmaster, softly. "I just want to know what happened." Flint nodded, and George stepped forward to wrap his arm around his shoulder comfortingly, pulling his student close, and the other teachers nodded, moving towards the crowd. "Blaine, you might want to go inform Drew and the others on the football team of all this." Blaine nodded, and Sebastian stepped towards him before could even begin offering comfort, scooping him up into his arms and holding him tight for a moment, Blaine's eyes closing as his head fell onto Sebastian's shoulder, before releasing him with a look that said to be strong, leaving Kurt standing at the side and feeling completely useless.

"Yeah, I was meant to be going to practise anyway," he said in a thick voice, sniffing and shooting them all a forced smile, and then hurried off.

"Come," said Hammonds, beckoning the boys he'd requested to follow him, and they moved off down the corridor, Kurt taking a second to squeeze Flint's wrist supportively, and Mrs Daniels breezed off after them, beginning to address the crowd.

"You holding up okay, Kurt?" asked Sutherland, and Kurt blinked, turning to the older teacher, and the younger one standing next to him, with arched eyebrows. Sutherland shot him an easy smile. "Just wanted to check, and you're really not looking your best…"

"And you haven't been for a while," added Hartfield, and Kurt smiled a little bit at their concern, shaking his head.

"I'm fine, just a little tired…and, I suppose, a little shaken – didn't see that coming."

"Well, none of us did, even those of us who have been concerned by Mo's condition for a while now…"

"Not your fault," cut in Hartfield, half-rolling his eyes and giving the older man a rather stern, inversely paternal look that Kurt sort of recognised as one that he gave his dad when he blamed himself things that weren't his fault, and it made him smile to see that expression, and the relationship that had to go with it, transplanted onto two of his teachers.

"We better go do our job," said Sutherland, clapping Hartfield's shoulder, and Kurt didn't miss the pleased looks they exchanged at the sight of his smile, and the two teachers moved away. Kurt took in a deep breath and let it out, telling himself that he just had to believe that Mo was going to be alright, and then followed them back down the corridor, spotting Keats and his friends by the side along with Trinity.

"Kurt, have you seen him?"

"Is he going to be okay?"

"Do you know what happened?" Kurt shook his head, holding up his hands as Keats attached himself to Kurt's side by looping an arm through his in an awkward manner, and Kurt hoped that he hadn't seen the hand-holding between him and Blaine.

"No, but Hammonds said that he was stable."

"Yeah, that's what they said-" said Keats, indicating at the teachers. "-we were hoping that you might have some more information." Kurt shook his head with a faint frown on his face.

"No, were you guys good friends?" Keats shook his head at once.

"No, I was sort of using the "royal we" insomuch as they-" he gestured at Trinity. "-were hoping, and we-" he indicated to him and his friends. "-were curious." Kurt nodded as Trinity huddled a little closer to each other, the sparkle of vivacious life that characterised them almost completely gone.

"Oh, well, I don't have anything more, but I'm sure George will get everything from the teachers, and I'm sure that he'll tell you when he does." The boys nodded in sync, and Kurt gave them his best smile. "Come on, let's go enjoy my night of freedom!"

The whole of Dalton feels like it's been rocked to the core. Boys are moving in a kind of a stupefied shock all over the place, even those, kind of like me, that barely know Mo. There's a shared sense of pain, though, that's incredibly amplified, and the feeling of community, especially in such a difficult time, is great: it makes me feel better even though it changes nothing about the situation. I just need Mo to get better, a lot of people seem to think that, because this is just a worse version of what always happens, it's going to be fine – that they'll know what to do, but I'm not so sure. Knowing what's wrong doesn't cure anything, but I'm obviously not going to be sharing that piece of information. Trinity's hearts look like they're breaking, and it's honestly one of the most horrible things I've ever seen…

---

Blaine could feel himself shaking violently as he hurried out of the school, breaking out into a run, whilst his mind felt like it had been frozen in shock. Mo was going to hospital, hospital… This wasn't just something that could be shrugged off as a crappy immune system, like he always tried to make it seem, and he'd probably been keeping a part of what was wrong a secret from most of them, but he didn't think that any of them would have seen that coming. Mo couldn't- nothing bad could happen to him. He had to be fine, at the end of the day. He had to come back a week later, laughing on the side lines in a billion layers and desperately waiting for the day that would allow him to get back onto the field. There was no other alternative option.

"Blaine!" Blaine sniffed as the football team came running to meet him halfway towards the pitch, Mattison on their heels and not looking at all pissed off with Blaine for being so late.

"What happened?" demanded Mattison as the others came to a halt, Drew locking an arm around Blaine's shoulders as he tried to stem the tears that had built up in his eyes, and Dylan moving to hover over his shoulder in concern. "Who was in the ambulance?" There was a moment of petrified silence in which Blaine sniffed once more and tried to compose himself so that he would be ready to speak.

"It was Mo," he whispered in a barely audible voice; he didn't seem to be capable of mustering anything more than that because whenever he thought about it, his throat closed up, and the panic was beginning to take hold of his chest now that the numbing shock was wearing off, setting his breathing off-kilter.

"No…" breathed Drew, sagging against Blaine in shock and shaking his head furiously. "no, no, no…" Blaine found his jaw trembling as Drew bowed his head, all of his composure vanishing as he completely collapsed against Blaine, unable to hold himself up, and Blaine stumbled. Dylan caught them both easily and then held them close in his long arms, his grief completely silent but spelt out in his tight grip; he held them close because he didn't know what else to do because, maybe, in his arms, his friends would be safe.

Blaine's vision was obscured through the translucent, blurred sheen of terrified tears, but he could see the fuzzy shapes of the Dalton football team as grief struck the players. He vaguely saw, no noise registering with him; it was like he was almost deaf, noise ringing around him but incomprehensible and dulled, Kay throw her hands over her face in distress, Lance's legs went from under him and Jack had to catch him, lowering him to the ground carefully, busying himself in his fallen friends. Graham retched, bending double in horror, whilst Matt and Joey latched onto each other, holding tightly to one another to confirm the horrific reality of the situation: this was happening, this was so scarily real, and Monty bit down onto his hand to suppress tears. Others simply stood there, wide eyed and disbelieving.

This can't be happening, their shocked expressions screamed, it can't be!

"What happened?" demanded Drew, suddenly, regaining his strength at the cost of a wild ferocity glinting in his eye that Blaine knew meant trouble. He grabbed Blaine's shoulders, shaking him furiously, and Blaine couldn't do anything to stop himself from flopping around because he couldn't breathe.

"Drew!" cried Dylan, tearing the stocky boy from Blaine with a warning look. Blaine's legs went from under him, and he hit the ground, tipping his head back and hearing the breath tear down his throat as he heaved in a huge breath, feeling like he was fighting to stay alive. Drew threw Dylan off, pushing him away, but the taller boy was undeterred. "Drew…" he said softly in a voice of kind understanding made thick through his unshed tears.

"Don't!" yelled Drew, brandishing his finger at him in anger, and Blaine, feeling himself be supported by several other people, stared at the two fighting friends with worry. "You don't-"

"I don't what?" challenged Dylan, his voice growing into one of anger that said he knew exactly what Drew had been about to say because that was what fuelled it. "I don't know how this feels! He's one of our-" he gestured between himself and the downed Lance. "-best friends!" Drew let out an inarticulate shout of frustration, tearing the captain's armband from his arm and throwing it away. Blaine wanted to move towards him as he fought to get his breathing under control, and Lance stumbled to his feet to embrace Dylan, who weren't actually that close friends (or so Blaine thought) but were bonded close by the mutual hole that seemed to be being torn in their lives, but it was Kay that made it to Drew's side first. Without saying a single word, Kay wrapped her arms around him from behind and buried her face in his shoulder, clearly distraught, and after a moment, Drew's head dropped, and Blaine knew that he had begun crying.

Blaine didn't know how long they stayed like that; stuck in horrified fear at the grief that they were beginning to feel and its tantalisingly disgusting possibilities, but he knew that he ended up on all fours', head bowed, somehow finding this the easiest position for him to breathe in, whilst the tears raced silently down his face. He knew that part of what was extrapolating their grief so much was that they'd already been through so much these past couple of weeks; they'd been fighting so hard to be ready to play a game that they felt like they'd already lost; they were clutching at the last straws of hope, and anything that they had built seemed to have been torn back away – there was nothing left, but the terrifying possibility of what might happen to Mo, and the fact that there was nothing they could do to change that, and the inescapable feeling that it was all of their destinies to lose. However, after however long, Mattison blew his whistle, wiping away any tears that might have found their way to his eyes at the sight of their heartbreak, and attracted all of their attention, breaking them from their personal, tormenting grief.

"Alright!" he called in a hoarse voice. "Now, from where I stand we have two choices: we can either complete fold, or we can stick our chins in the air and keep going, and I wonder which one Mo will prefer when he comes back?" There was a pause in which everyone knew that if – when, Mattison had said when, and they had to hold onto that – Mo came back, he would seriously pissed off with them if they'd all just collapsed at his absence and surrendered themselves to a humiliating loss. The silence seemed to say that they were all thinking the same thing, and Mattison nodded with a smirk. "Right then, Drew, get back that arm band-" the captain wiped his eyes, exhaling and looking ashamed as he extricated himself from Kay's arms, giving her a smile of embarrassed thanks, and then hurried off in obedience. "-and I want two laps from all of you, now!" Blaine managed a wan smile at that as he was helped back to his feet, and he fell into step with Dylan and Drew, when he returned, and the latter shot the former an apologetic grimace that the former accepted with a roll of his eyes and a cuff round the back of the head, and Blaine felt just a bit better at that.

The rest of the practise passed by in a blur of running, passing, shooting (mildly successfully, Dylan had definitely improved, and Blaine would like to claim credit for some of that for all the practise he'd done with him in the gym) and falling over – Drew was back to his normal, rough-and-tough self – for Blaine, who felt exhausted and was painfully reminded that he'd been ill for a while, and that he was both a bit out of shape and still fatigued because of that. He felt pretty jagged around the edges, and he got jiggered pretty quickly, but he kept going through the tiredness, the faint pounding in his head and the occasional bout of coughing as he got completely out of breath. However, whenever it all felt a bit too much; when a part of his body ached particularly, or when he felt like his legs might not sustain him, he reminded himself of Mo: his mate, who had his back, and who made him laugh, and who was so furiously competitive that he occasionally put Drew to shame, and how much Mo would want them to win, and how much he'd kick himself if they didn't because of him. Mo, who was always sick, but who also always got better in the end. This would be no different; it had to be.

When it was over, despite the overbearing fear of what happened to Mo, they all left the pitch in relatively good spirits. The practise had been their best by far since they lost their first two goalies seemingly ages ago, which had probably been motivated by what Mattison had said, and their desire to be able to say that they went down fighting with everything that they had when Mo came back, and Dylan actually had a smile on his face as he left the pitch, Drew's arm doing its best to be slung around his shoulder, and Blaine was tucked under his other arm. However, all that hopeful camaraderie stopped when they stepped inside the changing rooms and saw Sebastian sat on one of the benches.

"Bastian…?" began Blaine, tone one of fearful questioning as he slid out from under Drew's arm and ran over his side. Sebastian took his hands in his own, giving him a reassuring look before he turned back to the other boys.

"Mo's stable in hospital, and they think he should be fine. He's unconscious at the moment, and from what I can understand, they've pumped him full of drugs, but that's all temporary. His mum and his brother are with him so he's not going to be on his own, and they've said that some of his friends will be able to visit when he gets a bit better." There was a huge sigh of relief in the changing room, and Blaine threw his arms around Sebastian. The older boy, who still looked rather emaciated and fatigued, wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, and Blaine closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax in comfort as Sebastian's hands trailed up and down his back to reassure and soothe him.

"Do they know what's wrong with him?" asked Dylan, and Blaine retracted himself from Sebastian a little, resting his head upon the head boy's shoulder and looking up at him questioningly. Sebastian nodded slightly, tilting his head slightly so that it rested against Blaine's hair.

"Yeah, they think it's something called aplastic anaemia, and that it's been coming on for a while…Don't know what caused it, but I think that's what's been making him worse recently." There were vague nods at that, and Blaine knew everyone else, like him, had absolutely no idea what that was. "It's something that means he's not producing enough new blood cells, and it's been manifesting itself with the infections, but they think it's getting worse so that means-"

"No more contact sports," muttered Drew, face falling, and Sebastian nodded with a grimace as everyone in the changing room groaned or sighed at that.

"At least for the moment," continued Sebastian. "It's definitely too risky for now." Everyone nodded at that, every single one of them sad that they would be losing Mo, but there was no question what was more important, and he would always be there to support them and guide them, if necessary, from the touchline.

"But he's going to be okay?" clarified Lance. "Like, fine as long as he gets treatment and everything?" Sebastian shrugged a little, sort of dislodging Blaine's head, for which he got a fierce glare, and then raised a hand to make a half-questioning gesture.

"I think so, that seems to be the general message that Hammonds relayed from Booth. I think cards are being created and such, but they'll be circulating themselves round the houses so you know…" There were nods from the rest of the players, who then, after Sebastian made no move to continue talking, turned in on themselves to celebrate, and Blaine, grinning widely, stretched up and kissed Sebastian for a moment before drawing back, smiling a little.

"Thanks for coming to tell us," he whispered, and Sebastian rolled his eyes.

"Well someone had to."

"Yes, but you chose to come instead of sending another prefect, thank you." Sebastian's lips curled into a knowing smirk, and Blaine leant back in to kiss it away, finally feeling like things were beginning to look up.

---

Okay, so all those hours of preparation when I could have been sleeping or doing my homework, has led up to this moment. Well, not exactly this moment because I didn't need all that training to get on a coach, although I'm sure some people would, given the general idiocy of the human race, but Regionals is just a coach journey, which should take the maximum of an hour, away. Thankfully, I do actually feel awake, and Mo is doing a lot better: he sent me a lovely encouraging text, and by the sounds of things he's about ready to breakout of hospital, so that's a huge relief. Even though we knew what was wrong with him from early on, it was still a couple of days, or more precisely, after his first Skype call from his hospital bed that we invaded the main hall to watch, before we could breathe easy. Either way, my phone has been deluged in good luck texts; my dad phoned me before he set off for the big game at McKinley (that is not going to end well from the sounds of things), and now Keats just wants to say goodbye, but it'll have to be quick or else Met will kill him for making us late. Oh, and Elise has now come running over. I thought that coach had left…

"El?" he questioned, ducking away from Keats with a frown on his face. "Shouldn't you have gone?" El nodded, rolling her eyes a little and giving Keats a half-glance that told him to back off, a warning that he actually heeded.

Smart boy.

"Yes, but I just wanted to say something." Kurt arched his eyebrow, asking her to speed up. "Okay, alright, Grace has been passing things along the grapevine that makes it sound like the St Emily's girls could be looking to sabotage, but it was nothing more than the usual chatter that we always get, but then she said that Freya Hutchinson, fyi total bitch, who's a Senior, is now captain of the cheerleading squad because Lydia sprained her ankle or something, like, getting onto the bus-"

See! Some people do need lessons on getting onto buses.

"-and she has something huge planned so when you get there seek her out and say, and I don't know the context for this, but Grace has assured me that this will work, that "Freddy loves pandas almost as much as he loves you, and that he would love to see pictures of the two things he loves the most together" and she'll back off." Kurt frowned at El, not entirely sure what that meant.

"Okay…so are we blackmailing them now?" Elise shrugged.

"Well, I suppose, but we're only blackmailing them into not cheating so there's not really anything wrong with that." Kurt dipped his head in acquiescence, eyebrows flickering, and then shot her a smile.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. We're not really sinking to their level, just about." Elise shot him a bright smile and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a glittery, lip-gloss stain.

"Good luck! I know you'll be brilliant, so just kick ass like normal!" Kurt smiled brightly, hugging her briefly.

"Ditto; good luck, and you'll be amazing! See you later!"

"Call me," she called with a wink as she ran off, and Kurt rolled his eyes, laughing.

"Why would I ruin the surprise?" he called, and she flipped him off as she became more and more distant. Kurt shook his head in amusement as Keats stepped up and Met gave him a glare and held up a finger that said she was leaving in one minute, with or without him, though that was an empty threat really.

"Should I be jealous?" he questioned, and Kurt rolled his eyes as Keats pulled out a tissue to dab the mark away. "There, that should keep the girls at bay somewhat: what they don't know can't hurt them."

"Err, Keats," said Kurt, glancing up at the windows that had the faces of the cheerleading squad pressed against them. "I think you're overlooking the transparency of glass windows." Keats glanced up at the window and then shot him a pitying look.

"Well, you're screwed," he commented lightly, and Kurt shot him a dull glare. "Either way," he said, standing forward and putting his hands on Kurt's shoulders, folding his fingers slightly into the material of his letterman jacket. "I'm sorry that I can't come, but I know you're going to be absolutely outstanding, if your previous performances are anything to go by, and I will be waiting in expectation for the result. Just be your amazing self, and I know you will win, and if you don't then it is either a crime, or they are amazing, and I wish I were straight." Kurt let out a laugh at that, sending him a mock-glare, and leant in to kiss him on the lips briefly because it was hard to do anything with Met glaring at him.

"I'm just going to forgive you for that because otherwise I will be decapitated on the ride home," he kissed him once more, giving him a wide smile.

"Okay," he said, hands clasping Kurt's briefly. "and I will see you as soon as possibly can. Good luck, goodbye!" he kissed Kurt once on the cheek, and Kurt gave him a flashing smile and dashed towards the bus, taking the steps carefully and giving Met a smile that said butter wouldn't melt.

"Kurt!" exclaimed Gwen from the back, waving at him, and Kurt broke out into a smile at the sight of her and hurried down the aisle, dodging any hands and calls, to an empty seat near the back. He dropped down, shooting the cheerleaders that he liked, who'd managed to create a buffer-zone of bags and assorted other stuff between them and some of the more insane ones.

"Hey," he said, running a hand through his hair. "El told me that St Emily's is now being led by a Freya Hutchinson-" there some hisses that told him everything he needed to know about the girl. "-and I was told to tell her something about a guy called Freddy and pandas…" There were blank looks at that as Met finished her headcount and the bus trundled into a start.

"No idea what that's about," said Lizzie, shrugging and taking the opportunity to slouch. "but it sounds like a decent piece of blackmail, are we using it?"

"We're not using it to blackmail them per se," he explained. "we're just using it to deter them from sabotaging our performance." There were some arched eyebrows, and Kurt sighed heavily. "Look, I know it would be really easy to do it for the whole thing, but we can't do that. Winning wouldn't be the same if we did that, and one of the things we do have is the moral high ground, and we can't sacrifice that. Besides, we don't want to provoke them into doing anything drastic. That's my plan," he stared hard at the cheerleaders around him, daring them to challenge him. "and that's what we're doing – end of story." There was a moment of silence before the cheerleaders shrugged and nodded.

"Alright," said Jas, holding up her hands. "we shall not question thy Word O Cheerleading-Lord." Kurt rolled his eyes, smiling as the others laughed, and took in the atmosphere of the bus: there was a lot of chatter and laughter, and everyone seemed to be in relatively good spirits, definitely some of their best since the whole bombshell of the clash had been dropped on them. Hopefully, that spirit, as long as it was sustained, would translate into an excellent performance…hopefully.

"So, who knows any good games to pass the time?" asked Lucy, crossing her arms and glancing out of the window. Kurt followed her gaze and immediately sought to cut any trains of thought off.

"No games of I spy shall be played on this journey," he said, firmly, shooting them all fierce glares that dared them not to challenge his authority. Lucy held up her hands.

"I said nothing," she replied. Kurt rolled his eyes, pursing his lips and trying to think of some other game that they could play that would not get highly annoying very quickly.

"How about we play the storytelling game?" he suggested, eventually, and a couple of people nodded whilst he also got some confused looks too, and Kurt stared at them, unsure how they had never played this game before, and then shook his head. "You know, where one person says a sentence, or phrase, or whatever, and then another person, and we build a story from there…" Their faces' lit up in understanding, and there were some eager nods that made Kurt wonder whether or not it was a good idea. "Okay, so we'll go clockwise round the circle, starting with me, of course…um…once upon a time, there was a…bat prince-" the girls burst out laughing at that, and Kurt glared at them intensely for interrupting his sentence, but they continued to laugh.

"What the hell is a "bat prince"?!" demanded Gwen, hand over her mouth as she laughed. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"It's a prince of the bats, duh!" There were some more eye rolls at that, and Kurt shook his head, clearing his throat in order to bring full attention back to himself.

"-so, once upon a time, there was a bat prince that desperately wanted to leave his cave-"

"-and so," said Lizzie, picking up the strand of the story with a faint frown. "he decided to spontaneously combust-" There was another outburst of laughter at that, Kurt raising a hand to his face as he laughed.

"-but unfortunately, spontaneous combustion is incredibly hard when covered in stalagmites and stalactites."

"Therefore, he decided it was entirely in his best interest to move to the Glenn Forests of greenness."

"However, when he got there he decided that it was too occupied by fattened beavers-"

"-so he decided," continued Kurt, attempting to contain his laughter. "that there were entirely too many sun-drop elves in the world…"

The game continued in this vein for about fifteen more minutes, getting increasingly more and more bizarre and abstract as the sun-drop elves decided to chew on cheetahs in order to become stripy, and then they attempted to swallow the Atlantic Ocean for no discernable reason other than they had seen it on an episode of The Simpsons, which they watched in transatlantic-Hebrew and then translated it into ovals of apricots so that they might understand it best. Then there was a slight incident that the bat prince had with a Christmas tree that looked entirely too much like his mother for his own liking, and then decided that he should freeze the Christmas tree in order to turn her into a piece of crochet that could adorn his new house inside a limpet.

They had just reached the point where the zodiac signs were attempting to marry the bat prince with the loneliest of the sun-drop elves that lived off mince pies that made her face bloated when his phone rang. Kurt pulled it out and glanced at the caller id, and at the sight of Finn's name, his eyebrows shot up his forehead, and he held out a finger to pause the game.

"Sorry, but I really have to take this," he said, shooting them an apologetic smile and answer the phone. "Hey Finn, is everything going alright?" Finn let out a rough chuckle at that that told him exactly what he had already known just by seeing that he was the one calling him.

"No, not really," he admitted with a tired huff. "basically, you know that the other guys on the Football team quit?"

"Mmhmm," hummed Kurt in affirmation, nodding and telling Finn that he was listening.

"Well, basically, the girls have decided that they're going to play instead because the guys haven't come round like I thought they might, and I know that the girls are made of tough stuff and everything, but those guys crush me and Puck, imagine what they'd do to the likes of Rachel?! I mean, she's terrifying when she's pissed, but she's tiny!" Kurt nodded in agreement at that because he'd been far too small to be on the Football pitch as was Blaine, but they were also just kickers, not in the full swing of play like the girls were intending to be.

"What do you need from me?" he asked because time had to be ticking until kick off, and Finn clearly needed some immediate guidance and counsel; best to get straight to the point.

"Look, I get the feeling that if I sway Karofsky than I can sway the rest, and I was wondering if you could possibly give me any pointers as to how…" Kurt twisted around at Finn's words, shuffling as far away from the Crawford girls as he could get.

"Finn," he hissed. "you can't out him!"

"I'm not going to!" replied Finn defensively. "I just thought you understood him better than anyone…" Kurt sighed at that, twisting back to face front and flopping into the back of his seat, and ran a hand through his hair in thought, pondering whether there was something that he could say to help.

"Well…" he began, frowning heavily. "I suppose the best thing to do what be to appeal to his sense of masculinity." There was a silence that followed those words that said Finn did not understand his point, and Kurt sighed, guessing that he would have to explain some more. "Karofsky likes to think of himself as a real man, as do all the Footballers, that's probably why they objected to the whole singing thing in the first place, and so you should point out the irony in how the girls are man enough to play when they aren't – that should probably sway them for you. That should work, but if it doesn't then you're on your own…I'm sorry that I can't be any more help than that."

"No, dude, that's great help. Thanks so much, you're awesome, good luck."

"Good luck to you too," said Kurt with a smile at his brother's farewell. "Bye."

"Yeah, good luck, thanks so much, bye!" Finn hung up hurriedly, and Kurt smiled at his phone before turning back to face the others, pulling an apologetic expression that they dismissed with easy smiles.

"Sorry about that, Finn – my step brother – needed some advice."

"That's nothing, now let's get back to our story. I believe it was your turn that was interrupted." Kurt cleared his throat, trying to focus back in on the game even though his mind was still on the phone call and his chest was being knitted together by tendrils of panic, hoping against hope that Karofsky wouldn't do anything violent against Finn again.

"Right, yeah, so…the sun-drop elf's face was so bloated that it swelled to the size of the moon!" Their story began to flow once more, and after just over two more rounds, Kurt got a short text from Finn that lifted his rising spirits to new heights:

You are the best! It worked! We've got the guys back, and the girls don't have to play! We actually stand a chance! Can't thank you enough! You're awesome! Good luck and thanks again!-Finn

Kurt smiled at that and tapped out a response –

No problem: glad I could be of help! Good luck to you too, and I look forward to hearing how you wiped the floor with them!-Kurt

– and tucked his phone away after Finn's enthusiastic "ditto" (not his actual words, but that was the essence of them) to continue their story game, which was getting even wilder than it already had been because there was a giant pool of craziness that they could use to build the story on. In fact, Kurt got the distinct impression that the three talking chipolatas were based on Trinity, though it was probably best not to ask why someone had thought that the things to save the sun-drop elves from the swamp of unmarked homework were talking chipolatas…then again, it was probably best not to question how they'd thought of that situation in the first place.

Just after two of the chipolatas were eaten by a corrugated duck, and Kurt had worked out that there was definitely a competition going on between them to see who could say the craziest thing, which he had to admit had probably taken him longer than it should have because they were all seriously competitive, his phone rang again. Pulling it out, he felt a heavy frown fall onto his face at the sight of Quinn's number – great, Coach Sylvester was probably trying to spook him somehow. He briefly considered not answering it but decided against that because psyching someone out worked two ways, maybe he could unbalance them.

"Well, Miss Fabray, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" he asked, coolly in his best light-bitch tone. A couple of girls' eyebrows quirked as they recognised the surname, but Kurt held up a hand, telling them to leave him alone because he had this.

"Yeah, Kurt, you can cut the bitch-queen act," replied Quinn, and Kurt gasped even as he smiled a little because he could see her rolling her eyes with a bored expression.

"Darling, this is no act."

"Hummel," cut in Santana, and Kurt blinked, a little surprised by that and guessing that Brittany was probably on the other end too. "you know that I would love to get into this fight with you, even though I win hands down-" Kurt snorted derisively at that but said nothing. "-but we really don't have time."

"Yeah," said Quinn, chipping back in over Santana. "we just called to tell you that we've quit, and that we're rejoining the New Directions." Kurt blinked in shock, heart skipping a beat in hope whilst his brain told him to be cautious – this could be one of Sue's tricks.

"Really?" he asked, tone dripping with disbelief, and he heard Quinn and Santana both huff, no doubt rolling their eyes in sync.

"Yes!" exclaimed Quinn. "You can check with Finn if you want; he's the one that talked us out of it, but we just wanted to tell you to go kick her ass!" Kurt remained silently, frowning intensely, torn between trusting his friends and listening to the part of him that was telling him that Coach Sylvester would do whatever she could to get ahead, and that this would fit perfectly into some evil scheme.

"Yeah, she was going to fire Brittany out of canon!"

"She was what?" spluttered Kurt, eyebrows shooting up his head at Santana's words.

"Yeah, it didn't look as fun as it sounds," commented Brittany in a sad voice. "the dummy didn't look at all happy…Mr Schue wouldn't do that to a doll." Kurt swallowed, biting down on the inside of his lip, and knew that they were telling the truth: whilst Quinn and Santana could lie with complete easy and be manipulative bitches, Brittany genuinely sounded sad, and Kurt didn't think she could pull off that kind of deception, at least not without getting confused and whispering to Santana for guidance, which wasn't happening.

"You're really not going, are you?"

"Nope," replied Quinn, and Kurt broke out into a smile, letting out a laugh. "we're out of that and back with the New Directions."

"Just know," said Santana in a smug voice. "that when you're kissing that trophy, that's the only time your lips are going to be touching a Regionals trophy, because Regionals is ours." Kurt snorted at that.

"Really?" he challenged.

"Really," came the solid reply, and Kurt smirked.

"We'll see. Bye girls."

"Bye Kurt, don't you dare let us down!"

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, still smirking, and took the phone away from his ear, hanging up and looking at the expectant faces of the others, all demanding to know what that had been about. Kurt, however, shot them a look that said to wait and got to his feet, clearing his throat loudly.

"People!" he called, clapping his hands together and attracting their attention. Headphones were pulled from ears and eyes diverted from glowing screens as their heads turned to him, and Kurt shot them all a smile that said their time wasn't being wasted on him. "Alright, I just got some good news," he said, and there were arched eyebrows and disbelieving expressions at that, and Kurt rolled his eyes at their negativity. "No, I'm serious. Quinn, Santana and Brittany have quit the McKinley cheerleading squad!" There were a couple of excited gasps, but on the whole, the reaction to his news was underwhelming; everyone else either looking confused or sceptical. "Come on!" he exclaimed. "This is great news! Quinn, Santana and Brittany are the three head bitches! They're the best cheerleaders in the squad: Quinn and Santana have amazing voices, and Brittany dances like you wouldn't believe. Trust me when I say that with them having quit just now, they are totally sunk." There were some excited noises at that, little cheers and whoops, but Met just arched her eyebrows.

"And exactly how do you know this?" she demanded, and Kurt rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming.

"They told me, and I know what you're thinking because I thought that too, but they're not lying. I don't think I can adequately explain it to you-"

"Well that's reassuring," muttered Met to an accompaniment of nods.

"-but," continued Kurt, unfazed. "I'm not asking you to rationalise this; I'm asking you to trust my judgement here. You guys made me your captain, so follow my lead." Kurt put his hands on his hips, sort of channelling Drew from his speech to Sebastian on the lacrosse pitch. There was a moment of silence in which Met looked at the girls, telling them that it was their decision. Slowly, the girls began to nod, a couple of them sending Kurt sweet smiles asking him to favour them now, but Kurt simply rolled his eyes and flopped back into his seat with a smile on his face. Jas winked at him from where she sat, and Kurt smiled at that, glad that he had the support of the old guard. "Now," he said, clapping his hands together. "I believe we were talking about chipolatas being eaten by a corrugated duck…"

---

"Is Daley really coming?" asked Blaine in an undertone from where he leant against the minibus. Sebastian, who had wandered over, nodded with a grave look on his face that said he was not in the least bit in favour of his decision but was tired of arguing.

"Yes," he hissed in a tetchy voice, slumping against the bus with an angry expression. "I am not in favour of this." Blaine gave him a sympathetic smile, putting a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it. Sebastian looked incredibly defeated as he stood there in his Dalton tracksuit, ready to play medic even though he looked like he was in need of a medic himself given how pale and exhausted he appeared, and Blaine desperately wanted to do something to make him feel better, but he wasn't sure what.

"You can protect him, though," muttered Blaine in an undertone, moving closer to Sebastian and squeezing his shoulder tightly, offering what little comfort he could. He cast a half glance over at Daley, who stood in between Morrison and Ros, wrapped up in a long black coat with his collar turned up against the wind, laughing his head off at something, seemingly without a care in the world, but even from a distance and through his thick coat, Blaine could see the tension in his shoulders. Daley was not okay, and Blaine really understood why he felt that he had to come: he had to face it, or he would think himself a coward for the rest of his life, but Blaine knew first-hand how it felt to come face to face with your enemies, and it did not leave you feeling any better. In fact, it had nearly gotten Blaine killed, which was probably precisely what was on Sebastian's mind.

"Wasn't it enough to come to the Garfield game at home?" hissed Sebastian, like he hadn't even heard what Blaine had said, and he probably hadn't, which didn't really make Blaine feel a lot better, but if Sebastian needed someone that he could vent to – because Sebastian needed someone – then Blaine would be that person.

"Maybe it will help him," suggested Blaine, even though he reckoned that comment would fall on deaf ears. Unfortunately, Sebastian seemed to have decided to listen to that properly, looking over at him with a scathing expression, and Blaine shrugged in apology.

"Blaine, he'll have a meltdown!" he hissed, his eyes widening so that he looked slightly demented for a second, but then he just deflated at Blaine's silence, because Blaine didn't have anything to say to that because he didn't know Daley well enough, but he knew that he would in the circumstances, and flopped against the bus, banging his head into the window. "I can protect him physically, but not up there-" he tapped the side of his skull. "-you know that." Blaine swallowed, feeling his expression melt into one of saddened guilt because he knew exactly what Sebastian was thinking, and wrapped his arms around Sebastian, putting his head on his shoulder.

"Bastian, you've done everything you can, and I know it's never going to be enough, but you have to trust him-" trust us, he thought inside his head. "-to let you catch him if he falls…You can't do anything more, and maybe if you protect him physically, he'll be hurt less mentally…?" Sebastian looked down upon him with a pitying expression.

"Well, you get a gold star for effort, Blaine, but once more fall hopelessly short on attainment." Blaine rolled his eyes at that, giving him a smile nonetheless because at least Sebastian was being sarky once more – he'd been missing that a little. Sebastian shook his head and kissed Blaine on the forehead, casting his eyes around the crowd of footballers and away fans, preparing to get into the minibus and coaches respectively, and Blaine copied him.

Everyone else looked a lot better: Mo's recovery buoying everyone – Blaine wasn't ashamed to say that he'd cried when Mo had talked to them and thanked them for the giant cards they'd made him, and the armada of balloons, and said that he would never go anywhere without saying goodbye… – and giving a positive feeling to them all, which they had all but lost. Blaine still wasn't sure that they could win, but Dylan had come forward in leaps and bounds, and they would put be able to at least put up a fair fight. They'd do Mo and others proud, and they'd play fair against the most awful of adversities. At that thought, he glanced over at Kay, who was hanging around with his (they'd had a serious discussion, and whilst Kay was mostly a man when he played, they knew couldn't let anything happen to her, so she was a he for the game – Blaine just hoped they remembered) friends, and saw that he looked fine. Flint had his arms wrapped around Dylan, their faces almost touching, and Blaine could see that Nick was eyeing them out of the corner of his eye, trying to be discreet, and Blaine half-wished that he knew what was going on in his head.

"Alright, team!" called Mattison, blowing his whistle with Cunningham by his side. "Aboard the bus." Blaine looked up at Sebastian, standing away from him a little bit. Sebastian shot him a fond smile, combing a hand through his hair with an intent look on his face, and Blaine knew what he was going to say next but waited for him to say it anyway because it might make him feel better.

"Blaine, you have to be careful," he said, cupping his face in his hands. "like really careful, okay? They're going to be after you, and you need to take care of yourself – no taking one for the team, okay?" Blaine rolled his eyes, trying to dispel his worries even though he knew that it was all valid, but Sebastian just pulled him even closer, expression getting more intense. "Please don't frighten me anymore, okay? I don't think I can take much more excitement. I mean, that flu, the lacrosse game, Mo… try and keep ambulances away as well." Blaine smiled and leaned in, looping his arms around his shoulders and ignoring the fact that they were meant to be getting on the bus as the others were, and met Sebastian in a very chaste kiss, face heating up because of the number of teachers present, and Sebastian pulled away quickly, winking. "Save the rest for later."

"Deal," muttered Blaine and took a step back, spotting Dylan kissing Flint on the cheek, the latter squeezing his hand tightly, and shot him one last smile before running to the minibus, jumping inside and hurrying to the seat where he'd already dumped his stuff. Drew dropped down by his side a second later, and Dylan sat behind, poking his head between the headrests.

"Ready?" asked Drew, turning to look at both Blaine and Dylan. Blaine shrugged slightly whilst Dylan pulled a face that said everything they needed to know.

"I don't think a hundred years could prepare me enough," he muttered. "I feel ill," he added with a groan, and Blaine cast an eye over him, noticing that he did look a little bit peaky.

"Ah, that's just nerves talking," said Drew confidently. "you'll be fine once we've been playing for a little bit." Dylan didn't look so sure, his eyes widening a little bit in a manner that suggested he thought Drew was mad for thinking that he'd feel better once they were playing, and Blaine tried to shoot him a smile of reassurance, hoping that he'd believe it coming from a half-sane person.

"He's not actually so wrong," offered Blaine with a marginally twisted smile. "you know, once your head's in the game, and play's in full swing, then other things tend to fly from your mind, especially when we're playing against Garfield." Dylan gulped at that, and Blaine kicked himself for saying that a second later.

"But you're a striker," countered Dylan. "and you're a defender-" he nodded at Drew as best he could with his head wedged between the headrests. "-so you're in the proper game. I'm the goalie; I stand on my goal line and wait for people to run at me…" Blaine paused at that, his objections dying on his tongue, because Dylan had a point; being a goalkeeper was different in that respect. "Then I have decisions to make, and how do I know if I'm making the right one?" Blaine thumped his head against the headrest at that because after all their practises, they still couldn't get past this: it was a huge barrier against his confidence.

"You've just gotta trust your instincts, mate," said Drew in a firm voice. "you've got it in you, we all know it, so you just have to trust that when it comes down to it; when they come at you, you'll be able to read the play and know." There was an unconvinced silence after that, so Drew sighed and then continued. "Also, let's not forget that you are not un-or-under-prepared: you've been playing against one of the best strikers you could-" he poked Blaine at that, and Blaine went scarlet, ducking his head, and found himself unable to find a rebuttal. "-and our midfield is pretty kickass. You can do this."

"Yeah," echoed Blaine, looking back at his tall friend with a crooked grin. "and you have to believe that because we all do. I didn't think I could do a lot of things; I didn't think that I was good enough to be a soloist, but now when I get up on that stage, I know that I can sing well, and I sing better because of it, I know that's a fact. I've got better over the years because I sing with good singers, but also because I know that I am good…It really does make a difference…" Dylan sighed, dropping his eyes and seemingly giving up on the fight. Blaine looked at Drew, and they shared a smirk, thinking that they must have worn him down just a little.

"Do you think Flint'll be alright?" asked Dylan, after a couple moments of nothing but the sound of other people's chatter and the car on the road. "I mean, he's not really…with all the stuff…" Drew looked over at Blaine, who was doing his best to turn down the corner of his lips because this was a serious topic of conversation, but Dylan's concern was so wonderful and exactly what Flint needed and deserved and that made Blaine smile.

"I don't know," admitted Blaine with a small shrug. "It's hard being out there with all that hatred, but…you don't have to give any indication that you're together whilst we're on their property. I mean, I think that's probably the best course of action, to be honest. After all, this is Flint…he's kind of skittish about this sort of thing. They wouldn't target him; they've got others, so…" he shrugged, and Dylan nodded, clearly taking that on board as relatively good news.

"You reckon they'll target Daley, don't you?" said Drew, eyebrows quirking and giving him a shrewd look. Blaine bit down on the inside of his cheek, twisting his fingers together and looking away before nodding.

"Yeah…I mean, as far as they're concerned – what? – Daley got Tom arrested and sent to prison…"

"I don't get that," said Drew with a frown. "I mean, Tom was out, right? Why do they care that he sent him to prison?" Blaine shrugged, frown twisting onto his face because he didn't know the answers, and he didn't like this line of questioning because it made him a little bit uncomfortable. However, Drew seemed to know so a second later he asked another question. "What do you think about Kay?" Blaine huffed a little, mildly nonplussed as to why they thought that he had all the answers to these sorts of questions.

"I think he'll be fine as long as no one lets on. We just- whatever you do, we have to use the right pronouns when we're out there." Drew nodded sagely, and Dylan reached over, patting the top of the sandy boy's head.

"He'll be alright; Kay's made of tough stuff." Drew nodded, and Blaine shot him a reassuring smile, reaching and taking his wrist, squeezing a little to reassure him that his teammate might was going to be alright. Drew nodded and then stretched, letting out a loud yawn.

"Alright, I'm bored," commented Drew, shaking his head and clearly deciding that there was to be no more serious talk. "what should we do?" There was a moment of silence in which Dylan and Blaine made eye contact, both deciding that whatever they were going to do should have absolutely nothing to do with sports whatsoever.

"Um…" said Dylan, sitting up and propping his arms atop the headrests, peering over the top at them with a smile. "well, we could play charades." Blaine considered it for a moment, shrugging and deciding that, given the lack of people like Nick, Trinity and co, it was probably a relatively safe thing to do.

"Okay!" exclaimed Drew eagerly, sitting forward in his seat. "I get to go first!"

About an hour later, they pulled into the parking lot of Garfield Academy, the entire bus craning their necks to properly look at Jack's gesticulations, attempting to discern what film he could possibly be attempting to enact. It was six words long, and two of those words were "the" and another was "to", but beyond that, they were all a little stuck…

"Thumbelina!" shouted Monty out of nowhere, and all eyes turned to him in incredulity. He was whacked around the back of his head as Jack's eyes bugging open in fury.

"How is Thumbelina six words?!" demanded Drew as Blaine threw his hands over his face in hysterics. Monty shrugged, sinking back into his seat, face probably burning with embarrassment.

"Alright boys!" said Mattison, getting to his feet and clapping his hands. "Let's bring an end to the fun! What's the film, Jack?"

"The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy!" yelled Jack, the words bursting from his mouth at a high volume, and Blaine "ohhed" in understanding, banging his head against the headrest, the thumb gesture and fake-book turning suddenly making a whole lot more sense.

"How is that-" demanded Lance, wiggling his fingers in the air above his head. "-the word "galaxy"?!"

"Well you think of a better gesture," he shot back, and Mattison blew his whistle sharply, bringing to an end their discussions and friendly bickering.

"O-kay!" he shouted. "Boys, this is a big fixture; it always is, but after the lacrosse game, and that awful flu bout, and the loss of Mo, I think I speak for all of us when I say that this game has taken on a whole lot more meaning." Blaine nodded along with his words, face becoming grave. "Now, I know this is also a difficult place for you guys to come and play at, so I'm asking you to do something that I don't think many other coaches would do: I want you to put each other first, and the game second." Blaine felt his lips flicker upwards in a smile at that, a wave of comfort rolling over him at the school that he was at. "There are some of you that are targets, and I want you to look after one another before anything else. I need you to be aware of what's going on because it's very easy to keep your head down and get tunnel vision. So please, for god's sake, be careful, and do whatever it takes to look after one another – there's nothing more important." Blaine bit down on the bottom of his inside lip, tears welling in his eyes because he knew that a lot of people were looking after him and nodding in remembrance at one of the knocks he'd gotten last time he was here.

"Gotcha, boss," said Drew, giving him a mock salute. "let's hit the pitch!"

"Aye, aye , cap'n!" chorused the rest of the bus, all of them saluting once more. Drew leapt to his feet and, as everyone grabbed their kit bags, led the charge off the bus with a battle cry. Blaine followed him close behind, screaming his head off like all the rest of them as they hopped down out of the minibus and began a charge up the drive towards the back of the school where the pitches lay. They got quite a few disturbed looks, and hisses and the rest, as they went charging past, but Blaine didn't care – he liked this part of their entrance to Garfield: it made him feel strong and fearless and like he could do this, which was entirely the point, of course.

The Garfield fans were already out, naturally, and so they were greeted by a chorus of boos, but Drew was shouting commands for their warm-up, and so Blaine did his very best to close his ears and follow Drew's lead, as well as setting an example for people like Dylan and Kay, who were clearly unnerved by the atmosphere, and trying to show them how to cope under the immense pressure: focus, that was what they needed the most; focus and determination. It was hard because Blaine could hear derogatory names and chants ringing in his ears, but he tried to instead pour all of his attention into the instructions of Drew, Mattison and Cunningham.

About fifteen energetic minutes later, they came to a stop forming tight huddle, arms wrapping around each other's shoulders. Blaine was sandwiched between Drew and Dylan as they all bent over to try and contain the noise between themselves, and he shot his tall friend and a questioning look. Dylan gave him a weak smile that said he was holding up alright, and all attention focused itself on Mattison.

"Okay boys, you know how we want this to go: we've got to play an attacking game, not get stuck in our own half defending, and try and keep possession, but you know how they like to break up the game, and they tackle dangerously, so please keep your awareness and try not to get hurt. Saying that, we don't want to get caught on the break; stick with your players, press and press, don't let them get too much space but try and keep your tackles clean – the last thing we need is to lose players or give away any penalties or free kicks in opportune places… Listen to Drew, your captain, and if anything should happen, Blaine is vice." Blaine bit down on his upper lip, nodding even as his heart skipped a beat at the potential responsibility because he was semi-prepared for that given that he captained half the team when they played against themselves. "Drew, anything you want to say?"

"No, not really," said Drew, shaking his head. "only really going to add to what you said, but also let's all try and keep our heads, okay? This game is a heated one; we all know that, but we've got to keep our heads, even if they've done something bad to us, alright? We're on their turf, and we all know what happens to decisions when we're here…" Blaine nodded, scowling at that. "We need eleven people on that field. Other than that, we just need to play our absolute best – we can do this." There was a moment of silence in which they turned Drew's words over in their minds and then nodded strongly. However, before they could start shouting and chanting again, the distinct increase in volume made them all look up with frowns.

It looked like all the Dalton fans, and of course all the Crawford girls too, had gathered in a tight clump before the stands. Blaine frowned, straining his ears to try and discern what they were doing, and when it clocked with his brain, his eyes bugged wide open, and he broke away from the circle, beginning to run.

"LOST 'TIL YOU'RE FOUND SWIM 'TIL YOU DROWN KNOW THAT WE ALL FALL DOWN!" His heart was beating harder and harder as he reached the crowd and began to push his way through, people parting when they realised who he was until he reached the inner circle that the rest of his friends occupied and rested his eyes upon the sight in the middle of the huddle.

Daley was on the ground. His knees were drawn up to his chest, face buried into his knees, and arms thrown over his head, hands clasped atop and tangled within his hair. He was rocking backwards and forwards ever so slightly, and from the ragged, irregular rise and fall of his chest, Blaine knew that he was struggling to breathe; probably crying and part way through a panic attack. Sebastian was crouched down next to him, hands outstretched to try and comfort the other boy, but it was Morrison that was closest to touching him. The brown haired boy was sitting almost directly against his side, so close that their arms were almost brushing, and Cam was squatted someway behind him. Wes, Liam and Ros were also down on the same level with Daley, but no one seemed entirely sure what to do with themselves. He guessed that someone had told the others to start singing in order to block out everything else, but it didn't really seem to be helping him too much.

Blaine realised quickly that no one – not Morrison, not Sebastian, not Cam, not anyone – had the faintest clue as to how to help him. They all pretty much knew what was causing him to breakdown (as Sebastian had predicted, pointed out an annoying voice in his head), but none of them knew how to comfort him because this was importantly different. Daley hadn't been here since, and no one knew what might happen if they tried to touch Daley, or even if they tried to take him away…There was so much at stake as they huddled together, shielding Daley from the rest of the world and keeping him safe, that he knew that fear was paralysing even Sebastian.

"I can't- I can't- I can't…" moaned Daley as the strains of the song began to die away, people reaching the end and not entirely sure what they were meant to do next. "I don't- I don't- why- why did I- I can't…"

"You can," breathed Morrison in a surprisingly steady voice given that he had tears in his eyes. "I know you can because you can do anything…You don't have to worry, Daley; we've got you. Take a look up, and you'll see." There was a tense moment in which everyone waited, and Morrison, at the sight of Daley's hands loosening from over his head and slowly lowering them so that they were over his face instead, held out his hand for Daley to take. Daley raised his face from his knees, hands still covering his face, and Sebastian shuffled forward, gently, gently, curling his hands around Daley's wrists. There was a moment of tense silence, but Daley didn't react. Morrison's hand wilted, and he looked away briefly, no doubt hurt by the rejection, whilst Sebastian slowly, slowly, lowered Daley's hands from his eyes.

"See," said Sebastian firmly, and for a moment, Blaine could see that Daley, chest heaving as he fought to control his breathing, did not quite understand what point he was meant to be taking from the situation. Then his eyes widened as he rotated his head, taking in the wall of people all around him. "no one can touch you…" Daley blinked, sending tears sliding from his eyes, and Morrison leant in, resting his head on his best friend's shoulder. Daley leant his head against his and took a huge breath.

"I can take you back to Dalton," murmured Morrison in an undertone. "you don't have to stay if you don't want to. We can go; go anywhere you want." Daley shook his head, curling his hands into fists and face becoming steely.

"No, I have to do this, or else I never will, and I- I'll- I'll have this hanging over me my whole life." There was a moment of silence in which Sebastian's expression twisted in frustrated anger, desperately wanting Daley to leave, but then he shrugged and got to his feet.

"Well then you have nothing to fear," he said, and Daley nodded as Morrison got to his feet, and, together, they helped the redhead to his feet, and even though he was shaking and his face was deathly pale whilst tears ran down his face, he looked a little bit stronger just for getting back up.

"Come on," hissed Drew, his hand falling onto Blaine's back. "we need to get back." Blaine nodded, waiting for Sebastian to look over at him. For a moment, he didn't think that he was going to, but then Sebastian's eyes darted over to meet his. Something sparked in them, and he dropped him a wink, corner of his lip tweaking upwards in an imitation of a smile. Blaine smiled brightly, feeling comforted and better for seeing that, and then turned around, going back through the crowd that patted his back and wished him luck, and then joined the others in the run back to their bench. Hastily, at the sight of all the Garfield players on the pitch, Blaine stripped off his tracksuit, strapping on his shin pads, and then looked up to the sight of a grim faced Drew sliding the captain's armband on, and Dylan tightening his goal keeping gloves.

"Good luck, boys," said Mattison, giving them the thumbs up as they began to file onto the pitch. Drew made his way straight to the referee, and Blaine tailed him, hanging back slightly and avoiding eye contact with anyone, even though he could hear hisses and whispers of "fag" and "fairy". He closed his eyes, composing himself and repeating over and over that whatever they said didn't matter, and that he wasn't anything wrong and disgusting, and that he was strong for being there, until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped and looked up to see Drew. He arched his eyebrows.

"You okay?" Blaine nodded wordlessly. "We won the toss up. I asked for kick-off. So, you wanna start?" Blaine looked over at the ball sitting on the spot and nodded with a smile. Drew clapped his shoulder and began to herd the rest of the team into their places, leading Dylan over to the correct goal.

"Faggot!" sneered one of the forward Garfield players. "I think you might of got a little bit lost; this is for boys only." Blaine bristled, clenching his jaw, and studiously ignored them, instead resting his foot atop the ball.

"Oh fuck off!" snapped Lance, coming up by his side and flipping off the player. "You okay?" Blaine rolled his eyes as Lance put a hand on his shoulder but nodded anyway. "Let's get ready to rock, then."

"Yeah…" Blaine echoed, eyes trained upon the referee's whistle as he set it between his lips, waiting for him to blow the whistle, and did his best not to look over at the stands because otherwise he might get distracted – Sebastian had that effect on him. The referee inhaled deeply, eyes going to his wrist watch, and Blaine found himself tuning in to the thudding beat of his heart, telling himself that today was a good day to make Dalton proud.

---

Okay, so we're here, and from the looks of it, my faith in the New Directions was correct: I haven't seen hide nor hair of Quinn, Santana or Brittany, Sue has a face like thunder and looks ready to kill and the other cheerleaders are moping about with a distinct lack of energy. There's none of their confidence and swagger like when I was performing for them last time; all the sting and the punch has been taken out of them – there's no way they're winning anything. The same, sadly, cannot be said for St Emily's, who are strutting around like they own the place; like that trophy is already theirs…Well, not on my watch it isn't. Warm-up is done, so it's time to take them down a peg and let them know that we are not to be trifled with.

"Someone point out Freya for me," he said, looking around at his little entourage of sane cheerleaders.

"There," said Jas, pointing straight ahead towards the tall, willowy blonde that stood in the centre of the cheerleaders, talking animatedly to a dark-skinned girl with long, braided hair and a girl with amber coloured hair. Kurt nodded, having suspected that one of them would be the girl in question, and straightened his spine, holding his head erect and making sure that his facial expression was cool.

"As I suspected," he commented. "alright, everyone look disdainful and superior but leave the talking to me; we might as well try and make a bitchy impression, and I am head-bitch in charge, no questions asked." The others nodded in agreement, and Kurt began to stride over to them, ignoring the catcalls that they got on sight.

"Look everyone, here comes the fairy princess!" Kurt kept a straight face as they all gave him mocking curtseys and replied with a low, sweeping, derisive bow with a condescending expression upon his face.

"Thank you for recognising my status as that of above you all," he commented, straightening up and smirking imperiously upon them. "As it is, my visit today will be brief. I have simply come to deliver a message to one Miss Freya Hutchinson…" he cleared his throat dramatically at that as if he were a herald in a court. "I have it on good authority that Freddy loves pandas almost as much as he loves you, and that he would love to see pictures of the two things he loves the most together…" Kurt felt his smirk grow exponentially at the way Freya blanched at his words, mouth dropping open, eyes round and taking a step back in horror. The two girls closest to her, and some others, crowded around her, banding together, whilst some others looked disgusted and a couple – Kurt was sure that he wasn't imagining this – looked rather triumphant.

"You bastard!" spat the girl with braids, Kurt smirked even wider at that.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, dear, but I was definitely born within wedlock. I trust that we'll have a nice, fair, uninterrupted and undisturbed competition. All the best and good luck, you're definitely going to need it." With a final triumphant smirk, he turned on his heel and strode, his minions (he would never say that out loud because it might cause he to lose the few friends he'd gained, but he liked the sound of it in his head) did the same, all striding away after him, the tails of their French braids flicking from side to side as they walked. The moment they were halfway back to their team, they broke down into giggles, their bitchy facades cracking and crumbling away, holding onto each other's arms as they laughed.

"Oh my god!" exclaimed Lizzie, throwing her hands over her mouth as she bent over double. Kurt shook his head in amusement, the feeling of victory rolling through him because that had worked perfectly.

"We need to know what the hell that was about because it works like a charm!" cried Gwen, and Kurt nodded in agreement along with the others as they continued to titter and giggle.

"I am so getting Ros onto Grace," said Jas, shaking her head and wiping away a couple of tears of mirth. "because I never thought I'd see Freya fold like that!" Pure delight sparkled in her eyes, and Kurt nodded once more because the way it had taken away all of their smug confidence had really been quite astounding.

"Okay," said Kurt, finally, clapping his hands together as he retook control. "we can ponder that later, now we really need to get back to the others. Look," he added, pointing over towards Met. "they must have decided the order; hurry everyone, but no one trip over their own feet."

"Oh, Kurt, what do you take us for, Juri?" Kurt smiled, arching his eyebrows and shrugging as they broke out into a gentle jog.

"Well, you never know. One of them managed to get injured getting onto a bus-"

"You better not be likening us to them, or you'll find a fully-fledged mutiny on your hands!"

"You wouldn't dare!" exclaimed Kurt as they sped up a little bit, fast coming towards the rest of their squad.

"Wouldn't we?" roared his friends as one, all leaping onto him. Kurt let out a faux shout of pain as they all descended upon him, almost making him fall over as his knees buckled under their combined weights, but between them all, they managed to hold him up as well as they laughed together.

"Alright, straight faces everyone," said Met, hands descending onto her hips with a serious expression on her face that told them to stop fooling around, and they jumped to attention as one, postures completely correct and projecting an air of calm control and order. "I don't think we're going to get a better shot at Regionals than this," she continued. "because unless they're pulling an intricately complex deception, and I'm really very sure that they're not, the McKinley team is weaker than I've ever seen it, ever. As for St Emily's-" she waved a hand dismissively. "-we can handle them easily. Now, we have the dubious honour of opening the competition so are we all ready? Kurt?" Kurt rolled his eyes.

"We're ready," he replied, firmly. "obviously it would be better if we weren't down El, Diana and Ingrid, but this is the situation that we've been given, and we can't change it, so we're doing what we do best – running with it and making something wonderful out of it." There was a cheer at that, and Kurt looked over at the stands, seeing that the other teams taking their seats in the stands along with a small contingent of fans, who were predominantly male, Kurt noticed.

Shocking!

"Alright then, positions all of you, and don't you dare let me down." Kurt arched his eyebrows, demanding to know whether they really thought that that would happen. Met rolled her eyes and made an ushering motion towards the field. Kurt beckoned to the others, and they began to head for the field as the floodlights went down.

"Guys," said Kurt, gesturing for the girls to come in close, and thankfully, the girls had lost all traces of simpering demeanours and all their silly little giggles and smiles and flirty expressions were gone to be replaced with serious, business-like expressions. "Met's right: this is probably our best shot at winning with McKinley weakened – they haven't had the time to adjust and prepare like we did. We win as long as we don't put a single foot wrong, and we can do that. So, everyone, places, and if you dare misstep, I'll have your heads on display outside the gym as a warning to anyone else that decides to lose focus in the middle of a performance!"

"What happens if you misstep?" asked Lizzie, bravely, and Kurt turned an intense glare upon her, eyebrows arching upwards and demanding to know how she dared to ask that question. Lizzie shrugged.

"I don't misstep, ever. Now, places." Everyone leapt to his command, and Kurt strode to his starting place. He squared his shoulders, rolling his head around on his neck and listening to it crack satisfyingly, and then held up a single finger in the air, telling them all that the performance was ready to begin. The background music began to pound from the speakers, and Kurt took in a sharp inhalation through his nose; he was ready for this, today he won, with the help of the girls, a Regionals trophy for Dalton (well, Crawford but same difference).

Now try and keep those solos from me, boys…

Oh, turn up the music let's get out on the floor

I like to move it come and give me some more

Watch me getting physical, out of control

Kurt spun around the moment he began to sing, flicking his head confidently and not giving any thought to the people around him as he began to move. As was Met's custom, Kurt was right at the back of the group – this time dead centre – and he made his way down through the column of cheerleaders with a flirtatious swagger, and it was when he reached the front that he began to dance.

There's people watching me, I never miss a beat

Kurt between his eyes, the crowd and his eyes again with both arms, middle and index finger outstretched in the universal "I'm-watching-you" gesture, and then proceeded to effortlessly enter into a pattern of complicated footwork, finishing off with a quick spin.

Steal the night, kill the lights, feel it under your skin

Time is right, keep it tight, 'cause it's pulling you in

Kurt's voice dropped in volume a little bit as he backed away from the crowd into the folds of the cheerleading squad with his gaze fixed intently onto a vague area of the crowd, smirking and miming pulling in a rope, enticing the audience to lean forwards in their seats.

Wrap it up, you can't stop 'cause it feels like an overdose

The cheerleaders formed a relatively tight circle around him, and Kurt allowed himself to be lifted off the ground into the air as he sung, and was thrown up at the end of the line as the rest of the squad flipped away from them so that there was room in front for Kurt to be set down in;

Evacuate the dancefloor

I'm infected by the sound

Kurt exploded forward the moment that his feet touched the ground, throwing himself into two handsprings that took him back to the front of the group so that he could be seen as he began to dance again, this time with even more energy…also, as head cheerleader and soloist, it made sense for him to be at front in the centre of everyone's attention.

Stop this beat is killing me

Hey Mr DJ let the music take me underground

Kurt risked a glance over at Met, knowing that he had done nothing wrong so far, but that couldn't be said for the people behind him doing stunts and lifts and more cheerleader-y stuff. Met made eye contact with him and, after Kurt had jumped and turned 360°, sent him a wink that said everything was going fine.

Evacuate the dancefloor

I'm infected by the sound

Kurt stepped back slightly, allowing himself to enter the second row of cheerleaders, hoping the judges could still see that Kurt was doing a different dance line than anyone else – the tiered seating would enable the audience to see this easily, but the judges were right at the front.

Stop this beat is killing

Hey Mr DJ come burn this place right to the ground…

Kurt vaulted over Lucy at the end of the chorus, reclaiming his place at the front of the squad for the next verse, and shook from his thoughts any regarding to the judges or results – there was no point in worrying. Kurt knew that he would perform at his best if he was relaxed and calm. Kurt knew from the lacrosse performance that he could handle a full performance on his own in the Dalton uniform, which was actually a very different experience to performing in the McKinley one because it – surprisingly given that Sylvester was a lot worse than Met – carried a lot more pressure as Kurt really cared about what the people of Dalton/Crawford thought of him whilst the McKinley trophy had been mainly for his own glory.

Thankfully, Kurt could never stay too worried for too long in a performance because he became completely swept up in the song, and the sheer energy of this performance that Kurt was giving everything too after such a long time meant that rational thought got swept away in the eddying whirlwind of emotions. It was amazing, in some ways, that they could retain such precision in their moves whilst they were running off pure, elusive, changing feelings.

Come on and evacuate

Feel the club is heating up

Move on and accelerate

Push it to the top

Kurt once more took a step forward to distinguish himself from the cheerleaders, who were doing their lifts and stunts that Met had decided, for whatever reason, Kurt should not be a part of, when he entered the rap section (which he semi-hated because everyone kept laughing which – a – meant that they kept having to redo the section because the girls broke rank and messed up and – b – meant that he had had to spent a lot of time trying to work out sufficient blackmail to make sure none of the Dalton boys became aware of it for fear of their machinations).

Come on and evacuate

Feel the club is heating up

Move on and accelerate

You don't have to be afraid

Kurt did have to admit that he did like the sort of respite – jumping up and down over and over was tiring, but just easy – as he clapped his hands over his head, and the crowd that hadn't been doing that anyway joined in too, everyone copying him. That made Kurt smile genuinely, instead of smirking.

Now guess who's back with a brand new track

That everyone in the club going mad…

Kurt sucked in a huge breath as he moved onto the next section of the rap (which he hated even more!) as he swept a hand through his hair, stopping his jumping and clapping, retreating back to draw the eyes of the audience – the judges – onto the tumbling and stunts because that was what Met seemed to use him as half the time; the adjuster to the lens that assisted the judges into focusing in on what they should, though that type of adjuster was very proactive, which was not what Kurt was accustomed to with little metal knobs attached to the side of a microscope because that was what Kurt thought of straightaway and what his mind somehow wandered onto when he was performing. Although, he really hated the lyrics so blocking them out with senseless thoughts was pleasant.

(Everybody in the club)

The rest of the cheer squad raised their voices in unison in a shout, and Kurt could almost see the girls being thrown up in the air behind his head as he prepped himself for returning to the chorus; familiar ground that would still be interesting;

Evacuate the dancefloor

I'm infected by the sound

Stop this beat is killing me

Hey Mr DJ let the music take me underground…

Kurt felt a very large smile grow on his face as he performed the moves of the dance and gymnastics on practical autopilot because he could see the slightly freaked out expressions on some of the McKinley cheerleaders; the younger/newer ones that Kurt didn't really know and thus hadn't been indoctrinated by Coach Sylvester for very long, as well as the wide eyes of the St Emily's girls. This made Kurt, who was beginning to tire after all the extensive training and lack of sleep and all the rest, able to find the strength to hold his head up and high and redouble his efforts in the performance, giving it every little scrap of energy that he felt he had left. This was everything to him.

Hey Mr DJ come burn this place right to the ground

Kurt slid forward onto his knees, head tipped back on his neck so that his eyes looked up at the dark sky, arms stretching back at full reach, at the very front of the cheerleaders. He could feel his heart thudding against his ribcage as hard as it possibly could, and he knew that his face was flushed scarlet from exertion. From where Kurt was standing – or kneeling, if one were to get pedantic – everything had gone as well as physically possible: he hadn't put a foot wrong, and he hadn't seen anyone so much as hesitate or falter towards a wrong move as they passed fluidly through their motions. He didn't think that he could fault what he'd seen of their performance, and he felt that same feeling of triumph beginning to course through his veins, especially as they were getting quite a lot of applause from a predominantly hostile audience.

Beat that, Coach Sylvester and Hutchinson!

He climbed to his feet, wiping away some of the sweat from his brow and hugging all the girls indiscriminate of their sanity with his tired arms, patting others on the back and arms if that was the only part in reach, and then beckoned them over towards the stands.

"You were amazing, girls!" he congratulated with a tired smile as Met applauded from the stands, her face trained into a rather demure smile although there was something alight in her eyes that said she was very pleased with the performance she had just witnessed.

"You were pretty awesome too," said Lisa, catching his arm with a simpering smile, and Kurt's eyes went wide in horror as his friends laughed, and even Met smirked at his misfortune.

"Nice work, kids," commented Met as they made their way up the steps, and Kurt managed to worm his way free by pretending to fall over and latching onto Jas instead, who helped him get down the row first so that he would have Met, who for all her craziness would not try and jump him, on one side. "now let's sit back and enjoy the side show – I'm sure it promises good laughs." Kurt snorted, breaking out in chuckles, unable to stop smiling as the McKinley girls assembled on the field. Kurt sat forward in his seat, propping his elbows on his knees, interested to see what they had managed to muster together after the loss of their three best members.

To put it lightly, the performance was…disappointing. To put it another way, it was abysmal. They'd attempted to pull off a relatively complex routine that showed signs of having been put together, but there were obvious holes that left them out of formation or unable to properly pull off moves so that it looked like they had half-formed, half-practised routine. Also, the lack of any distinct flair or vocals meant that, had it been pulled off successfully, Kurt was sure, it would have looked mundane in comparison to theirs.

He could tell from the faces of the girls when they left the field that they knew that their performance had not been enough to win it for them, and Coach Sylvester looked nothing short of furious as the St Emily's girls made their way out onto the field. He smirked as he glanced at Met, quirking an eyebrow, and she nodded with a satisfied look on her face – one team down, another to go. Kurt knew that St Emily's would pack a bigger punch than that, but hopefully the need for sabotage suggested that their routine wasn't good enough on its own.

St Emily's performance was a bit of a halfway house. They supplied vocals, and whilst they were in tune, Kurt knew that they were absolutely no match for his own, and their routine was polished and seemingly without any mistakes. However, they had been a lot less ambitious than both them and McKinley, and so Kurt was pretty confident that St Emily's paled in comparison to them because they'd had superb vocals and complex, perfected sequence.

It's in the bag, surely? I mean, I know better than to say that the outcome is a forgone conclusion because these are fickle and stupid people, but if we don't win, and if they don't have a very good reason for their decision, then it will be a great injustice. Still, things in my life have a habit of being unjust…

"Kurt," said Jas, prodding his arm, and Kurt jerked from his thoughts whilst he scrutinised the window of the building that the judges had disappeared into to make their decision. "do you want your jacket?" Kurt, who suddenly realised that he was shivering from the cold and that the hairs on his arms were standing up and he had Goosebumps, nodded and gratefully accepted his jacket from Jas and shrugged it on.

"Thanks," he replied with a small smile. Jas put a hand on his arm, squeezing reassuringly.

"There's no need to start building up some anxiety now – I've never seen a Regionals cheerleading performance quite as bad as what the McKinley girls pulled off, and St Emily's were just average: we've got this." Kurt nodded, raking a hand through his hair.

"I'm not worried," he said in denial. "I just can't shake off the feeling that something's going to go wrong; it has an unfortunate habit of happening in my life." Jas rolled his eyes, and Met let out a tutting sigh, shooting him a scolding look.

"You have to start being less pessimistic, Kurt; now that you're not worrying about the performance, this is clouding your mind, but you were optimistic enough to believe that we could win, why should that change now?" Kurt rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and couldn't find it in himself to disagree with Met because he didn't want to get into an argument with her at the moment: he was tired and cold, and his brain was definitely numbing and freezing up, and he wasn't in the position to engage in a mental battle of wills, especially with a teacher who could pull rank and say she was right-no-questions-asked-or-else-I'll-tell-Mrs-Daniels-you-were-insubordinate-and-she'll-put-you-in-detention-for-months…Kurt wasn't a fool; he knew how to pick and choose his battles, and one that involved Mrs Daniels' getting on his back for one of her favourite things was not one he was going to start.

The word "insubordination" was something of a bogey-word in Dalton. At least one person per day was hauled up in front of Mrs Daniels on the charge, and the punishment – because the "crime" tended to be committed against Mrs Daniels; well, more accurately, in her presence, because no one was that stupid, as she was really the only teacher that bothered with it because the others just accepted it unless it was serious, which it never really was because the Dalton boys were polite and respectful ninety per cent of the time – was severe: at least a week's worth of detention, most often two, under Mrs Daniels' supervision. It was normal for the supervision of the detention to be under the teacher that had administered it, but often they simply rotated so that only one teacher a day had to sit in boredom for an hour whilst the students did the work they disrupted in class, or wrote essays, or they handed them over to the art or science departments to get them to clean things, but Mrs Daniels was different.

Mrs Daniels liked to make sure that the students knew that they were being punished, like they didn't already know that, and so they were set task of analysing their own behaviour in an essay and writing out why what they had done was wrong and ways in which they should have behaved better and what they would do next time and why they deserved the punishment that they were getting. Kurt, of course, had never actually been subjected to that particular kind of torture, but Nick, Trinity and some of the others had a habit of getting on the wrong side of Mrs Daniels, and they always had the same sour looks on their faces when they came out of her classroom.

"Kurt!" hissed Jas, poking him with her elbow, and Kurt jolted, tearing his mind away from Mrs Daniels and how it was that she held just a high position at Dalton when she was such a bitch, and looked around in confusion. Then he noticed that the cheerleading squads were getting up, and that the judges had reappeared.

This is it…

Kurt instantly hopped to his feet and followed the girls down to the pitch, hearing Met's sharp breathing in his ear: in, out, in, out, in, out; carefully controlled and timed in an attempt to make it seem like she was calm and not panicking, but the regimented nature of her breathing instantly gave away how nervous she was in its unnatural nature. Kurt fought a smirk at that, biting his tongue so that he didn't point out who was worrying now – better not to risk the ultimate threat – and took his place at the front of the squad, thankfully surrounded by the sane girls, who seemed to have worked out how to command the others, Kurt would need to ask how they had managed that when they got back on the coach.

"In 3rd place," began the announcer, and Kurt clasped his hands before him but could not resist crossing his little fingers even though that didn't help one bit. "is…William McKinley High School!" Kurt let out a short exhale of relief before breaking into polite applause as Sue accepted the small trophy with a sour look on her face. Kurt shot her a polite smile, hoping to squash out any smugness, when she met his eyes and got a relatively neutral (for Coach Sylvester) look in response. "And so the winner of the 2011 Regional Cheerleading competition is…" Kurt took a deep breath, whole body tensing up in expectation and leaning forward somewhat, cursing the man's amateur dramatics. "Crawford Country Day!"

"Yes!" screamed Kurt, losing any restraints, leaping up and punching the air in joy. They'd won!

Fuck, yeah! Take that bitches!

Someone pushed him in the small of his back, and Kurt almost tripped over his feet as he remembered that, as captain, it was his job to collect the trophy. His heart was hammering so fast in his chest, relief mingling with joy and giving him a huge, exuberant smile. He could almost hardly believe it: despite all the setbacks, they'd actually won.

God, dad is going to be so proud of me…

The announcer looked a little bit confused by his presence, like he'd just worked out that the front man was a guy, which made Kurt want to roll his eyes and tut, an action that would be lost in the wild cheers and celebration of the rest of his team, but instead, he just smiled at him and was given, a second later, a firm handshake, fake smile and – finally – the huge trophy. Kurt accepted it into his arms carefully, having painful visions of Juri suddenly rubbing off on him and dropping the trophy; these things were fragile, and it would probably be one of the most humiliating moments of his life if he broke it. However, the moment he had a firm grip on it, he forgot all about it and, instead, hoisted the trophy into the air to renewed cheers. Unable to stop smiling, he walked back to the others, laughing as they ran over to him, and Kurt allowed himself to be submerged into a group hug, releasing the prize into the hands of the girls who had earned it just as much as him. They passed it round excitedly, and Kurt hugged everyone within his arms' reach.

"Kurt!" said Met, hailing him, and Kurt walked over, laughing. She clapped him on the back heavily, and they exchanged a sort-of-handshake except their hands grasped each other's wrists, and she pulled him a little bit closer with a huge grin. "I knew you could do it, kid, but well done." Kurt just beamed at her, wishing that he could think of an articulate response to that but unable to because his brain had shut down to party, and shrugged wordlessly, shaking his head. She released him after that, patting him on the back again, and Kurt turned back around to join the others and saw Coach Sylvester.

"Congratulation, Porcelain," she said, neutrally, extending her hand, and Kurt blinked at her in shock, not entirely sure whether what he thought was happening actually was. Slowly, mind wondering whether it was a trick, he accepted her hand.

"Thank you," he replied, tentatively, frowning.

"I always knew you'd be a credit to the uniform." Kurt broke out in a tentative smile, shrugging as she let go of his hand, not sure whether to thank her again. "Of course, if it weren't for your meddling step-brother then you never would have won so enjoy the conciliatory victory." Kurt rolled his eyes at that, having known that something along those lines would have been coming at some time, but didn't get a chance to respond because the rest of the cheerleading squad ran at him with a cheer and swept him off his feet and up onto their shoulders. Kurt laughed, sending Sylvester a smirk, and accepted the trophy from Lizzie, who wasn't part of the holding up, probably to rest a re-aggravated ankle if the little limp was anything to go by, holding it aloft in the air with the widest smile he could possibly think of.

We've won! We've won! And it's not conciliation, and, yes, it made the competition easier for us, but we could have won it with Quinn, Santana and Brittany – it would have made it harder, sure, but we still would have done it. I hope that the others have done well too, but I can't find it in myself to worry too much about that right now: I am celebrating! I am King of the Cheerleading World (in Ohio, for the moment – I will take over the US later on in the year!), and there is nothing anyone can do to change that! We won, and I am never going to forget this moment! I have properly achieved something for Dalton, and I achieved something for – and with – my friends… Even if the others lose, this day is the best!

---

Blaine hit the floor with a groan. Swearing under his breath and rolling away so that the boots that were stealing the ball from his feet – illegally, he thought angrily, not that the whistle blew – didn't step on him given that they were indiscriminate as to where they stepped, he pushed himself back up and hurried to his feet. The roars of the crowd were all blurred together as one; it was deafening and confusing, but Blaine preferred that to the catcalls and insults – the Dalton fans were doing a good job of supporting them; they would get worn out very soon given that they'd only been playing for just over five minutes (right?) so their throats weren't sore yet.

Blaine carded a hand through his hair and backed up the field a little, taking in the field and the way all the Dalton shirts were around their penalty box. He glanced over his shoulder, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, and saw that their two hulking centre backs were standing behind him on either side of him. He hated this part of being the number nine; being left alone up field with only two Garfield defenders for company, and he could feel his heart beating faster in nerves, and it was getting a little bit harder to breathe because his chest was clogging up. He wanted to look over and see Sebastian standing on the touchline, exactly where Blaine knew that he would be. Bad things had happened before, but he tried to ignore it, trying to focus instead on the rather scrappy play between the defenders and midfield of their team against the rest of Garfield's team. Blaine bounced around on the toes of his feet, trying to keep warm and alert, and made eye contact with Kay, who had managed to retrieve the ball.

Blaine turned around at that, knowing that Kay would try and play the ball over his head, and looked at the two defenders. He knew better than to try and run right through them, instead veering off to his left and accelerating as fast as he possibly could so that when the defender brought him down, which he inevitably would because it was either that or let him get into a goal-scoring opportunity, it would result in cards and free-kicks or penalties. He was past the defender, who was slow in reacting, and he could feel a grin splitting onto his face because this was what he was good at. He was the smaller, faster brother, and he could out run people, and he could stick a ball in the back of a net in a way that most people thought was really easy and actually wasn't.

The ball dropped down before his feet, enabling him to gather it into his feet and keep running at top speed, and Blaine thanked the stars for Kay and his perfectly weighted pass. The other defender was coming from the side towards him, but Blaine reckoned he'd make it to the penalty area safely before he could come barrelling into him. However, he reckoned wrong, and what couldn't be more than a few inches before the penalty area, the defender came smashing into him, unbalancing Blaine and poking the ball away from his feet. A great roar went up from the Dalton fans, and Blaine swore as he finally lost his fight with gravity, falling over, because that had been a goal scoring opportunity and the ref knew it!

Cursing and flipping off the goalie, Blaine got back to his feet like he always had to and broke out into a jog, heading back down the pitch and watching the play carefully. Everyone was back in defence, and Garfield was pressing hard. Heaving a sigh, Blaine decided that he should probably go help out as best he could. He continued his slow run down the field, weaving and never remaining still in one place because the last thing he needed was the Garfield players harassing him.

What happened a couple of minutes later was almost lost on him as Blaine pressed as much as he could whilst the Garfield players tapped the ball between them, doggedly following them and trying to give them as little space as possible. Then the ball went out wide, and it was crossed into the box. All the players rose in an attempt to get the ball, and it was Dylan that actually got there first, which made Blaine grin, punching it away with a strong fist but colliding with both Drew and a Garfield player. The guy fell down with a theatrical cry, throwing his arms into the air, and the whistle blew, just like Blaine had known and feared it would, and the ref's finger pointing directly at the penalty spot.

"WHAT?!" roared Drew, along with several other players, and Blaine ran forward, catching onto Kay's shirt to prevent him from leaping onto the referee, giving him a sharp look, and saw that Drew was fuming, shouting at the referee about goal scoring opportunities whilst the Garfield boys tugged at their shirts, clearly arguing that his shirt had been tugged to stop him from getting to ball. Blaine knew it was a losing battle, though, and, leaving Jack to deal with discipline, he hurried over to Dylan's side, who had collapsed against the goal post, pale in the face and looking terrified.

"Dyl," he ventured carefully, putting a hand on the taller boy's shoulder. Dylan stared at him with wide eyes.

"Fuck, Blaine, we're screwed," he hissed in a whisper. "A penalty…I swear to god, I didn't touch that player." Blaine reached forward to grab both his shoulders, pulling him down to eye level.

"It's okay, you're not getting sent off by the looks of things, and, yes, this is a penalty, and half of this stuff is just luck, and so no one is going to get pissed if you concede – we can come back from this. You just need to focus and keep your head in the game no matter what. Can you do that for me, mate?" Dylan swallowed, pressing his fingers against his temples and clearly trying to gather himself together, and nodded as the referee blew his whistle shrilly twice, pulling out a yellow card and brandishing it at Drew before pointing to the spot once more. Dylan took a huge breath.

"Okay." Blaine grinned at him, holding out his hand, upright, and Dylan gave him a decent attempt at a strong smile as he clasped it tightly, nodding with a strengthened look.

"You got this, mate," he muttered before running out of the penalty area as Cody Simpson set down the ball on the penalty spot, huge smirk on his face. He fell into place next to Drew, who frowned at him questioningly, and Blaine just shrugged. "This is all down to luck," he admitted. "but I think he'll hold together if it does go in." Drew nodded, clasping his hands before him and fixing a serious expression on his face.

"Well, I suppose we can't ask for anything more. If, by some lucky miracle, that doesn't hit the back of the net then we need to hit them on the break. You ready for some more sprinting?" Blaine shot him a small grin that said he was, and then the whistle went once more, and they fixed their gaze back onto the penalty.

Blaine officially couldn't breathe as he screwed his hands up into tight fists, the stubs of his nails managing to bite into the skin of his palms, and watched Simpson run at the ball in almost slow motion. He tried to get himself to breathe normally, but he couldn't, and the nerves were coiling so tight in his stomach that it felt almost painful. Dylan shifted his weight from side to side as Simpson reached the ball, leg beginning its swing forward, and his boot connected with the white and black sphere. Dylan twisted once more, clearly undecided, and then sprang to Blaine's left – Dylan's right – whilst the ball sailed towards the top right hand corner, nestling itself safely in the white netting.

Blaine groaned loudly as the Garfield fans and players erupted in cheers of celebration, flocking forward to congratulate their goal scorer. Drew lashed out at the air, cursing, and Dylan pushed himself up, defeat colouring his features, and Blaine could feel the sickness welling up inside of him. They were a goal down, it had been an unfair decision; really there had been two of them, and now the morale was draining away faster than anything. The fight already felt like it was over, and they had ages left.

The ball collided with his chest, and Blaine stumbled back in surprise, catching the ball instinctively and frowning, and saw that Dylan had thrown the ball out of his net with a sour expression on his face. Blaine swallowed and looked at Drew, who glanced over at Mattison for the briefest of seconds before shrugging.

"We need to up our game," he commented in a steely undertone. "we're not sacrificing this game, and we're going to go down all guns blazing if we go down at all." Blaine nodded because there was nothing else that he could do or say and then ran back towards the centre circle, ready to restart play all over again.

"Ready Blaine?" asked Lance again, and Blaine nodded tiredly.

"Yeah, we've gotta do better this time." Lance reached across, putting a hand on his shoulder briefly and squeezing just a little, smiling ever so slightly.

"Hey, Blaine, don't worry about it – we need to do better; we probably need a bit more creative flair: that's what you and Kay are here for." Blaine swallowed at those words, not finding them overly comforting, but nodded none the less because this wasn't the time or place for an argument.

Time began to become quite irrelevant to Blaine. Somehow, they had managed to claw back some possession from their restart, playing a quick passing game, shooting the ball back and forth between them as fast as they could, not giving the Garfield boys the time to tackle them, though not for want of trying, and Blaine knew that they just needed to be patient, which was kind of a hard thing to be in the atmosphere that was tenser and getting a hell of a lot more heated as the seconds passed. Blaine was getting derogatory shouts from all around him, but he could barely listen because was concentrating so much on getting every pass right.

However, it was paying off because Blaine was beginning to feel like they were finding some holes in the defence, and they were going to exploit them; they were going to tear this pathetic excuse for a team that was made up of even more pathetic excuses for human beings to pieces, and they were going to do it badly. They were going to humiliate them in front of all their fans, and they were going to be triumphant. Blaine knew that he was definitely giving into his more primal side – the game had a tendency of bringing that out in people – but he couldn't care less, right now it was helping him perform better because it sharpened and honed his focus, and it gave him the courage to actually run down with the ball down the wing, even though it put him and their possession in danger. Still, he could see Drew running into the box, Jack and Kay arriving behind him, Alan, Lance and Joey all taking up positions around the box, and Blaine, taking in the position of Drew and the defenders, squared the ball across the front of the box. His breath caught in his throat as the consummation of their domination was reached, but Drew's foot was stretching out in front of the defenders', and the goalie had thrown himself out wide, limps splayed, and in the end, it was simple for Drew to tap it into the back of his net, but it still took his breath away in relief and joy when the ball sailed into the back netting.

"Yes!" roared Blaine, leaping up and punching the air in celebration, smile exploding onto his face because they were level! They were back in this! Drew came charging over to him, pointing at him with a huge grin, and Blaine laughed aloud as he embraced the stocky boy, who hauled him off the ground, squeezing him tightly, and the rest of the team piled on top of them, beginning to crush them a little.

"You got us back in!" yelled Drew, right into his ear, and Blaine laughed again as Drew released him to hug some of the other players whilst the rest half hugged Blaine, or ruffled his hair, or patted him hard on the back, and Blaine knew that their equaliser at just under twenty minutes was probably going to their heads, making them giddy, but they deserved to celebrate their small victory because that other goal on the scoreboard shouldn't be up there, and so pulling themselves back to a vaguely even footing was a huge achievement.

"Told you that you were going to be the key," said Lance, bumping Blaine's shoulder with his own, and Blaine blushed slightly, looking down at the pitch for a second, and then rolled his eyes, bumping him back with a smile on his face, and, after Lance had shot him a smug look, they took up their positions, for the first time preparing for a kick-off that wasn't started by them.

Blaine began to wonder if he would be able to walk let alone run by the end of the game as he pushed himself up from the floor for the umpteenth time, glaring at the Garfield player who had half-hauled him up from the floor – Blaine wasn't stupid enough to accept the hand of the man that had tripped him up so he'd been grabbed by the neck of his shirt instead – and then dropped him. He was pretty sure that he was bruised all over, and for all the trips and shoves, he'd only got two free kicks. He could feel himself wearing out, and the words – faggot, fairy, sick, diseased, disgusting, disturbed, hated – were beginning to penetrate him because his tired mind was having a hard time of blocking them out and stopping him from remembering that they were irrelevant. He found himself thinking about how much he just wanted to go home and be in Sebastian's arms and just forget the world.

Blaine felt like he was almost doing some fucked up obstacle course as he tracked back down towards his goal, getting as stuck in as possible, and then tried to break down the other end, all the while doing his absolute best to avoid shoves and badly timed tackles that could leave him seriously injured. Honestly, it was a miracle that no one had been badly hurt so far – the last Garfield football game they'd played at Garfield, which had also been his first, oh horrible thing, they'd had to use up all three of their subs to replace injured players, and Blaine had been one of them (he'd actually been a sub for someone else, but then his bad leg had taken a bashing, and he'd had to go back off, which everyone had been really nice about) – though he'd noticed that Lance was limping and wincing every time he put his foot down, Alan kept pausing to cough and Randy was wiping blood away from a gash that had appeared just above his eyebrow. Drew, as always, seemed to be coping completely fine given that he was actually public enemy number one – they hated Blaine for his sexuality, but they knew that he wasn't the best player on the pitch for Dalton (or for anyone, actually): that was Drew, hands down and always.

Still, Blaine had found a couple of chances springing themselves up before him, and he was seriously pissed off with himself for not taking the last one: he'd been running down the flank, overlapping with Kay, who had at some point, and completely randomly, swapped sides with Matt, and he'd managed to cut inside, managing to dance around the defenders' legs, and he'd come up by the right corner of the goal, and he'd sliced it across the front, intending to go into the left corner, but instead it had just trickled wide. He'd hit another on the volley from outside the penalty area, but the goalie had managed to get a hand to it and just turn it up and over the bar.

There were so many emotions churning through his body though, and he was a little frightened that he would explode at one of the players and get sent off because he was so fucking pissed off that they had the upper hand in the game, and they kept hurting him, and his friends, and they were shouting at him, and they were just such arseholes, and he hated them so much, and he couldn't score, which was also ticking him off, and he just hated every last single one of them, especially because he felt torn between crying and screaming and throwing some punches and just not stopping until he made them just as afraid and hurt as he was, and fuck wasn't that terrifying because the last time he'd felt like that… no matter what had been done against him, he didn't think he was ever going to forgive himself for that: he wasn't becoming them, not ever.

Then, what felt simultaneously like ages and seconds later, what he'd been afraid of had happened. Garfield caught them on the break: Drew had been shouting to get forward, his arms waving all around, pushing them all up the pitch, leaving Jack and Randy, who wasn't attack minded in the slightest, as the only defenders, and they were pushing, pushing; the five midfielders flowing and interchanging, working as hard as they possibly could, and Blaine making little runs, trying to play them in, and he'd eventually got the opportunity – the ball fell at his feet, and he'd taken a shot, but there was no punch, and the goalie caught it, tossed it out to Simpson, and then him and two others were streaming forward.

Blaine immediately charged back – they all did – as fast as he possibly could, watching the ball be played out wide, taking Jack out of the game so there was just Randy, marking one of the other players but not going to intercept, and they were gaping open, just Dylan's lumbering form (which had been coming in useful, he was reaching things with just a little bit more ease) standing between Simpson and the goal. Drew was yelling at Dylan, gesticulating widely, telling him to do something, and Blaine was mildly surprised to find that it was him and Drew that would reach the box first after Jack, not that Jack could do anything from behind, but Dylan had already come out, making himself as big as possible, but Simpson tapped it aside, stepping round him and shot into the empty net.

Blaine felt his knees go out from under him, feeling like there should be a deafening silence of horror even though Garfield were screaming and yelling and cheering, and he hit the ground hard, arms jarring as he fell onto all fours. He felt sick, and he hacked up some of the phlegm, letting his heart rate settle a little as he gasped for air, head spinning. He could feel tears stinging in his eyes of desperation and frustration, hating himself for being too weak to get anything proper on that shot, and honestly wished that he could just collapse against the pitch. He was tired, and he was under his normal fitness, and he was not mentally prepared for this. He sniffed heavily, trying not to break down in front of Garfield because otherwise he'd be humiliated no end.

"Blaine," came a soft voice, and a hand touched his shoulder, and then he was gripped hard, and someone – Blaine knew who it was from the voice – pulled him up to his feet. Blaine sniffed, looking over Drew's shoulder, too ashamed to meet his gaze. "Blaine," repeated Drew in a firm voice, tapping his cheek lightly with his hand. "buddy, you alright there?" Blaine swallowed, nodding and knowing – hating – that tears were beginning to trickle down his face. "You injured?" Blaine shook his head. Drew sighed in apparent relief. "Blaine, look at me…please." The quiet plea tacked onto the end of the command told Blaine that Drew was desperate right now, and so he looked up into his friend's concerned eyes. "Do you need to go off? I don't care that you're not injured, if this is going to screw you up mentally then tell me, and we'll send you off." He held up a hand at that as Blaine blinked, probably pointing over at the substitute bench and holding up the restart of play. "Blaine, buddy, you've got to talk to me. You might be the best striker we've got, but if you need to go off, you go off, okay?" He pulled Blaine a little bit closer, and Blaine had to wonder how he made the jeers fade away.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"That's okay," he said, beginning to make a gesture with his hand, and Blaine guessed that he was indicating a player number, but Blaine felt torn. He didn't want to go off, but he did want to give up and just rest. "We won't think any less of you, Blaine."

"Do you think I can do it?" he asked, suddenly, in a hoarse voice. Drew frowned at him, confused. "Make a difference? Score a goal?" Drew paused, clearly weighing everything up in his mind.

"Yes, I think that you're the best, and I think you're our best hope at getting another goal, and I believe in you, Blaine, because despite what you think, you are brilliant and amazing and – freaking – awesome!" There was a brief moment, and then Blaine found what he'd been hoping for: strength and resilience. Drew had relit the flame of fight within him, and Blaine nodded.

"Okay."

"Okay?" echoed Drew in mild confusion.

"I'll keep playing." Drew blinked, wary frown on his face.

"Blaine, if you're not-"

"I can do this, I promise." Drew stared at him for a second longer before breaking out into a smile, clapping him on the face and, after making a slashing motion with his hand, he gripped his shoulder briefly.

"I know," he replied, and they spun around as the ref's whistle blew to restart the game, and they darted off to get into their positions. As Blaine made his way into space, he caught Sebastian's eye from where his boyfriend was standing on the touchline, hands dug deep into his pockets and a tense expression on his face. Blaine, sniffing and knowing that the tears were stopping, gave him his best smile and the thumbs up. Sebastian seemed to assess him for a moment, and Blaine waited for as long as he could, watching play out of the corner of his eye, knowing that he couldn't do nothing, and luckily, just before he moved, Sebastian pulled out a smile and gave him the thumbs up in return.

Despite Blaine's renewed spirit; the thumbs up from Sebastian and his little smile was enough to put a smile on his face, the rest of the team were not in such good shape. Drew was his usual robust self, right in the thick of play, tussling with the Garfield players, never giving up and never giving them even a second to think or breathe, and Dylan was holding up remarkably well in goal: it looked like he had managed to develop tunnel vision, focusing solely on the present part of the game, but everyone else was losing hope quick and fast. They were all being brave; the only reason Garfield didn't get another goal was largely to do with the fact that every single one of them was getting back and putting their bodies on the line, throwing themselves in front of the ball, and Blaine thought that Kay, in particular, ought to be awarded some sort of medal for the way he had basically moved into a foreign, holding midfield position and was working about as hard as Drew, who was constantly helping him up from the floor where he was often sent tumbling.

As the first half drew to a close, Blaine began to start praying for the halftime whistle. They were being almost completely overrun, and Blaine was frankly amazed that they had not conceded again. Dylan had pulled off one or two rather spectacular saves that had managed to put a half-smile on their faces, but on the whole, they were on the verge of total collapse, and Blaine honestly had no idea how they intended to make their way through the second half. They were completely drained. Obviously, the break would be good for them, but the first half had been a killer half, and if they needed to go through all of that again, then they were completely sunk.

He reckoned that it was the fatigue that caused them to slip up again. This time it wasn't specifically something to do with football; there was no damning third goal just before half time, but it was just as bad, if not worse. Kay was in a surprising defensive position, winning the ball from a hulking boy that dwarfed him alarmingly, and then he was off on the break, racing down the pitch, and the midfielder ran back and then slid in, knocking him down with a loud shriek of pain.

"Kay!" yelled Blaine as he hit the ground hard, crying out in pain. The whistle blew, thankfully, but Blaine was already halfway towards Kay's side. Drew had already made it, dropping down by his side, and the rest of the team came hurrying over as Kay groaned.

"Is she okay?" cried Alan, reaching them last (bar Dylan, who hadn't made the run) as Drew helped Kay sit up and engaged her in a quick conversation, testing her ankles. There was a moment in which everyone just shrugged, and then froze in absolute horror. Blaine felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, and his whole face slackened in shock, eyes trailing around the Garfield players that were gathered just outside of them. He could see their slow minds turning it over and putting it together. "Oh god…" whispered Alan, hands flying over his mouth and a petrified expression on his face. "I'm so sorry. Kay, I-" he broke off, and Kay looked up with wide eyes that were afraid, but there was also something resolute in them.

"It's okay," he said. "I am who I am. I can handle this, and I can keep playing." Blaine swallowed as Drew helped Kay to his feet and didn't say a word about the panic building inside of him for Kay: she was in danger.

"We'll keep you safe," muttered Drew under his breath, pulling the midfielder in close. "I promise." Kay gave him the smallest of smiles that said not to make promises that he couldn't keep, but Drew's face remained the same, and as Jack accepted the ball, they dispersed, Kay hobbling away to catcalls from the other players. Blaine glanced after him, sending up a prayer that begged for Him to protect her from harm. Drew clapped Alan once on the shoulder, giving him a faux-reassuring look, and the ref blew the whistle to restart play, which lasted all of two minutes of passing in the midfield before the referee's whistle went again, signalling halftime.

They traipsed off the pitch, heads hung low, but Blaine's mood didn't stay that foul for too long, though, because the moment he'd gotten fully over the white line, he was swooped up into two arms and crushed against a taller body. Blaine immediately wrapped his arms back around his boyfriend, dropping his head onto Sebastian's shoulder and swallowing away the tears of tiredness. Sebastian swayed him from side to side, rubbing his back and making soothing noises that did manage to calm him slightly.

"How are you?" asked Sebastian once he'd stepped back, hands going to rest on Blaine's cheeks and staring right into his watery eyes, clearly searching for answers to his worries. "You were crying earlier; are you badly hurt?" Blaine shook his head, swallowing and trying to pull himself to together even though Sebastian's tender care was choking him up in happy relief.

"No, I'm just tired. I'm fine, I promise, I just…" he shook his head. "It's just hard to stay positive out there." Sebastian nodded, taking a couple of steps back and offering Blaine his water bottle. Blaine took it gratefully and guzzled down the power drink inside greedily because he was parched.

"Sebastian," said Drew, coming over to their sides with Mattison, Cunningham and Sutherland in tow. "they know about Kay." Sebastian's eyes went wide for a second, and Blaine could see the flash of panic in his eyes before he shut down into his clinical but protecting head boy mode.

"Is he – she – alright?" he asked immediately, and Drew nodded instantly.

"Yes, they literally just found out, but after what happened to Sam…" Drew trailed off, shrugging, and Blaine swallowed, looking between the adults and Sebastian with wide eyes.

"I'll deal with the supporters off the pitch; you keep her safe on there and make sure that, no matter what, she knows that she can come to anyone, and we'll deal with it, okay?" Drew nodded instantly, and Blaine managed a small smile at the resolute confidence on Sebastian's face. "We are not having any repeats, not on my watch." There was a series of grim nods, and Blaine looked properly over at Kay.

The Freshman was in the middle of a tight group huddle, and everyone around him was talking, and he could see that Randy had his arms around her, holding onto his younger housemate, whilst Monty was holding her hand, and Hartfield was standing nearby, also talking to them. Blaine knew that no one was going to let the situation go anywhere near where it had with Sam: they were all on incredibly high alert.

"Alright, come on, Blaine," said Drew, beckoning with his hand. "time for my half time pep talk." Blaine groaned a little bit at that because Drew's speeches when they were losing tended to get a little bit fanatical to the extent that they were disturbing, but obediently trailed Drew back over to the others, squeezing Sebastian's hand one final time for comfort and strength before letting it drop away.

Sebastian sighed as he watched him go, and then waved over Mac. The Putnam prefect, who had been busy packing up the first aid kit, hurriedly grabbed what was left from the ground and dashed over to his side with a heavy frown on his face.

"Is everything going to be okay with Kay?" he asked, instantly, and Sebastian shrugged, pulling a grim expression.

"They say they'll look out for her on the pitch, but there's only so much they can do in the end. How are the injuries?" Mac shrugged, bending over and packing the last of the plasters away.

"Nothing too bad; nothing we can't handle – just cuts, bumps and bruises mainly." Sebastian nodded, glad that things were okay for the moment on that front, and cast a half glance over at the team huddle, taking in Blaine's small figure squashed next to Dylan's huge frame. He took in the three wrinkle lines cutting across Blaine's brow, the way they curved deepest towards his contracted, bushy eyebrows above his noses, and the way he'd pursed his lips so that the skin across the rest of his face was smooth, and the slight set in his jaw that said his teeth were slightly clenched.

"Okay," he muttered, mainly to himself. "but we need to do something akin to what Kurt did at the lacrosse game," he commented, louder, finding himself rather neutral to admitting that Kurt had done an intelligent thing then – once feelings were put aside, he could acknowledge that Kurt was pretty smart and talented, and it was far more advantageous for them all if they worked together as opposed to in petty opposition. Mac blinked once, and Sebastian rolled his eyes, wondering if he had to everything himself. "but don't worry your pretty, little, ringlet-ed head about it. I'll come up with the plan, you man the touchline in case anyone gets hurt…unless, it's bad." Mac nodded, eyes narrowing for a moment so that an almost shrewd expression passed across his features. Sebastian arched an eyebrow, telling him to speak even though he knew Mac would anyway.

"It's nothing, I was just thinking about how under qualified we are for the job of…nursing or whatever the hell this job is called." Sebastian shrugged a little at that, although he did agree that it was somewhat ridiculous that they seemed to be in charge of the others' welfare.

"We've got rather extensive first aid training, and barring the nurse, I reckon we're probably about as qualified as any of the staff." Mac flickered his eyebrows slightly but tipped his head in acquiescence.

"True." He fell silent after that, and Sebastian focused his eyes back on the team before he realised that there was something Mac was holding back. He flicked his eyes back to the prefect, who was a good friend, and studied him very carefully as he knelt down and carefully re-laced his trainers. After several minutes of careful observation of Mac methodically making sure that everything was done up probably, what was going on slotted together in Sebastian's mind, and he rolled his eyes towards the sky briefly.

"You can handle the pressure," he said in something that was more like a monotone than a reassuring voice. Mac looked up at him, brows creasing, and Sebastian knew that he had taken him back somewhat.

"What? I'm not-" Sebastian arched his eyebrows, fixing an even stare upon him that was broken, at regular intervals, by steady blinking. Mac sighed, rolling his eyes. "I just- you know exactly what I'm talking about! After all, it was you that put me on "organising-flu-carer" duty for the swim meet instead of at the meet: I can handle anything as long as all you have to do is put a plaster on it, but anything else…" he shrugged, and Sebastian rolled his eyes, tutting.

"But you don't have to because that is what I call "bad", and that means you call me, and then you become my assistant, understand?" he gave Mac an intense look, and Mac broke out into a smile, knowing, after all the years, Sebastian being reassuring when he heard it. Sebastian rolled his eyes at the smile but said nothing more. Sebastian glanced past Mac and over at the team huddle once more, noting the small smile that was appearing on Blaine's face as Drew's mania probably reached its peak. Mac followed his gaze.

"I promise you I'll keep an especially close eye on him." Sebastian blinked once, frowning. Mac rolled his eyes. "Blaine, I promise I'll keep one of my eyes fixed on him, always, and I'll try and alert one of the others if it looks like he's running into trouble." Sebastian nodded once, giving him a small, appreciative smile and glancing over at his boyfriend once more and feeling his heart hammer just a little bit faster at the thought of anything bad happening to him. Why did Blaine attract danger?

"Good," he muttered quietly. "and because of what you just said, if anything happens to him on your watch, I'll dismember you." Mac let out a laugh at his words, but Sebastian fixed a harsh stare upon him that said he was not joking. Mac returned it with a flat look of his own that said he was perfectly aware of that, but for some reason he was smiling nonetheless – right, it was one of those "aww, it's cute when Sebastian cares" smiles that he hated with a relatively intense passion.

"Who are we?!" yelled Drew, having clearly reached the end of his pep talk.

"DALTON!" came the roar in reply, and Sebastian blinked, always just a little bit surprised by how Drew could pick up the spirits of the flailing.

"Dalton?!"

"Phoenix!"

"Dalton?!"

"Phoenix!"

"And what to phoenixes' do?!"

"RISE! RISE! RISE!"

"We're so optimistic, aren't we?" muttered Mac as Sebastian snorted, nodding and smiling to himself wryly because that was his exact thought: who based their pep cheer on creatures rising from the ashes? That was pessimistic even from Sebastian's point of view.

"Indeed," he muttered as he watched the group break up, and the starting eleven ran back onto the pitch whilst the Garfield players remained on their touchline. Sebastian watched Blaine begin to tap around a ball with Kay and Matt, talking casually like there was none of the pressure on their shoulders. "now, you watch from here whilst I go…help them rise-" Mac snorted at his stupid hand gesture that Sebastian found himself doing. "-from the ashes!"

"Roger, sir," he said, saluting, and Sebastian turned around, running towards the stands, mentally chiding himself for not thinking to check on Daley earlier – Blaine's physical danger had rather swept his best friend from his mind, but he reckoned that was understandable. However, now he had no other greater priority.

"Daley!" he exclaimed, reaching the stands and hurrying towards his friend, who was nestled in between Wes and Morrison right in the middle of their group of friends. "How you hanging in, mate?" Daley swallowed and shrugged, his face surprisingly straight.

"I'm okay, really, okay. They've stopped picking on me now that the game's happening." Sebastian nodded, reaching forward and squeezing Daley's hands, that were knotted in themselves, once.

"Is it true about Kay?" demanded Flint. "And how's Dylan doing?" Then he seemed to realise that he'd just asked Sebastian how his boyfriend was and clamped his hands over his mouth with wide eyes. Sebastian rolled his eyes, pursing his lips slightly.

"Dylan is fine," he replied, shortly. "and, yes, they have found out about Kay. She's still playing."

"Brave girl," commented Grace with an impressed expression, and Sebastian shook his head.

"More like reckless and foolhardy," he countered with a hint of despairing disapproval in his voice. "but we're good at that." He shrugged. "Anyway, Ros do you have your mini-megaphone thingy?"

"Always so articulate, aren't you, sweetie?" Sebastian narrowed his eyes at her as the roar went up that signalled the Garfield players returning to the pitch. Sebastian looked over his shoulder at once, eyes finding Blaine instantly. His boyfriend was taking up his position at the front, squaring up to the Garfield players, and Sebastian had to question whether he should be impressed by his attitude, or exasperated by the way he kept putting himself on the line. He looked back at Ros.

"Right now, my boyfriend is in danger; you imagine Grace on that field and see how articulate you are." There was a pause after that in which Ros looked at her girlfriend and then swallowed away her little bit of humour.

"Okay," she muttered and reached into her rucksack, pulling out the blue and white megaphone with a curious frown on her face, half extending it to Sebastian with a frown on her face. Sebastian quirked his eyebrows, and Ros broke out into a smile, getting up and joining him on the grass. The two of them ran towards the stairs, where they could stand, whilst people frowned at them. "So?" prompted Ros, unable to read what song he was going to sing from his face. Sebastian mulled over the possibilities for a moment.

"Follow my lead," he said, and Ros rolled her eyes, handing it over with a small smile.

Oh no, I just keep on falling

He began to sing into the megaphone, once he'd checked that it was on and at full volume, and smirked at the way eyes flitted over towards him and then offered the mouth of the megaphone to Ros so she could sing back;

(Back to the same old)

And where's hope, when misery comes crawling?

(Oh my way, eh)

Sebastian rolled his eyes at how pathetic her voice had sounded – there was no opportunity for nerves when the game was just about to begin, and the scales were soon to be tipped once more – and Ros straightened up, narrowing her eyes, and yelled her line back at him.

With your fate, you'll trigger a landslide

(Victory)

And kill off this common sense of mine

Sebastian smirked widely as all the eyes of the Garfield fans and players turned onto them, knowing a challenge when he saw one. He looked at Ros, who quirked an eyebrow that asked when was she ever ready to not knock them down a peg or two, or a thousand if they could manage it.

And it takes acquired minds

To taste, to taste, to taste this wine

You can't down it with your eyes

The Warblers that were in the stands, and the boys gathered around them, began to join in the song, getting to their feet as the referee set the ball down on the spot in the centre. Blaine found a huge grin breaking out onto his feet at the sight of all their spectators rallying behind them because they were going to need a miracle to get them back in the game, but this was Dalton, as Sebastian was reminding them, and that meant anything was possible.

So we don't need the headlines

We don't need the headlines, we just want

Blaine looked round at the rest of the team and saw that they all had smiles on their faces in their starting positions, and he made eye contact with Drew, who gave him a solid nod.

(We want the airwaves back, we want the airwaves back)

As Ros sang out, all on her own, Blaine turned back round to face the opposition, taking a deep breath and watched the whistle go to the referee's mouth to signal the start of the game.

Everybody sing

Like it's the last song you will ever sing

The shrill sound of the whistle came in the slight second of silence between the bridge and the chorus, and the game started as the all the Dalton fans, clambering to their feet and following the lead of their head boy (and girl), joined in the song.

Tell me, tell me do you feel the pressure now?

Sebastian pointed over at the Garfield fans, knowing that the lyrics didn't quite match up because obviously the pressure was on them, but that didn't mean that he couldn't try and psyche them out.

Everybody live

Like it's the last day you will ever see

Tell me, tell me do you feel the pressure now?

Blaine ran immediately into the fray, letting the song give him the strength that he needed to carry on this fight, and, beginning to once more dance between and around the feet, began to press and press, trying to not give them a second to think whilst the rest of the Dalton crowd copied Sebastian's actions.

Right now, you're the only reason

(I'm not letting go, oh)

Blaine winced in pain as he hit the ground, his vision blurring for a second from the impact of his head slamming against the muddy pitch. He blinked hurriedly, feeling his heart pounding hard, and pushed himself up onto his knees. He felt weak; they weren't doing well, they were going to be overrun, but then he saw Sebastian, and he remembered why he played this game – for him; to show all homophobic jerks that he wasn't just normal, he was better.

And time out, if everyone's worth pleasing

(Well ha)

He gave Drew a weak smile – he had no idea why Drew was in the centre of the midfield instead of the defence, but he'd long since stopped questioning why Drew was anywhere on a sports pitch – as the sandy haired boy as slowed to a jog, to assure him that he was okay. Drew nodded and accelerated once more, but Blaine found himself smiling because he felt safer, and if he felt safer, he felt even stronger.

You'll trigger a landslide

(Victory)

Drew pulled off a rather spectacular sliding tackle, knocking the ball out from the Garfield player's feet, right in front of the referee's feet so that not even he could claim a foul, and then leapt to his feet, passing the ball to Blaine, who squared his shoulders and ran.

To kill off the finite state of mind…

Once more, time began to fade away as both teams fought for the ball and to dictate the game, Dalton, buoyed by their supporters, putting up enough of a fight to stop Garfield getting into their old rhythm. Blaine had no idea how they were doing it given that they were all completely exhausted, and more than a little bit terrified for Kay, but – somehow – they were right back in the game. Everyone was being as careful as they possibly could to not accumulate any more cards and risk getting a player sent off, but more importantly, they were all careful not to let Kay get too isolated in one corner of the pitch. Blaine knew what it was like to have Garfield players close in from all sides, and so he made sure to head over in her direction, but Lance, who was also on that wing, tended to have that covered. So far, nothing too major had happened to her, and she was clearly holding up well from any verbal abuse – though the singing helped to block some of that out – and Blaine had to say that he was seriously proud of her, and more than a little in awe. Somehow, she was still playing some amazing football despite the fact that all the Garfield players were playing dirty, and everyone scrappily. She was brilliant, and this game wasn't over…

Alright, so you think you're ready?

OK, then you say this with me, go:

Sebastian sang one line, and Ros sang the reply, as the others dropped away, their voices carrying onto the pitch where the Dalton players were locked in fierce combat (it was war) with the Garfield ones, passing the ball between them and trying to stay one step ahead to keep possession.

We were born for this

(We were born for this)

As Sebastian and Ros' voices joined together, and the Dalton fans echoed the line in a gigantic roar, Kay lifted the ball into the air, sending it down the pitch, and Blaine rose to meet the Garfield player. The other guy was taller though and headed it down to the ground first, and despite Blaine's best efforts to nick it from his feet, it was Blaine that ended up hitting the floor.

Alright, so you think you're ready?

OK, then you say this with me, go:

Blaine clenched his jaw as he heard the song reverberate inside his head, steeling himself for what was to come whilst pushing himself to his feet and breaking into a run, and looked down the pitch to see Garfield attempting to mow down their defence, but were currently being met with a wall of defiance.

We were born for this

One of the Garfield players finally managed to shoulder his way through the defence, taking the ever persistent Drew out of the game with a not-that-surreptitious elbow to the stomach and shoulder to the jaw, and Blaine scowled and broke into a sprint.

(We were born for this)

Dylan came running out of the goal, going down to the floor, and Blaine wanted to screw his eyes just because he knew what was going to happen – the Garfield player let out a yell that was swallowed up by the song and fell over Dylan's arms.

We were born for this

The referee instantly blew his whistle, pointing to the spot, and Blaine cursed, kicking the turf in frustration, but didn't bother to protest the decision because it wasn't going to make a difference – this was all up to Dylan.

(We were born for this)

Simpson put the ball on the spot, and Dylan positioned himself in the centre of the goal, knees bent and body low, squaring up to the thick set footballer before him.

We were born for, we were born for

Blaine watched Cody Simpson once more run towards the ball on the penalty spot in what seemed like slow motion, his insides writhing and knotting together in fear, and his eyes widened as he watched the ball go flying towards the bottom left hand corner, and Dylan threw himself to that same side, whole body at full stretch…

Everybody sing

The Dalton fans went wild in jubilation, jumping up and down and screaming, as Dylan's hands met the ball, parrying the ball away from goal and out of harm's way. Blaine let out a roar of delight, leaping up and punching the air.

Like it's the last song you will ever sing

Dylan gathered up the ball with a huge smile on his face and threw it down the pitch, and Blaine almost felt like he had wings as he went flying after it, the cheers of the Dalton fans almost drowning out his boyfriend's singing.

Tell me, tell me can you feel the pressure?

The Dalton supporters joined back into the song, gesticulating over at the Garfield players because they had just squandered their chance to bury the game.

Everybody live

Like it's the last day you will ever see

Tell me, tell me can you feel the pressure now?

Blaine received the ball into his feet from a pass by Matt and then sent it on its way forward to Alan, who was pelting down the wing of the field like his life depended on it, hurdling the outstretched leg of a Garfield player at one point. As he took a second to breathe before rejoining the chase, he glanced over at the stands and saw that Sebastian, still sharing the mini-megaphone with Ros, was belting out the lyrics and leading the Dalton fans in their derogatory pointing at Garfield, and that made Blaine smile because with Sebastian's support, it felt like he could do anything right now!

Everybody sing

Like it's the last song you will ever sing

However, there wasn't really time to be gazing adoringly at his boyfriend, especially not when they'd lost the ball, so Blaine tore his gaze away from Sebastian and charged towards the guy with the ball because he was the closest person.

Tell me, tell me can you feel the pressure?

Tell me, tell me can you feel the pressure?

Blaine faced down the person that had at least ten inches on him, blood pounding in his ears because they were riding off the back of Garfield's relative-failure, but Garfield weren't going to go down without a fight, and whilst they were still riled and pissed off, they were probably at their most dangerous – Blaine couldn't let them get another chance on goal right now.

We were born for this

Blaine tensed his body, knowing that a collision was coming, and was sure enough bulldozed to the ground, hitting the earth and feeling the air be knocked out of him. He twisted around on the ground to keep his eye on the game.

(We were born for this)

The Garfield player had hoofed it across the pitch, and Kay – somehow – managed to beat the intended recipient to ball in the air, and Blaine leapt to his feet at the sight of Kay breaking into a run, heading back towards Garfield's goal.

We were born for this

Blaine didn't see exactly what happened, but the scream said everything. Kay had the ball, and a Garfield player went at her, and it looked like he stepped on her lower leg/ankle, but he knew that it couldn't be that because she screamed in agony, going flying over the leg and crashing to the floor, hands going towards her lower leg as she lifted herself upright into a collapsed sitting position, crying out in pure pain. Blaine was running before the whistle went, his heart pounding in his chest, and he felt like he was going to be sick. The rest of the Dalton team were crowding around her, all their faces paling and some people had tears in their eyes, and even some of the Garfield players looked a little shocked by her agony at the injury whilst a pushing-and-shoving-with-shouting fight had broken out between the rest of the team and a couple of Dalton players – Blaine only really noticed Lance at the front.

Blaine retched at the sight when he made it to the front, dropping down on his knees and reaching out for her – Drew had his arms around her, holding her tight and muttering assurances as she cried that did not match up to his ashen and completely closed off face – to try and comfort her, because her foot was bent at a strange ankle, hanging floppy. Blaine suddenly felt both of his ankles twinge in memory – it looked broken. He sniffed heavily, managing to put a trembling hand on Kay's shoulder as he felt the tears threaten to spill over his eye lids.

"WHAT?!" came the scream from over their heads, and Blaine looked up to see a yellow card being brandished at the guy that had performed the foul. "Are you out of your fucking mind?!" yelled Lance, rounding on the referee, and although Randy leapt forward and slapped a hand over Lance's mouth, it was too late. Even as Graham and Alan dragged him back, and Dylan and Matt managed to get the Garfield players chanting about how much of a girl she was to back off, the referee had pulled out another card and brandished red at him.

"Get out of the bloody way!" exclaimed Sebastian out of nowhere, and Blaine found himself smiling in relief at the sight of him and Mac with their first aid box, having been led over by Jack, and then realised that, as vice-captain, he should be dealing with the red-card situation given that Drew was quite literally wrapped up with Kay. However, as he went to stand up, Jack held up a hand that told him to stay. Blaine smiled in relief some more at the older boy, even though he still had tears in his eyes and felt sick, as he moved off to try and convince the referee to change his decision whilst Lance stood there, face slack and horrified.

"Jesus…" hissed Mac, eyes widening, and Sebastian seemed to have frozen, staring at Kay's foot in horror.

"How the hell did this happen?" he demanded in a whisper, and Drew shook his head, looking at Kay, who was whimpering in pain and crying. "Okay," said Sebastian, running a hand through his hair and then reaching forward to support the injury. "Mac, get me something to splint this with, get me a stretcher, and call an ambulance… right now!" Mac nodded and got up, sprinting away. "Kay, you need to tell me what happened." Kay shook her head. "I know it hurts, a lot, but you've got to tell me what they did."

"I-I don't know…I- I had the ball, and he came at me, and he- his foot went down there…" she gestured vaguely towards her lower leg and ankle, letting out a moan of pain, tears pouring from her eyes. "and I was moving, and it went crack, and I went over, and it hurts so much…"

"Okay," said Sebastian, nodding with a serious expression fixed on his face. "alright, you've probably broken something, or fractured it at least, so we'll get you to hospital. Sutherland will probably be the one going with you, are you alright with that?" Kay nodded, and Blaine sat forward, squeezing her shoulder a little, and Drew ran a hand over her head, smoothing her hair, as Sebastian, having pulled down her sock as best he could, tentatively looked at her ankle, wincing at what he saw and screwing up his face as he made her cry in pain. "Fuck, this is swelling badly."

"Sebastian," said Mac, and they looked up to see that he along with Wes, David, Jeff and Nick were carrying the orange stretcher on. The faces of the four newcomers turned to horror at what they saw as they put the stretcher down. Mac picked up the first aid kit and towel that they'd put on the stretcher and handed them to Sebastian. Sebastian expertly (Blaine was a little surprised he knew how to do this, but only a little) made a makeshift splint for Kay's ankle and lower leg as everyone watched in horror, or kept the Garfield players at bay.

"Okay, we're going to lift you onto this stretcher, alright?" Kay nodded, and Blaine let go of her shoulder, standing back whilst Drew remained holding her until she was supported by the other boys, and carefully and gently and very slowly, they lifted Kay onto the stretcher, making sure to support her injured leg. She was still crying as they strapped her down to make sure she didn't fall off, and then the six of them began to carry her off at a very slow pace. Blaine put his hands over his face, exhaling and wiping away the tears from his eyes as he could feel his whole body shaking.

"Lance," said Drew, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. "just get off the pitch." The Putnam boy looked at his captain and, seeing the tired disappointment in his eyes, hung his head and walked off the pitch whilst Calvin jumped up and down on the touchline, waiting to be sent on for Kay. Blaine nodded at the sight of another defending midfielder and eyed the ball as the referee indicated that it was their free kick. "Alright!" shouted Drew as Calvin ran on and over to them. "Dylan, get the hell back in your goal." Dylan, who was still very pale looking, nodded and began a sluggish run towards his goal. "Joey, shift out to the right a little, Calvin go left and hold that line in front of the defence. Alan, you go out to the left, Matt come down and stay on the right. Blaine, you're going to be pretty isolated up front." Blaine swallowed, nodding, and took a deep breath. "Right, Joey, you take this ball. Everyone in position, now!"

With meek and tired nods, they all got into position for the free kick, but Blaine could see that all of their energy had been sucked from them after Kay's injury – Blaine had never seen anything like that in football before. It was horrible to see anything like that full stop, but Blaine hadn't really thought that an injury that bad could happen, even with Garfield coming at them and not caring if they got hurt at all. He couldn't get her scream out of his ears, especially not when it was mingling with Garth's, and his old injuries were twinging in reminder of what they'd been through that night; the night that changed everything. He could see the anguish on the faces of the rest of his team, and he knew that their optimism was fading fast: they had ten men, Kay had just broken her leg and their luck looked like it had run out – they were going to lose.

Except, went a sharp voice in his head as play resumed and Blaine found himself running forward against a defence that his senses were telling him to get miles and miles away from, that's two people now we have to win for – we can't collapse and fold, it's not fair on all the work that Kay did: she worked as hard as she possibly could, and she was so brave in the face of all their hate, and she didn't go off when she should/could have to keep her safe because she was so loyal to us, and it's dishonourable and disrespectful to put a loss on her!

So, for once, the little voice inside his head was being very strong – not quite optimistic but getting there – and so it wasn't at all stupid for him to be listening to it, and so Blaine felt his fight begin to ignite within him once more. He could see some of the others were a bit out of it, and he didn't blame them for that in the slightest, and so he decided that all he could about it was play even harder and try and reinvigorate them. They were only one goal down after all, and they could at least pull this back to a draw, which would be a good result given everything that had happened, especially the fact that they had ten men.

It had to be some time after that; after they'd all heard the ambulance sirens and knew that Kay was in good hands, that Blaine found himself through on goal. His heart was thumping very loudly in his chest, and he could feel some hope beginning to build inside of him once more. This was a brilliant opportunity; he could score; they'd be level, and-

Blaine let out a yell as he went down, colliding into the ground and rolling to the side so that he could get back up and see what was happening – had he fallen in the penalty area? What he didn't quite realise until a second later was that rolling to the side ended up saving him from what could have been an awful incident because a boot came glancing down on him. The studs connected with his left temple, and he let out a yell as he felt the skin break and his head bang against the ground. The whistle blew once more, and Blaine threw his hands to his face, feeling the blood begin to trickle down his temple.

"Blaine!" cried Matt, dropping down by his side with Calvin coming in behind, and Blaine blinked, reaching forward and accepting their hands so that they could pull him to his feet. He blinked again, touching his temple and seeing blood come away onto his fingers. He swallowed and looked around, spotting most of the team engaged in a furious argument with the referee.

"You alright?" asked Calvin, and Blaine nodded, even as Joey waved Sebastian onto the field. Sebastian came sprinting across the field as fast as he possibly could, and Blaine pulled out a smile at the sight of his boyfriend, trying to reassure him that he was okay.

"Blaine," said Sebastian, coming over to his side and touching his face gently. Blaine tried to sustain the smile as Sebastian turned his head so that he could get a better look. "what happened?"

"He tried to stand on my head," he said in a monotone as Sebastian bent down and opened the first aid kit, getting out what Blaine needed with a fixed look on his face.

"I see," he commented, something in his jaw jumping a little as he quickly cleaned Blaine's wound. "Do you need to come off?" he asked as he tore out a small ball of cotton wool and put it to the wound on Blaine's forehead. "Hold that," he said, and Blaine pressed it against the wound as Sebastian bent back down. "Blaine?" he pressed, arching his eyebrows and looking up with a demanding expression even as he took stuff out.

"No, I'm fine," said Blaine in an even tone because he had to keep playing. "I'll keep playing." Sebastian stood back up and wrapped the bandage gauze around his head tightly before cutting the edge and taping it down.

"Okay," said Sebastian, and Blaine found himself smiling a little at the way Sebastian didn't argue, simply dipping his head and bending down to back up his materials, because maybe he was starting to trust him more. "take care." Blaine nodded, wanting to catch onto Sebastian and make him wait, but he knew that Sebastian had to get off the pitch so instead he just gave him a stronger smile and got one in return from Sebastian, and then his boyfriend turned around and walked away. Blaine watched him go, pursing his lips, and then looked over at the referee, who was still arguing with a calmly enraged Drew. Seeing that Blaine was done getting treatment, he blew his whistle and pointed at the penalty spot.

Blaine punched the air in celebration. Finally, a decision had gone their way! Drew didn't look that happy though, and Blaine supposed that he had once more simply handed out a yellow card when he deserved a red card for the denying of a goal scoring opportunity alone. No doubt he'd claimed that standing on Blaine's head had been an "accident". However, having got the penalty, Blaine was inclined not to mind too much as the goalie threw the ball at him. Blaine caught it and looked round at Drew, asking him if it was his ball. Drew nodded with a small smile, and Blaine walked over to the spot, setting down the ball and looking the goalie, who was bent double but had his head up, in the eye.

He could hear the derogatory cheers coming in from the Garfield fans whilst the Dalton ones were silent to try and enable him to concentre as he backed up. He could hear the others lining up on the edge of the penalty box, and the goalie was jumping up and down on his line, trying to outstare Blaine, but Blaine was finding that he wasn't unnerved at all by it. His heart was still pounding in his chest that was clogging itself with nerves, and he felt sick at the pressure of the situation, but he wasn't afraid of the goalie. He was afraid of what the Dalton boys might think and/or say if he screwed up, but he wasn't afraid of Garfield.

The referee blew his whistle, and Blaine took in a huge breath, tuning into his thundering pulse that was sending blood pounding in his ears along with his thumping heart, and knew exactly what he had to do. He ran up, accelerating and watching the goalie dive dramatically to Blaine's right, and struck the ball. He followed through with his foot and watched the ball go spinning towards the left corner. His mind seemed to forget to function, even though he was running towards the goal just in case of anything, as he watched the ball with wide eyes. A second later, the ball hit the back of the netting.

Blaine threw his arms into the air with a guttural cheer, smile breaking out across his face – they were level! – and, turning around, he ran back towards his teammates with his arms out in the air like he was a plane. The rest of the team was also sprinting towards him, cheering, and Blaine dived into their midst with a shout as they hugged him from all angles, people jumping onto his back and ruffling up his hair, slapping him on the back and yelling his name. He could hear the Dalton fans shouting and cheering in celebration, and as they began to break apart, all the players up front individually came up to him, tousling his hair, half hugging him and clapping his shoulders, and Blaine found that he was laughing loudly as they made their way back into their positions.

"Told you!" exclaimed Drew, coming over to him last as they made it back to their half, and Blaine finished giving Dylan a thumbs up, crushing him into a sort of hug, pulling Blaine's neck down so that their heads' bumped. "Told you you'd be the one to make the difference!" Blaine simply grinned at him as Drew patted him on the back once more before running back to his defence. Blaine glanced over at the touchline for the first time properly since he'd scored and saw that Sebastian was beaming at him with a proud expression. Blaine smiled, hugely, back at him for a moment until the whistle blew, and the game restarted.

Blaine got the feeling that whatever homophobia abuse that he had been experiencing before had actually been rather constrained. Now, Blaine was finding it hard to move without someone coming to intervene whether they were tripping him up slyly, or just shoving him aside, or standing in his path, or grabbing onto his shirt and physically holding him back. It was frustrating Blaine, but he couldn't lash out and shove them off because he could risk getting sent off or something, and he knew that it was because they were level, but why couldn't they actually just go and try and score instead of sabotaging them and cheating?!

There were yellow cards flying all around now, and Blaine thought that it was an amazing miracle that no other red card had been pulled out yet. They were struggling with ten men, he could tell, and he found himself dropping further and further back to help defend just because when they attacked, they had this tendency to just steamroller down the midfielders that were brave enough to stand in their way.

The clock was ticking, though, and Blaine knew that they were running down time whilst they got bogged down in play in the midfield, bodies colliding and feet hitting other people with more frequency than the ball, and whilst a draw wasn't great, and Blaine was still gunning for a win, he knew that he'd happily settle for it, though he reckoned that was more his tired, aching, bruised body talking more than anything else. Every so often, if he had enough time which was few and far between, he would glance over at Sebastian, and Sebastian would try and give him a vague indication of how long was left. It was just after Sebastian had told him that they had about ten minutes left that Blaine, despite his distinct lack of height, decided to challenge a Garfield player to the ball with his head, and as it went flying, predictably enough, over Blaine's head and the Garfield player sent it glancing on, his arm came flying out and smacked Blaine straight in the face. Blaine let out a slightly surprised yell, losing his footing because his body was falling backwards, and hit the floor hard, jarring his elbows and letting out a groan that was more of frustration than anything else.

Raising his hand to his face with a resigned expression on his face, Blaine saw that his nose was bleeding a bit. He tenderly touched his nose and reckoned that it probably wasn't broken, and he tipped his head forward, pinching his nose, and allowed himself to be picked up under the arms and stood on his feet by Joey and Alan, and he gave Sebastian a weak smile as his boyfriend hurried over once more, giving him a tired glare, having treated Blaine too many times this game.

"Coming off?" he asked as he gently touched Blaine's nose, and Blaine shook his head. Sebastian pursed his lips and looked over at Drew. Drew walked over, hands on his hips, and looked between the two of them critically as Sebastian handed Blaine a tissue

"It's just ten minutes, and if Blaine says he up for it then I'm going to go with it. You can put something up his nose to stop the bleeding?" Sebastian nodded, huffing and rolling his eyes.

"Yes, but it's not ideal."

"That's fine, you can mollycoddle him once he's off the pitch." Sebastian glared at the surprisingly chirpy Harriot boy given how tired they all were, and how much they targeted Drew – second only to Blaine right now after Blaine's goal – but didn't argue; Blaine suspected that Drew publically challenging his authority and winning once was enough to make sure that Sebastian never tried to overrule him again.

"Okay," he said, and he fiddled around in his first aid kit for a minute or two whilst Blaine held the tissue to his nose, and the others all took the respite to rehydrate and catch their breath, before standing back up and carefully sticking two tightly rolled up bits of tissue paper – or something like that – up Blaine's nose. Blaine breathed through his mouth, twitching his nose about whilst he tried to get used to the feeling, and then shot Sebastian a smile that the older boy did not return. "Blaine, if you take another knock that needs treatment than you have to come off," he said in a serious voice, ignoring Drew and fixing an intent look upon him. Blaine stared back at him, understanding that Sebastian was trying to protect him given that he was bleeding from two different places, and whilst he didn't want to agree with Sebastian, he also knew that he had a point: Blaine was reaching the end of his endurance, and he probably shouldn't risk his fragile mental state like this by testing himself so much. He looked at Drew, who shrugged.

"Alright, I promise I'll come off," he said, giving in and looking away at the ground so that he didn't say any disappointment on his teammates' faces. Sebastian reached over and squeezed his shoulder briefly, which made Blaine's eyes jump to his face, and he smiled at the sight of Sebastian's smile.

"Thank you," muttered his boyfriend before grabbing the first aid kit and running off the pitch. Blaine looked hesitantly over at Drew, who just shrugged once more and shot him a tight smile that said he couldn't argue with his decision and that he wouldn't ask him to endanger himself further. Then, before there was more silent communication, the referee blew his whistle to start play once more, and Blaine, trying really hard to remember not to breathe at all through his nose, began to run again.

The last ten minutes went by in a strange manner: simultaneously both fast and slow; the chances to sneak ahead slipping past them faster than anything, and each attack occupying far too much time just to torture him some more. He kept himself on his feet, though, not once staying down for too long or giving any of his enemies the satisfaction of knowing that they had bested him. He just kept fighting and pushing, but he was completely exhausted by this point, and he had no idea how he was even putting one foot in front of the other let alone running and incredibly occasionally dribbling and actually sort of being co-ordinated!

In the end, the torture of the game was dragged on, as Blaine had known it would even though he had hoped it wouldn't, because there were about eight minutes of added time. Blaine half wanted to keel over, but he could also feel himself being digging into some resource of strength deep inside of him that he hadn't really known he had to keep him on his feet. He didn't know how he was doing it, but he was, and he was pretty sure that he was numb all over, and adrenaline was dulling the pain, and he'd be in agony on the coach back. Every time that he fell over, or was knocked, he tried to push himself straight back up because he didn't want to get taken off now, and he kept doing that until about five minutes through when some guy caught him just above the eye with his elbow, and he hit the ground hard, and when he got back up he discovered that he was bleeding, and Drew had already waved Sebastian onto the pitch. Blaine, for probably the first, and last, time ever, groaned at the sight of his boyfriend coming towards him because he'd made a promise.

Sebastian gave him a fierce look as he methodically set about cleaning his wound and then applying a plaster, but Blaine found himself shrinking inside of himself at it, wanting to just curl up and vanish because Sebastian wasn't going to back down on this, but there were three minutes left!

"Blaine," said Sebastian, beckoning with his hand, and Blaine swallowed, looking around at the other Dalton players on the pitch, and felt something in him lurch slightly at how exhausted and worn out they looked. Despite the fact that Blaine was far more injured than them, he felt bad at the thought of leaving them all and surrendering.

"No," he said, shaking his head and backing away from Sebastian. Sebastian narrowed his eyes at him.

"Blaine, you promised," he spat, whole expression becoming deadly and dangerous, and Blaine, trying hard to hide his fear, continued to back away, shaking his head and feeling his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that Sebastian was going to be pissed, and he didn't want that, but he felt an incredibly strong bond of loyalty to the other footballers on the pitch that was saying he couldn't abandon them now.

"I'm not going off. There's three minutes left: I'll be fine. The only way I won't be is if there's more stoppage time." There was a pause of silence, and then Sebastian's face twisted nastily as he picked up at the implication that he was making. Blaine felt terrible for the underhanded move; making Sebastian feel like he would be responsible if Blaine got hurt, but stood his ground. Sebastian gave him a dark glare and then whirled around, storming off the pitch. Blaine fought the urge to be sick, blinking away any tears, and looked at the ground.

"Blaine," began Drew, looking at him with a concerned expression, but Blaine just shook his head and ran off down the pitch, not wanting to hear what his friend had to say, ready for the game to restart.

Blaine found himself with the ball not that long later, and he surged towards the goal. He could see Calvin sprinting forward on his right, way out of position but in lots of space, and he crossed the ball over to him before performing some sort of hopscotch-dance between the feet of the Garfield defenders that had converged around him. Miraculously, he managed to stay on his feet, and as he continued to run, he saw Calvin boot the ball towards the goal from quite a distance. It was on target though, and the Garfield goalie was forced to parry the ball behind to stop it from hitting the back of the net.

Blaine, despite scowling and kicking the grass at the missed opportunity, felt something lift inside of him at the thought of a corner: it was nearly the end of the match, and if they were quick and lucky – it was a big if for the latter – then they might just be able to snatch a last minute winning goal. He could see that Drew was thinking something similar as he was waving the whole team forward even, or maybe especially given his height, Dylan. Blaine collected the ball at the corner spot and saw that twenty one players were crammed inside the penalty box, all jostling and with barely any space. Dylan stood out and above the rest of the players, and as Blaine's eyes met Drew, he knew what they were going to do.

Slowly, and very obviously, Drew made the letter "D" with his hands and then pointed emphatically to himself. Blaine nodded in understanding, smile growing on his face, and Drew sent him a wink. Blaine could see the Garfield players begin to pass the message on, and they began to crowd around Drew. Given that this was a move that they practised a lot, Blaine reckoned that he didn't have to worry about the fact that the other Dalton players were quiet, and then, as the whistle blew, Blaine ran at the ball, making as if to cross but then tapping it lightly off the spot. Most of the Garfield players jumped instinctively, even though the ball didn't come their way, and Drew took the opportunity to dart forward. Blaine played the ball to him and got it straight back, and looking up, he found the head of Dylan and kicked the ball. It sailed through the air, as the other players began to jump, and passed over their heads. Blaine bit down on his bottom lip in nerves, knowing that this was going to be their last chance and feeling like he was going to be sick. Dylan nodded the ball down with his forehead, and it hit the ground on the goal line, and, as the goalie splayed his limps in a strange fashion to try and block it, the ball bounced back up and into the back of the net.

"YES!" roared Blaine as he leapt, kicking his legs backwards and punching the air. The roar of the Dalton fans almost drowned that sound out though as they began to scream and cheer, and Blaine threw himself onto Drew, who caught him in a tight hug, ruffling his hair, and then they ran into the penalty area, that was already being cleared of all players because Garfield were going for a quick restart, and joined the rest of the team in hugging Dylan. The tall boy looked rather shocked, grin frozen on his face and eyes comically wide like he couldn't believe he'd just won the game for them, and Blaine locked his arms around his middle, grinning up at him with an expression that "I-told-you-so" whilst Drew thumped him on the back and then hugged him round his neck.

"Alright boy wonder," said Drew, once they'd met it back to their half, and Dylan had done nothing more than stutter as they'd all hugged him and each other, cheering and feeling victorious. "get your arse back in that goal." Dylan nodded in a rather sluggish manner, and Blaine laughed as Drew grabbed Dylan by the arm and began to drag him towards the goal. He glanced over at the touchline for the first time and saw Sebastian standing there. Blaine grinned at him, telling him that it was a good idea that he'd stayed on, but Sebastian's poker-face merely dissolved into a scowl. Blaine felt his heart sink, and he looked at the ground for a moment before glaring at the Garfield players – this was their fault – as the whistle blew for play.

Play was short. Blaine fell back into midfield to help them defend, and it was about two minutes of shouting, tackling, whistle blowing and throwing themselves in front of the ball with their arms tucked behind their backs so that the ball smacked into their already tenderised organs, before the final whistle blew.

Blaine felt his knees go weak at the sound of it as the Dalton fans roared in approval. Blaine wanted to leap in the air and celebrate their victory, but he didn't think he could physically manage it. He was ecstatic though because, not only had they actually beaten Garfield at home with ten men, but also Dylan had saved a penalty, and Blaine had assisted two goals and scored one! They'd done both Mo and Kay proud, and Blaine was proud of himself for not giving up and continuing to fight.

"Blaine!" cried Drew, running at him, and a second later, Blaine was swept off his feet in a huge bear hug, his ribs being crushed, and he gasped in pain, although he was glad that he no longer had to stand up on his own. "You were awesome, my little friend!" he exclaimed, and Blaine groaned, weakly glaring at Drew's shoulder for calling him "little". "You won us that game! You didn't give up!" he jigged Blaine up and down, and he could hear the laughter of the other players as they gathered around them, and Blaine let out a weak moan. Then the rest of the team piled on, and Blaine let out a laugh even as he felt the life be crushed out of him. Everyone was shouting praises at him, and he could feel himself blushing as he was set down by Drew and embraced by the others. He hugged Dylan last, holding tight to the middle of the boy that had saved their skins.

"You were amazing!" exclaimed Blaine, grinning up at the taller boy. "You saved a penalty, and you scored a goal! You were brilliant! See, we always knew you could do this!" Dylan patted him on the back, grinning nervously down upon him.

"You were incredible too!"

"You were both amazing!" agreed Drew, slinging his arms around them, and they began to walk off the pitch. The Garfield players had left them alone because they were busy being booed off the field by their own fans. "And you both have boyfriends that want to congratulate you." Blaine swallowed, looking over at Sebastian, who was still standing on the touchline but wasn't celebrating like the other boys, and knew that he was still pissed off with him for breaking his promise. Blaine knew that he needed to talk to him now and not the others. He sighed, hoping that Sebastian wasn't going to tear into him for what he did but knowing that he would. Blaine knew that he'd betrayed Sebastian's trust in a very fundamental way by going back on his promise because now Sebastian would no longer be able to hold him to his word.

"Bastian," he began, the moment he reached him, and Sebastian held up a hand, silencing him instantly. Blaine swallowed, clenching his jaw and trying to keep himself from panicking, and waited for Sebastian to speak.

"You promised me that you would go off if you got another injury-"

"I know," said Blaine, breaking in and desperate to explain himself. "but-"

"Blaine, shut up," snapped Sebastian, and Blaine closed his mouth tightly, grinding his teeth together to stop himself from speaking. "you promised me that you would go off, and you refused…" There was a deafening silence after that. "I trusted you, Blaine, I trusted you to look after yourself. After everything that's happened to you, I have never been able to trust you to look after yourself because you are your own worst enemy, but here- I thought that you were changing – growing – and I thought that I could trust you to do the right thing…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "I- I can't do that." He shrugged, exhaling and glancing around, at a loss for words, and Blaine looked down at the ground, eyes watering from shame. "I can't trust you, and I don't know when I will be able to again…I'm meant to be helping you, Blaine, and I thought this would help – if you knew that I trusted you then you'd feel better…Now what do I do? How do you I make you better, Blaine, when you thwart me at every turn?"

Blaine examined the laces of his football boots, focusing on the fact that they had been white, at some point not so long ago, but were now completely brown from being caked in mud as he ran repeatedly around a field. Blaine couldn't say to Sebastian that he regretted his decision because he didn't: he was glad that he'd stayed on the pitch, and he would do it over and over again because he wouldn't abandon his own teammates for himself over a tiny cut to his forehead, no matter the promise that went with it, but at the same time, he wanted to fall to his knees in supplication and beg for Sebastian's forgiveness for his mistakes. He had shattered Sebastian's trust in him, and he had barely known that he had earned it. He had had no idea that he and Sebastian had come so far that Sebastian trusted him to take care of himself (not something anyone did, not after what had happened to him – what he had done to himself), but now he had destroyed all of it. He hadn't even meant to. He hadn't even known what he had crushed under his foot for the sake of his care for his friends until it was too late.

"Bastian, you have to understand," he began, eventually, for want of anything else to say. "I didn't…I didn't see it like that…" he trailed off, tilting his head back and directing his eyes up at the sky, prepared to look anywhere but at Sebastian's face. "This is not just a game; we have to win to prove that we are better and stronger than them for who we are, and maybe I- I actually believed Drew when he said that I could make a difference…that I could show them that, even though I'm gay – hell, maybe even because I'm gay – I am better than them. I don't wanna be afraid anymore!" he exclaimed, suddenly, becoming acutely aware that all his feelings since Christmas and the threats were going to overwhelm him. "I don't want to be afraid of all those jerks, and I don't want to be inferior, and I wanted to feel like I could make a difference! Drew believed in me, and he believed that I was good enough to make a change; an impact, and win it for us, and was it so wrong for me to believe that too? Was it so wrong for me to, just for one second, believe in myself?!"

Blaine sniffed, the tears welling up in his eyes and spilling over, dribbling down in his face, and Blaine would be humiliated by the situation if it wasn't for the fact that everything he had – Sebastian – was riding on this. He tensed his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut, and took a deep breath, knowing that he had to look at Sebastian's face again and see whatever he thought of Blaine's explanation. Exhaling slowly and steadily, he opened his eyes, sniffing once more and wiping away the tears, set his jaw and tipped his head forward so that he looked Sebastian right in the eyes.

Sebastian's posture had crumbled. All the anger seemed to have been drained from him at Blaine's words. His shoulders were slumped, head bowed and left arm hanging loose whilst the right one was raised so that he could pinch the bridge of his nose. Blaine felt his heart break some more at the sight of that; of him really hurting Sebastian, and took a step towards him, stretching out his arms to embrace Sebastian even though he was pretty sure that a hug was not what Sebastian wanted. Sebastian looked up at the sound of him moving, removing his fingers from his nose, and gave him a weak smile. Then he opened up his arms and met Blaine in the hug. Blaine beamed as he rested his head against Bastian's shoulder, wrapping his arms around his middle, and Sebastian wrapped him up tightly in his arms.

"There is nothing wrong with you thinking that you are better than them because you are, and it is wonderful that you can finally see that, and don't even get me started on you believing in yourself because it's about - fucking – time, but can you please do that not at the expense of your safety?" Blaine looked up at Sebastian with a small smile and nodded. Sebastian gave him a half smile before a serious expression fell onto his face. "You have to know, though, that that doesn't change what I said earlier – trust has been broken, and I don't know what it will take to rebuild it."

"But we'll do it, right?" he said, looking earnestly up at Sebastian. "We'll rebuild it." Sebastian paused for a second before nodding and giving him a smile.

"Yeah, 'course we can." Blaine grinned and threw his arms around Sebastian's neck, holding on tight and not caring who was looking or saying what. Sebastian wrapped his arms around Blaine's waist and held him close. They had a minute of that before they heard the sound of people assembling around them, and Blaine knew that, if it weren't for the fact that he was hugging Sebastian, they would have been submerged in a group hug by now. The two of them broke apart, and Blaine grinned at his friends, that had appeared by him, and then launched himself into their arms, allowing the assorted Warblers and others to try and crush him to death, all of them shouting praise and cheering their victory.

"I'm fine, Sebastian!" snapped Daley as Blaine attempted to extract himself from David's arms. "I'm really fine, now can I please go congratulate Blaine?" Blaine twisted around, finding himself still tangled up in David's grip, unable to break free from his best friend, and sent his boyfriend and his boyfriend's celebrity best friend a pleading look. Sebastian rolled his eyes and nodded. David let out a small moan at having to let go of Blaine, but obediently released the smaller boy. Blaine straightened up, a little amazed that no one seemed to care about how muddy he was, and smiled at Daley. Daley walked over, shooting him a little grin that was slightly nervous, and then opened up his arms. "You were brilliant," he said, sincerely, and Blaine felt his face crack open into that wide beam again and eagerly stepped into the gentle embrace.

"Thank you," he whispered. "You were incredible coming here." Daley patted his back and then stepped back, Wes and the others closing in around him instantly.

"Not as incredible as all you players," he said in a very soft voice as the rest of the team gathered back around.

"He's right," cut in Mattison in a brisk voice. "you were all incredible out there – all of you: you were brave and strong and you played fair. Blaine, because I haven't spoken to you yet, you were astounding out there, we couldn't have done it without you." Blaine blushed at the compliment from his coach, glancing at the ground with a degree of embarrassment. "Now, though, I think the time for your bravery has expired, and we should get the hell out of here, but I thought I'd let you all know when you're assembled like this – I've heard from Sutherland-" Blaine felt his eyes widen and his heart pound faster. "-and he says that her family's with her now, and that Kay's going to be okay: broken fibula and tibia, but she's had the surgery, and it's all under control. She'll be on the crutches for a currently indefinite period of time: maybe two months if she's lucky, three-four probably, and five-six at worst I would imagine, and she won't be playing for a while, but she will be again."

There was a loud cheer at that, and Blaine punched the air, somehow finding the strength to jump into the air from joy at that because a broken leg was bad – obviously – but the news that she would be playing again; back to her usual self and that this wasn't going to be a defining moment in which Garfield beat her and shoved her very literally from a field that she loved occupying because of who she was, and that counted as a victory as far as Blaine, and the others, were concerned. Blaine bounded over to the rest of the team, and they threw themselves together into a group hug, celebrating the fact that their "little star" – so dubbed because she was the only Freshman to have broken through onto their first team – was going to keep on shining.

"Alright, boys," said Mattison, clapping his hands and drawing their attention. "let's get back to the buses – we've got a lot to celebrate, but I think we should do it at home-" Blaine smiled at that, loving the idea of going home after everything. "-to where there's people that want to celebrate with you. Let's go back, boys, back to Dalton."

---

The coach journey back swung between being too loud to incredibly quiet. At the beginning we were all beyond hyper; cheering, shouting, singing, whistling, chanting…pretty much producing every sound that we could because we'd won, but about halfway through, the tiredness began to kick in. After all, we put more than a lot of effort into that victory, and it was worth it, but that kind of energy takes its toll, and now I think all any of us wanted was a nice long bath and then an even longer sleep, preferably for several days. However, when we got to about five minutes away from Crawford, the excitement began to pick up again, and when we pulled up and met the rest of the school in the grounds, we all just sort of exploded with excitement and joy again… The girls here may be just a little bit more than a tad crazy, but that didn't matter when we were all cheering and celebrating and everything. They didn't know how the others had done, but that didn't matter. I had to release the trophy to them when I needed to get back to Dalton to celebrate, and find out how the others had done, but that's only fair because they make up all the team (basically), and it was a team effort. Now, I'm back in Dalton, and if I'm not mistaken, I spy with my little eye, half of the gym team…

"El!" he cried, raising a hand into the air to wave at her. "Bea!" The two larks waved back, calling his name too as Kurt picked up the pace to a swift jog, and they six girls did the same thing.

"Kurt!" exclaimed Elise, throwing her arms around his neck, and Kurt hugged her round in the middle, laughing, and then freed one arm to give Bea a half hug.

"How did you do?" he asked. "I'm guessing there was some sort of victory given how happy you look."

"Maybe we're just happy to see you," suggested Bea with a smile, and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Well obviously, anybody would be happy to simply be in my presence, but-"

"How did we do?" cut in El, before he could finish his sentence, and Kurt arched an eyebrow, demanding to know if she really thought he'd tell her given that she'd refused to tell him the results of the gym.

"You'll have to wait and see," he replied with a smirk, and Diana and Ingrid groaned as one, sending Elise glares. The others rolled their eyes, but Kurt knew that they knew – like he did – that something good had come from today.

"Very well," she replied, narrowing her eyes. "I know a dismissal when I see one." She swept past him with faux-anger, head held high, and the other five filed past after her, Bea shooting him a smile and a wink and Diana and Ingrid giving him a high five whilst the other two shot him sweet smiles as they walked on by. Kurt grinned to himself, walking coolly on for a moment before breaking out into a run, knowing that they would all be assembled in the foyer like they had when the Warblers returned from Sectionals. He sprinted as fast as he could in the face of his tiredness and came to a stop soon enough by the closed doors. He heaved in a huge breath and then took a hold of the handle, not sure what would await him inside.

Silence fell over the crowded foyer as Kurt stepped inside, closing the door behind him and looking around at all the eyes that were staring at him. He could see the footballers, who were covered in mud, in the middle, and Blaine grinned and waved him. Kurt nodded, vaguely returning the wave, but his eyes had alighted on the object that was held in David's arms. The Warbler councillor beamed at him, and Kurt laughed out loud, face lighting up, and ran over to the gym team.

"Congratulations!" he cried, throwing his arms around David, who had handed the first place trophy to someone nearby, and managing to catch Thad in the hug too. "That's incredible, and not with your usual team and everything! You guys must have been amazing! I can't believe we both did you it!"

"You won?!" exploded everyone within earshot, and Kurt, taking a step back, grinned and nodded.

"Yep!" he said with a bright grin. "I left the trophy at Crawford, but-" he didn't manage to finish the sentence because a huge group of boys had jumped on him, causing his knees to buckle slightly. He could feel himself being slowly crushed to death as most of his friends piled on top of him. Kurt choked, letting a rather undignified squealing noise as he struggled to breathe, and eventually he heard Wes commanding people to let go of him and to not kill his Warbler. He gasped loudly when Nick was finally prised off him, bending over and massaging his ribs with a pained expression on his face. Wes clapped him on the shoulder with a proud smile on his face, and Kurt accepted what started off as a gentle hug but then turned into a crushing one.

There was a small cough a moment or two later, and Kurt peered over Wes' shoulder to see Keats standing there with a look of annoyance on his handsome face, probably pissed off that the others had gotten to Kurt before him…or at least, that was what Kurt hoped because the other possibility included Keats being pissed off with him because he had gone to the others first, and Kurt didn't want that. Extracting himself from Wes' arms, Kurt took two steps towards his boyfriend, standing only a couple of inches away from and painfully aware that everyone in the foyer – which was, essentially, the whole school – was watching them. Kurt didn't quite know what to say, and it seemed that Keats didn't either, which was strange because Keats always had more than enough words, and supposed that both were slightly unnerved by the audience that they had, who would all (with the exception of a small few) be judging them. A second later, though, Keats reached forward and pulled Kurt in a loving embrace, enveloping him in warmth.

"I knew you could do it," he whispered into Kurt's ear for only him to hear. "and I'm so sorry that I wasn't there to watch you and support you like I should have, but I had to be at the football game. I'm sorry, but I know you were spectacular…" Kurt pulled back in his arms and shot him a small smile.

"You don't have to apologise – you had to be there; I understand that, and I know that I have you behind me no matter what." Keats beamed widely at that, seemingly relieved, but Kurt found his attention being captivated by the person standing directly behind Keats. Kurt stepped to the side, moving around his boyfriend who had caught his hand, and stared at Blaine with wide eyes.

To put it simply, Blaine looked awful. For one, he was still wearing his football kit, as was the rest of the them, and it, like most of Blaine's bare skin, was caked in mud as if he had simply been rolling around in filth as opposed to playing a sport, but that was hardly the most important part of Blaine's appearance because, through the mud, Kurt could see bruises littering his skin. He also had dried blood on his face, and a bandage around his head that was stained, tellingly, red.

Casting his eye briefly around the group in the way that he hadn't been to when he had first walked in, he saw that they were all in pretty much the same state: Drew's sandy hair was almost indistinguishable under the layer of brown mud, Lance was supporting himself on a crutch and the left side of Randy's face had a little river of dried blood running all the way down his cheek from above his eyebrow into the collar of his shirt.

"What the hell happened to you?!" demanded Kurt in shock because neither the Football nor lacrosse team had looked like this after an encounter with Garfield. "Did you trade up the football game for war?" Most of the players chuckled ruefully at that, and Kurt could see Blaine's eyes glittering in a reassuring manner that said, whilst he might have physically taken a pounding, he was holding up well mentally.

"When you play at Garfield, it's pretty much the same thing," he explained. "given the biased ref and linesmen." Kurt frowned a little at that.

"Biased?"

"These games aren't officiated by a third party," said Drew, and Kurt found his eyebrows rocketing towards his hairline at that. "Remember the lacrosse game?" asked Drew, and Kurt rolled his eyes because – obviously – he remembered that game. "Mattison was refereeing." Kurt cast his mind back properly to the event, and eventually, he was able to conjure up the image of Mattison furiously blowing his whistle after a goal or a poor foul.

"Oh shit…" he murmured and got a lot of dry laughs in response.

"Yeah," said Blaine, nodding with a smile on his face. "that's definitely one way of putting it."

"Still," continued Drew. "we never let that stop us – you can take out some of our players, but you can't stop the Dalton spirit." Kurt felt his eyes widen of as the words' meaning began to register with his brain, and he looked round at all the faces of the football team with a growing grin.

"Oh, you didn't…?" he asked with a huge smile on his face.

"Oh yes we did," replied Blaine, an unadulterated, triumphant grin on his face. "3-2." Kurt let out an exclamatory breath of shocked delight and then threw himself onto Blaine, not caring that he was covered with mud and smelt kind of gross.

"That's incredible!" he exclaimed, and Blaine simply grinned in response, nodding, and Kurt laughed as he caught Drew in a hug. The strong boy lifted him up off the ground in a manner that Kurt would normally protest against, but right now he did not care.

"And this," said Drew, once he'd put him down. "is one of the men of the hour – saved a penalty and scored the winning goal." Dylan blushed as Kurt stared up at him with an amazed smile.

"I wasn't the man of the hour," he protested. "I let in another penalty, and I should have saved the second goal, and Blaine set up both and Drew's goals, and he scored a penalty himself so-" Kurt cut the rest of Dylan's bullshit off by grabbing him round the neck, hugging his new friend tightly and telling him silently in no uncertain terms that Kurt thought he'd been amazing and pivotal.

As Kurt congratulated the rest of the football team, and the other boys went back to celebrating their three victories, Kurt became aware that there was someone very important missing from the football team, with whom he'd become extremely familiar by sharing the dressing room with them.

"Where's Kay?" he demanded, peering around the hall and trying to spot the slender Freshman, but she was nowhere in sight. An unnerving silence fell as the question rippled around the foyer, and Kurt turned to Blaine and Drew with an alarmed expression. "What's happened to her?" There was a moment of silence in which everyone's expression became downcast, and perhaps a little guilty, and Kurt could feel his heart hammering hard, a feeling of nausea rising up inside of him, because he knew the danger that Kay had put herself in by playing there, and he knew what those boys were capable of.

"They found out," said Drew, finally, in a choked voice that was very unlike his normal one. "about who she really was, and they- they-" Kurt could see tears building in Drew's eyes as he stumbled over the sentence with a tense face and flaring nostrils, and Kurt could feel his worry mount to what would soon be a climax. "She was too brave for her own good: stayed on that fucking pitch, and we shouldn't have let her, but we did, and they were gunning for her, and one of the Garfield players…he broke her leg."

There was silence after that as Kurt stared at Drew with wide, horrified eyes, having been completely unaware that that kind of injury was possible in football.

"He broke her leg?!" he questioned, not fully able to believe it. "How?" Drew and the others shrugged.

"I don't know," admitted Drew. "I mean, I know it's possible; I've seen it in pro-football games, but it honestly just like someone stood on her leg, but…" he trailed off, shrugging, and Kurt swallowed, blinking away some tears of his own because she had to have been in agony, and it could have been deliberate. "She's alright, basically: she's in hospital with her family, and she'll be back soon, and she'll play again, but…" Drew shrugged once more. "I don't think that guy even got a telling off. Hammond's blown his nut – he's seriously pissed off because he doesn't want it to be Sam all over again – but there's not much he can do."

There was another moment of silence after that, this one especially sad, and Kurt looked at the floor, feeling most of the euphoria drain from him at the price that seemed to have come for their victory – he should have known it was too good to be true.

"We can't do this," piped up someone suddenly, and Kurt frowned, looking around the foyer until his eyes picked out the speaker: Monty Addison, the reserve goalie that was wearing his Dalton tracksuit that was surprisingly muddy (albeit not that much) for someone that hadn't played. "I know Kay really well; she's one of my best friends, and I'm as upset and angry as all of you that this happened, and that he got away with it, but Kay wouldn't want us to be standing around morosely after we'd shown those sons-of-bitches who was best; after we'd beaten Garfield three times over in one day!"

"Wait. Did my ears deceive me, or did I just hear that we beat Garfield in everything?" All eyes flew to the door at the sound of the voice, heads swivelling as fast as possible, and mouths fell open as faces lit up at the sight awaiting them.

"Mo!" yelled Lance, and in a flash he'd run to the doorway, crutch clattering to the floor as it was abandoned and injury forgotten, and thrown his arms around his best friend, closely followed by Dylan, who embraced both of them in his long arms. There was a roar of celebration at the return of their sick friend, wrapped up in a ridiculous amount of layers, and all of the football team and the rest of his Junior friends went charging at him, and Kurt winced slightly at the mound of people that had surrounded him, knowing that Mo was probably being suffocated as he watched.

Kurt found that he was in the minority of his year as he hang back, but he felt that it was appropriate – Mo's hospitalisation had shaken him, but Mo wasn't someone that he really knew beyond a "hello" and a little bit of small talk whilst the people forming the group hug were true friends, and they needed a moment to feel that shared giddy sensation of knowing that the person that they loved was back with them, safe and fine.

A hand slipped into his, and Kurt looked over his left shoulder to see that Keats had walked over to his side. Vince, Parker, Stuart and Andy were on Keats' other side, and Kurt could see that there were faint smiles on their faces at the sight of pure joy and love being expressed before them. He could see that Vince was particularly moved by the scene as his smile was the widest, and his strong face had softened considerably, and the way that he stood with his crossed arms radiated an air of satisfaction. Kurt reckoned that he understand why, though, because Mo was a Harriot boy, and so was Vince, and before…everything, it wasn't hard to imagine that they might have been good friends.

"Alright everyone!" exclaimed George, attempting to remove himself from the group embrace. "Let's not kill him after everything!" He shot Sebastian a pleading look, and the head boy rolled his eyes and indicated with his head to Mac, and they began to unpick the group. They broke apart reluctantly, and Kurt grinned at the way that the boys in the centre; right at the core, were refusing to be broken apart: Lance was clinging onto his friend round the waist, head on Mo's shoulder, whilst Dylan had an arm around them whilst Flint was tucked into his other side, and Alex was holding one of Mo's hands and Will, injured arm still in a sling, was holding onto the other, all smiling.

"He seems unharmed," offered Mac, peering at the Pakistani through narrowed eyes, and there was a lot of laughter at that, and Sebastian rolling his eyes in a long suffering manner.

"I can see that, thank you," he replied, bitingly. "You're back early," he stated bluntly, looking at Mo with an intense gaze. "I was under the impression that you would not be back until next week, earliest." There was a heavy silence in which everyone stared at Mo questioningly, the faces of his friends darkening at the idea that he had left early.

"It's all sorted," said Mo in a hoarse, placating voice. "my mum sorted it all out with the doctors; they think it's "mentally beneficial" for me to return to Dalton-" there were incredulous snorts at that. "-and Hammonds knows; I just wanted to come and find out the results, then I'm going straight to bed, I promise." There was a slightly dissatisfied silence after that, but no one said anything to counter him as Sebastian nodded.

"Very well. Tomorrow morning there'll have to be a meeting about your condition with Hammonds, Booth, the nurse and, of course, me and George." Mo nodded, swallowing a little at the mention of his condition, and Kurt could see that his face taunted and tensed at the mention of his sickness.

"I know," he responded, quietly. Sebastian nodded once and then gave his upper arm a quick pat.

"It's good to have you back," he muttered in such a quiet voice that Kurt almost missed it. He arched an eyebrow a little at the kind, human gesture towards someone that wasn't Blaine or Daley, and Mo nodded a little, accepting the gesture with a slightly surprised look on his face.

"It's good to be back," he said, looking around at all the Dalton boys with a huge smile. "I- I heard about Kay; she's at the same hospital as I was, and I saw her briefly, and she really looks like she'll be okay in the end – she's so strong."

"Well," said Sebastian as everyone else just grinned and nodded. "now that we seem to have everyone; I say that we go and celebrate."

---

I have no idea how we are pulling this off. We are in the hall, and it seems that whoever was left behind after the meets arranged it like it was for the Autumn Concert, minus the tables, for whatever kind of party they needed to throw after the games – celebration or commiseration – and to put it really short, we're all going crazy, and I do not know how we have not awoken the entirety of the staff with our noise, unless they're just turning a blind eye to it, which I wouldn't put past Hammonds, but not Mrs Daniels…Oh well, I suppose as long as we don't get into trouble for the party than I don't care how.

"Hey Kurt!" exclaimed Blaine, appearing by Kurt's shoulder all cleaned up and wearing a fresh tracksuit, with a huge grin on his face. The members of the football team, with whom Kurt had been dancing around with, grinned at Blaine and moved off to give them a little space so they could hear each other properly. "Enjoying the fun?" Kurt let out a little laugh, smiling at his friend, and nodded.

"Most certainly," he replied. "I don't even want to know how this is happening, but I am thoroughly enjoying this. Do you do this every year?" Blaine nodded.

"Yep, but this has never happened before, or at least not in my time, and not in any time that I'm aware of it." Kurt grinned at that, pleased that he had played a part in the first Dalton triple over Garfield. "Now, anyway, Sebastian and Wes want to do a Warbler performance." Kurt felt his eyebrows rocket upwards once more, the left one arching even higher than the right.

"A Warbler performance now?!" he demanded. "We have had no rehearsals since the impromptu." Blaine laughed a little at that, shooting Kurt an amused smile.

"Err, when I said performance, I really meant that Sebastian and Wes think it would be nice for all of us Warblers to sing together – we're all doing the melody line, no harmonies; he just wants a performance because we've got all the pictures and videos uploaded, and Andy and Vince – I think it's them, they were over when Parker was uploading all of his stuff because he has a crapload from football, and they're putting in the lacrosse and swimming in too, and Parker had lots from that too – are working with some of the art and AV kids to throw a montage together to showcase all our victories." Kurt grinned, nodding in agreement with Blaine's words because that sounded good, and cast his eyes over to the little group huddled by the side of the stage where he saw lots of boys with computers, and that Vince and Andy were definitely there along with Chris and some other guys including Keats, who didn't really seem to be doing anything but was still there anyway.

"Okay," he said. "lead on!" he proclaimed, gesturing towards the stage, and Blaine beamed, grabbing his hand with a big smile, and proceeded to tow him through the crowd. Kurt allowed himself to be dragged along in Blaine's wake, grinning around at the people that congratulated him and loving the fact that Blaine seemed to have sought him out personally instead of sending one of the other Warblers to find him.

"Alright!" said Wes, clapping his hands together and looking around at the Warblers that were gathered before him with a serious expression on his face. "This is kind of simple. I picked a song that I reckoned we'd all know, and it's so related to sport that it fits with the images we got going. I just- I know that we didn't win everything, and the lacrosse was a bit of a bummer, but the swimming was good, and the most important thing that I think we did was stick together, wave the Dalton flag – or tie-" Kurt grinned at that statement as Wes shot him a quick wink to let him know that that was not going to be forgotten. "-high and prove that we are one and united, and we came out on top if you tot everything up. We ended up with two people in hospital, but look at Mo-" he said, pointing over at the still bundled up guy, bopping around with a huddle of friends and completely breaking his promise to go straight to bed, not that anyone seemed to care too much. "-he's doing great, and so I think we need to celebrate all of that: all we achieved on the back foot, and all that means we can do when we've got all four cylinders going. Now, let's go up there and continue to kick ass!"

All the Warblers let out a rather guttural, primal roar at those words, and they followed their fearless leader onto the stage, and Kurt knew that they all looked a little bit ridiculous as they waved their arms in the air, but Kurt reckoned that this actually looked pretty normal to the Dalton boys, who all started cheering, and it was at that moment that Kurt realised that no one had told him what song that he was going to be singing. He looked around at the other Warblers with wide eyes, and he made eye contact with Trent, who shrugged in a manner that said he didn't know what they were singing either, and Nick and Jeff, who both just winked. Kurt rolled his eyes and turned back to the front.

"Um," called someone from within in the crowd into the mildly awkward silence as the Warblers waited for the music. "are we meant to be able to see the screen?" Kurt looked over at Wes and David, who were both rolling their eyes.

"Duh!"

"Well, then, could you move to the side then 'cause you're kind of blocking it." There was an even more awkward pause in which all the Warblers turned around and saw that – indeed – their heads obscured the lower half from view.

"Right…" said Wes, blushing slightly. "we were just checking to see that you were paying attention to us." There were lots of snorts and derogatory laughs at that. "Warblers; divide and move to the sides." Obediently, the Warblers split down the middle and filtered over to the sides of the stage, standing at a right angle to the audience and screen so that the middle was left open.

Then the solo guitar intro began to play across the speakers, and Kurt began to grin at the sight of the Dalton logo on the screen because this was the perfect song, and he got Wes' reference to his tie thing more now. The drums kicked in and up went pictures of all the different teams that had been taken either just before or just after the events.

Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh

oh oh oh oh oh oh

As one, the Warblers began to sing – their voices all in complete unison and swelling and filling the hall without, seemingly, much effort at all – as the pictures on the screen turned into video footage of the football team beginning to stream down the pitch, swimmers skimming through the water, David doing a flip and someone on the lacrosse team hurling the ball towards the goal.

Give me freedom, give me fire

Give me reason, take me higher

See the champions take the field now

You define us, make us feel proud

Kurt smiled at his neighbours – he had Ed on one side and Flint on the other; not his normal companions by any means – and followed them in wrapping his arms around their shoulders, smiling even wider at the pictures that played across the screen: dramatic shots of different players walking onto the pitch/standing there or taking to the mats or blocks. He could feel the pride swelling inside of him at the sight: their victory was immortalised, and it would never fade – what they had achieved suddenly seemed more.

In the streets our heads are liftin' as we lose our inhibitions

Celebration its surrounds, every nation all around us

Singing forever young, singing songs underneath the sun

Let's rejoice in the beautiful game, and together at the end of the day

Kurt laughed a little, choking on the words a little bit, at the pictures and clips of their supporters, which were shakier and more blurred because they'd been done by each other, and feeling a lit bit of a blush at the sight of himself whirling a tie around his head and cheerleading, as Hammonds' words from the start of term speech came back to him;

We all say:

…"…it doesn't matter who you are; if can play, you can play."…

When I get older, I will be stronger

They'll call me freedom just like a wavin' flag

The Warblers began to jump up and down together in time, the thudding of their feet against the stage meaning that they had to raise their voices even louder (not that that was really a problem for them), which sort of fitted the atmosphere as scenes of boys' clashing over headers or pulling themselves through the water or jostling for the ball on the lacrosse pitch and such in a celebration of their strength.

When I get older, I will be stronger

They'll call me freedom just like a wavin' flag

Kurt looked over at the crowd after seeing Thad working on the pommel horse, making it look easy, and David on the rings because the next images were of him. Most of the audience was still, captivated by the screen because there were events on there that it had been impossible for them to see, and Kurt couldn't help the manic grin on his face at the awed looks on their faces at everything that had happened – Keats' mouth was agape at what Kurt hoped (and sort of knew) was his performing.

So wave your flag

And wave your flag

And wave your flag…

There were scenes of jubilation and ecstasy this time – at the end of performances/races or on the scoring of goals; Kurt was silently amazed by the sheer magnitude of the footage that they had: just about every second from most of the competitions/games had to have been captured – and Kurt could see that this video was not just a monument to their victories, but a celebration of the crest that they bore upon their chests, or on their caps, and how much that meant to all of them, and how much they believed in everything that it stood for: equality, freedom, courage, love… Dalton was a home to so many of the boys, semi-divided into families by their houses, and this was what family and home truly meant to all of them: it was everything. Some teenagers would try to shun and shirk their parents and family, seeking for escape from constricts and confines that they perceived, whether or not they were true, and trying to grow up because they didn't want to be kids anymore, but not at Dalton. Kurt had never really been like that – honestly, he was more focused on desperately keeping his family, and more specifically his dad – but at Dalton it was pretty much universal. Kurt kind of wished that they actually did have a flag to wave (Kurt was honestly mildly surprised that no one had produced one because this was Dalton, and they had traditional broom fights and unbroken canary lineages from the foundation of the school and celebrated New Year's Eve in their uniforms) because that would make the situation and the song that bit more awesome than it already was. Still, there wasn't really a need for flags, not when they had ties and scarves and the like. Improvisation was certainly a skill that Dalton possessed in spades, after all, even though sometimes their improvisation was a little…unorthodox, and perhaps unhelpful, but always with the best interests of everyone in heart and for their good.

Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh

oh oh oh oh oh oh

The Warblers finished, all of them with their arms around each other's shoulders and still jumping up and down, and somehow the cheer from the Dalton boys was louder than anything that had previously been heard/made. Kurt laughed, feeling his face burn from exhilaration, but it was lost in the other noise that was being generated. He could vaguely hear his heart hammering away inside his chest, the adrenaline coursing through his system once more today. Performing that, with all their victories going on in the background, had put him up on another high – he still couldn't quite believe that they'd done it: there'd been a time when keeping their dignity had seemed impossible.

Who would have thought we could do all this? I guess this is our reward for all our hard work, but still…it's still so unreal. Then again, at McKinley we won nothing so all of this is bound to go to my head just a little. Wes was right, though, if this is what we produce when we're down then what are we going to make when we've got everything go for us? Regionals is going to be amazing at this rate…Watch out Vocal Adrenaline!

Kurt was broken from his excited thoughts by the sound of loud music being bumped from the speakers, and Kurt, having shuffled off stage with all the other Warblers, spun back around and saw that, actually, one of their number had not made it off.

Sebastian stood on stage, still looking ill and tired and like he could do without about a fortnights' worth of sleep (though Sebastian did look tired a lot so Kurt was kind of getting used to it), with a microphone in one hand and a smirk on his face. Kurt frowned for a second before the song came to him, and he nodded, getting that he was a pretty good one to sing at this time (although that didn't mean it was actually a good song because it was terrible, but it was right for this atmosphere and setting), although why Sebastian felt the need to sing Kurt wasn't sure because Wavin' Flag had been a perfectly good note to finish on.

I see your dirty face high behind your collar

What is done in vain truth is hard to swallow

So you pray to God justify the way you live a lie

Live a lie, live a lie

Sebastian began to sing, standing front and centre on the stage, body moving along to the beat of the music, hunched shoulders at the beginning, burying his chin behind the collar of his tracksuit, and although he straightened out a bit, he kept his body low with a predatory smirk on his face as he eyed the crowd.

And you do your crime

And you take your time

Sebastian's voice dropped in volume as he crooned to the crowd, crouching down a little so that he could stare right into the eyes of the people in the front row, and in a manner that was either flirtatious or frightening…

Well you made your bed

I made mine!

On the last line, he straightened up at the same time as his voice hit full volume, belting out the word "mine" into the microphone.

Because when I arrive

I-I'll bring the fire

Make you come alive

The lights around the stage blazed up into a blinding white light where they'd previously been dim spotlights just on Sebastian and around the edges of the room as Sebastian tipped his head back, beginning to bounce up and down and encouraging the crowd to do the same, and they did so willing.

I can take you higher

What this is forgot

I must now remind you

Sebastian began to dance effortlessly, and Kurt had to hand it to him that Sebastian could really perform: he exuded confident and ease and energy despite his pale, still rather emaciated figure, and he owned the stage with the entirety of the presence that the Warblers had had.

Let it rock, let it rock, let it rock!

He punched his fist into the air three times, and the crowd did the same, shouting "rock!" as loud as they could, and right at the end, Sebastian turned to look at Kurt and, having pulled a microphone from his pocket, chucked it at Kurt. Kurt own second to stare at him in shock as Sebastian widened his eyes and nodded with his head, telling him to get on stage now, before his part came;

Now the son's disgraced he who knew his father

When he cursed his name turned and chased the dollar

Kurt leapt onto the stage, taking the space that Sebastian had previously occupied (the older boy had moved off to the side with a smirk) and silently wondering what on earth Kurt had done to make Sebastian surrender the solo line to him of all people. He was baffled, but he hid it all beneath his show smile as he got into the performance, refusing to look phased.

But it broke his heart so he stuck his little finger to the world

To the world, to the world

Kurt, feeling the energy – which had come from god only knew what reserve – seeping through him, thrust his hand into the air, pinky raised to the ceiling, and punched at it twice more in time with crowd, loving the feeling of control that he got from being up there and being in charge of the performance, not playing second fiddle to Sebastian.

And you take your time

And you stand in line

Well you'll get what's yours

I got mine!

Kurt couldn't quite drop his voice as low as Sebastian's when he reached the bridge because this time the entirety of the crowd had kept clapping along in time, but he did his best, coming right up to the edge and quirking his eyebrows suggestively at everyone before him, before jumping backwards to the centre of the stage.

Because when I arrive

I-I'll bring the fire

Make you come alive

I can take you higher…

Kurt fell into step with Sebastian, who had coming running in, as their voices joined together, doubling the volume and so seemingly doubling the excitement. Kurt had to keep at least one eye on Sebastian's feet as he followed his footwork because that was what their dance was solely made of – little steps and turns – but found that it wasn't that hard to keep up with at all, and he was silently amazed that they could do this: dance together, in sync, with no prep. He didn't know how they had managed to end up on the same wavelength, but he guessed that they shared the Warblers and that was enough of a correlation, and, also, Kurt wasn't stupid – he didn't try and take over because Sebastian was still lead, and he'd started the song, and he clearly knew what he was doing. If Kurt had wanted, he could fight him for control, and he could win, but he didn't want that; they were celebrating their cooperation and teamwork, something that made Dalton special.

Yeah, Wayne's world Planet Rock

Panties drop and the top

And she gon' rock 'til the camera stop

I sing about angels like Angela

(Rock!)

Kurt burst out into hysterical laughter when Blaine jumped onto the stage, his microphone in hand, and hastily removed his own microphone from the vicinity of his mouth so that Blaine could be heard, because Blaine was bobbing around, head wiggling from side to side, and doing those stupid hand movements that rappers did, and it was hilarious!

And Pamela

(Rock!)

And Samantha

(Rock!)…

Every time Blaine yelled another girl's name – mispronouncing it, for whatever reason Lil Wayne had seen fit – the crowd yelled back "rock!", seemingly not caring about Blaine's terrible raping, although Kurt could see the Warblers at the front (in his year and the one above) were hysterics. Sebastian had a hand over his face in embarrassment, but Kurt got the impression, from the glares that he occasionally shot at Wes when he decided to reveal his red face, that he had foreseen this happening, and Wes had failed to stop Blaine. Kurt had seen Blaine's performance of Whatever You Like, and that had had him in fits of laughter because he had never seen Blaine looking so ridiculous and bad, but it was nothing like watching him in person. Kurt wasn't even sure that he could quite describe how it was so ridiculous – Blaine was still dancing around in his own little bubble – but it was… Sebastian had his head in both hands now, microphone in pocket, and seemed to be pretending his boyfriend wasn't on stage doing it, but his head jerked up at Blaine's last line, microphone flying out;

Weezy

Because when I arrive

I-I'll bring the fire

The lights, and pretty much everything, dropped down as Sebastian crept forward, singing the chorus alone, and Blaine finally shifted off to the side.

Make you come alive

I can take you higher

What this is forgot

I must now remind you

The energy was beginning to build up, and people were clapping along as the volume of Sebastian's voice began to increase in a very controlled crescendo. The lights stayed down, though, and Kurt knew what was going to happen when him and Blaine came in for the next chorus.

Let it rock, let it rock, let it rock!

Sebastian was voice was now reaching a shout, and Blaine and Kurt went running forward – Kurt was on Sebastian's left, and Blaine on Sebastian's right; the two Juniors flanking their Senior leader – ready to join him;

Because when I arrive

I-I'll bring the fire

The lights burst back on, a sort of flare effect happening where it reached its peak in brightness before going back to the normal level, as all their voices joined together in a loud boom, and their spare hands punched into the air as one.

Make you come alive

I can take you higher

What this is forgot

I must now remind you

Let it rock, let it rock, let it rock!

They didn't bother going back into Sebastian's dance routine, instead this time bouncing up and down on their own, each appealing to a slightly different section of the crowd, but still performing together. Kurt was on a buzz at performing together with Blaine on stage, although no one could hear how their voices were fitting together because there was too much noise all around him, but maybe this would give the Warblers a subliminal message that he belonged up on stage with Sebastian and Blaine, but…No time for those thoughts of rivalry now, now he should just;

Just let it rock, let it rock, let it rock!

Let it rock!

Let it rock!

This kind of feels a little bit like flying. This performance after the victories we've had… I ought to be completely exhausted, and I know I'll crash, but right now… Right now, it feels like I could do anything! I can't wait for whatever's coming next. Warblers is back on, and I suppose all sights are being turned towards Regionals. I'll be gunning for leads wherever I can. I can do it this time, I know it. I've just got this good feeling about everything. Whatever is coming next, I know I'm going to love it…

---

Next Time- Admissions: Kurt, with several others, takes a step forward into the inner sanctum of Dalton at the behest of Blaine, as well as gaining a deeper insight into the sincerity of their devotion to equality, but multiple confessions from different people reveal troubling situations bubbling beneath the surface, which leaves both Kurt and Blaine struggling to fix things before they truly fall apart…