A/N: Anon prompted 'something with a twist'. I hope this fits the bill. AU. Warning for mention of blood and death (not Kurt or Sebastian), and mention of Klaine. This is a little dark. Please be advised.
Kurt sped down the stretch of dark, deserted road, hoping he would reach the stop and rob before it closed at midnight. Sure, he could have run all his errands in the city and not ventured out to this tiny, sketchy gas station that he, Blaine, Sam, and Rachel had stumbled on the first time they went to Six Flags Great Adventure, but he needed the drive to clear his head. He had all the windows rolled down, knowing that his carefully tended hair would be completely ruined by the time he got there, but he wanted the frigid air stinging his face.
It didn't matter anyway. It wasn't calming him down or helping him forget.
He shifted restlessly in his seat, the ill-fitting car seat cover bunching uncomfortably beneath his numb ass. He bit his lip, relying on the pain to quell his urge to pull the car over and start running, suddenly craving the feeling of his feet pounding into the dirt, a burning in his lungs and his heart racing in his chest.
How is it that he was on his way to getting everything he wanted, on the cusp of proving his worth, but according to his friends and his fiancé it wasn't enough? He pounded the steering wheel and screamed deep in his throat, not letting the sound past his lips. He heard his phone chirp for the hundredth time with Blaine calling and calling, asking when he was coming home.
Kurt couldn't answer. He didn't know if he was going home.
The long highway bled out into a country road that seemed to stretch on forever. The narrow paved street wound in curves and corners almost endlessly, but signs dotting the roadside proclaimed that the next freeway entrance was a few miles ahead. Kurt tried to keep to the speed limit as he skidded across the yellow divider line into what would have been oncoming traffic if there was anyone else driving the road at this hour of the night.
Kurt blinked hard, trying to clear the angry tears that fogged his vision, almost forcing him off the road. There were no lights lining the thin strip of asphalt, and occasionally his tires drifted over the lip of road and onto the dirt shoulder, kicking up dust and pebbles.
He made another turn almost entirely by feel in the pitch black and saw his goal up ahead of him; a single neon sign illuminated the dark, the 'a' and 's' in the words Gas and Go fizzling on and off at odd intervals. This gas station wasn't anything like the 7-11's or Circle K's he went to in the city. This was a run-down looking shack with a few old fashioned pumps out front, remnants from a time when people didn't actually have to leave their cars to get gas. Through the glass door he could see one lonely attendant standing behind the slanted counter, cashing out the register.
"Shitshitshit!" Kurt chanted, glancing down at the glowing lights of the dash clock.
11:57
He looked at the dreary mini-mart, so much more foreboding in the dead of night than it had been in the sunny afternoon. Suddenly, this didn't seem like the smartest idea. He debated turning around and going back; returning to his life with Blaine and Rachel constantly lauding their successes over him while he trudged through a mire of mediocrity.
Or he could get out of the car, get what he came for…and decide his future from there.
A tell-tale ding made up his mind for him. He looked down at the car's gauges. The gas indicator dial had drifted over the line from barely ¼ full to the tiny red block that meant 'get gas now'.
Speeding down the highway must have eaten up all his gas, Kurt thought, befuddled since he had filled the tank before he left Manhattan.
Still, there had to be somewhere else, he reasoned. Anywhere else. Someplace more brightly lit, with people to see if he got raped and murdered while he filled up his tank. He didn't remember when he last passed a gas station on the highway, but it was pretty far back. Kurt peeked out the window, trying to see further down the road, and noticed a sign he swore wasn't there before. He flipped on his high beams and read it. Mud stained and rotting on its supports, the painted white writing read, "LAST GAS STATION 200 MILES".
"Well, I guess that answers that," he said to himself, driving into the loose dirt and gravel, pulling slowly to one of the pumps. He noticed the attendant in the mini-mart, hand still in the register, snap his head up at the sound of Kurt's car pulling into the parking lot. Their eyes locked, and Kurt had to admit that this man might have made the long drive in the middle of the night worth it. The attendant – tall and stunning and astonishingly out of place working at a gas station in Kurt's humble opinion - followed Kurt's car with his eyes as it came to a stop, then sized Kurt up with a smirk as he got out of his car, maneuvered through the pumps, and walked through the glass door.
Kurt didn't want to be caught staring, but he couldn't help himself, especially with the way the man's green eyes sparkled, as if he knew a joke that he wasn't telling.
'Poor thing,' Kurt thought at first glance. 'Here alone at this time of night. I'm probably the only customer he's gotten in hours.'
Kurt took a cursory look around, sweeping his eyes left and right without turning his head. He'd only been here once before, and he didn't really pay much attention then since he desperately had to use the bathroom. The mini-mart wasn't much of anything really. Outside there sat one square table bolted to the cracking cement. Two uncomfortable looking wire chairs, blue paint chipping from the heavy metal frames, sat beside it, situated with a picturesque view of the dirt parking lot. Inside, the store had a counter with an over-sized cash register sitting on it, a few racks of chips, and a sputtering ice box with the words 'Pepsi-Cola' painted on the outside. It hummed for a couple of seconds, and then rattled loudly, like an old smoker's cough.
Kurt smiled his brightest smile as he approached the man behind the counter, who hadn't taken his eyes off Kurt since he stepped through the door. The attendant closed the register and stepped around the counter at Kurt's approach, and Kurt stopped in his tracks, giving him a once over subconsciously from head to toe.
The man wore a blue and green flannel over a black t-shirt and dark blue jeans, the knees of which were torn and frayed.
'Ah,' Kurt thought critically. 'The Seattle grunge look. Tres circa 1990s.'
It wasn't a look that Kurt found particularly attractive, but this man made it work so Kurt was willing to make an exception.
He had a badge pinned to the outside pocket, but the material of the shirt folded over it, and Kurt couldn't make out the name. Kurt usually tried to make it a point to call service people in stores by their name. He always thought it was more polite and humanizing somehow.
"You guys aren't closing, are you?" Kurt asked.
"Nope," the man said, his smirk growing wider showing all of his perfect white teeth. "No, we're open 24 hours."
Kurt tilted his head, his brow furrowing.
"I thought the sign on the door said you closed at midnight?"
The man looked thrown for a second, his smirk slipping a bit, but he recovered quickly.
"New hours," he explained. "We just started. I haven't made a sign for the door yet."
Kurt nodded, sighing in relief.
"Thank goodness," he said, putting a hand to his chest. "Can I have $30 on that pump out there? And a pack of cigarettes, please."
The attendant looked at Kurt blankly at first; his green eyes staring into Kurt's eyes with confusion.
"What?" Kurt asked, feeling self-conscious in the face of this disarming man whose gaze never wavered.
"What kind of cigarettes would you like?" the man asked, gesturing to the rack behind the counter lined with row after row of colorful boxes.
"Uh, what do you mean?" Kurt asked, trying to build back some of his confidence. "Can't I get some regular cigarettes?"
The man chuckled and shook his head.
"You don't smoke, do you?" he asked, and even though Kurt knew the man was making fun of him, that smooth, sexy voice of his pretty much lowered all of Kurt's defenses.
Kurt sighed.
"No," he said. "I don't. But I got a role in an off-Broadway play, and my character smokes so I thought I'd try my hand at method acting."
"So, you're going to start smoking for a role?" The man laughed again. "That's some dedication."
"Well, no. Not exactly," Kurt admitted. "I'm just going to carry them around, maybe hold them in my fingers, light them, but I'm not going to smoke them. I'm dedicated, but not 'willing to contract lung cancer' dedicated."
Kurt deflated when the man laughed again.
"I know. It sounds stupid. I mean, my character doesn't really have any lines or anything," Kurt said, about to slink away with only his gas purchase.
"No," the man said softly. "No, it doesn't. I actually think it's cool that you would put so much thought into making your character realistic."
Kurt brightened at the man's compliment.
"Really?"
"Yeah, I do," the man said. "Let me help you out. Why don't you tell me about your character and I'll help you pick out a pack I think he'd smoke."
Kurt raised a skeptical eyebrow, but decided to give it a shot. Besides, he was in no hurry to leave. It was nice to talk to someone who didn't think his dinky five-line role wasn't completely worthless.
"Okay," Kurt drawled. "Well, he's kind of a stereotypical bad boy. Leather jacket, motorcycle, misunderstood. Kind of James Dean-ish I guess."
"Pfft, that's easy," the man said, walking behind the counter and pulling a box off the rack. "Marlboro Reds. The classic."
"Are you sure?" Kurt said, taking the box and turning it over in his hands.
"Of course." The man handed Kurt a BIC lighter. "Don't you watch those old movies with the greasers rolling their box of cigarettes in their shirt sleeves? They always smoked Marlboro Reds."
Kurt smiled shyly at the man's enthusiasm.
"What do I owe you?" Kurt asked, tearing at the cellophane and opening the lid. He pulled a single cigarette from the package and put it, unlit, between his lips to get the feel of it.
"The cigarettes are on the house," the man said with a wave of his hand. "Just pay me for the gas."
"Oh, I couldn't…" Kurt started.
"No, I insist," the attendant interrupted. "That way when I see you on Broadway, I can say I sold you your first pack of smokes."
Kurt was giddy when he shoved the package of cigarettes in his pocket and pulled out his credit card.
"You take VISA, right?" Kurt asked, handing the card over. He could feel the man's eyes travel over his body, and he blushed. The attention this man was paying Kurt should be creepy. Why wasn't it creepy?
"Definitely," the man said, taking the card and ringing up Kurt's purchase. "Thank you for your patronage…" He lifted the card to eye level, searching for a name, "…Mr. Hummel."
The man winked at Kurt and handed back the card.
Kurt's eyes darted once again around the empty store. He wanted desperately to find something else to focus his attention on besides this captivating man who Kurt was positive was flirting with him.
'If I want to get a bite to eat, I had better do it here,' Kurt thought, surveying the row of chips. He scanned the various dusty bags, some of them faded with exposure to the sun. The expiration date on one bag went back several years.
'Maybe not.'
Kurt turned back toward the attendant standing behind the counter, but he was staring down at the floor with a peculiar expression; one that made Kurt slightly uncomfortable. Kurt tried to keep his distance, but the store was so cramped it would have been be like trying to ignore someone standing next to you in a closet. That's when Kurt noticed a smudge of red on the shoulder of the man's flannel.
"Are you hurt?" Kurt asked. The man looked up, the color on his face draining away.
"Huh?" he asked.
Kurt pointed to the smudge on the man's shirt.
"It looks like you have blood on your shirt."
The man pulled the edge of his shirt until he could see it. Then he looked at his hands. His right hand was smeared with a bit of blood along his thumb.
"No," the man said. "No, I nicked myself with a box cutter earlier. I must have wiped my hand on my shirt."
A wave of dull pain passed through Kurt's already tense skull as his adrenaline level, soaring as he drove, now plummeted during this moment of calm. He put a hand to his forehead.
"Ugh," Kurt moaned. "Do you mind if I sit outside for a bit? It's been a long drive and I think…I have a headache."
"Suit yourself." Then, almost as an afterthought, the attendant asked, "Mind if I join you?"
Kurt turned to look out the door, trying to hide his growing smile.
"That sounds nice," Kurt said, leading the way out the door and occupying one of the decrepit, chipped chairs while the man took the other.
"Gosh, I can't believe it's one a.m.," Kurt kicked at a few loose pebbles and watched them skitter across the ground.
"Yeah," the attendant agreed. He glanced down the dark, empty road, as if waiting for another customer to come by.
"Doesn't it bother you to work here so late at night?" Kurt asked.
"Nah, not really," the attendant replied. "It's pretty quiet. More lonely than anything." The attendant looked around as if to reassure himself of that fact.
"Forgive me for judging a book by its cover," Kurt said, watching the man eye the road warily. "But you don't strike me as the kind of man who would be working at a run-down gas station."
"I don't?" he asked, an amused half-smile taking the place of concern on his face.
"No. I mean, the clothes fit the overall impression of a gas station attendant, but I don't know. You just seem…better than this." Kurt shook his head. "That must sound so snobbish of me. I'm sorry."
"I think I'd be offended if you said 'You're exactly what I pictured a gas station attendant would be like'."
Kurt laughed out loud.
"Actually, this is a temporary stop gap," the man explained. "A way to pick up some fast money before I move on to bigger and better things. I'm not going to be here much longer."
Kurt nodded.
"Very good," Kurt said, crossing one leg over the other and sitting up straighter. "I heartily approve."
The man with the green eyes seemed to relax the longer they sat with the quiet night wrapped around them.
"I'm sorry if I'm taking up all your time," Kurt said, kicking another pile of loose gravel.
"No sweat," the man said with the hint of a smile. "What else would I be doing? Nobody else is here."
Looking around, Kurt felt the weight of those words. As the two sat together at the table, he listened to the darkness. No cars. No houses nearby. Not even animals scurrying out of the nearby trees.
"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
Kurt shrugged.
"Sure. I don't see why not."
"Why are you out here on this deserted stretch of road in the middle of butt-fuck Egypt? Especially at this time of night?"
"I'm running away, I guess," Kurt said after some thought.
The man pulled a face of disgust.
"What's so bad that you would come all the way out here?" he asked with surprise. "I mean, you're headed for Jersey, for Christ's sake."
Kurt laughed but there was no humor in it.
"I guess I'm out here because I need a little perspective."
"Well, spill," the man said, leaning closer with interest, "because you're in luck. We're having a deal today at the Gas and Go – free perspective with every purchase of gas."
Kurt rolled his eyes, but talking to this man had become addicting, and even if what he had to say made him look whiny and immature, the way Rachel always said he was acting. 'Afraid to grow up' was her latest take on the matter.
Kurt fidgeted in his seat, searching his mind for a good jumping off point, but then blew caution to the wind and started speaking.
"I moved to New York with my best friend and my fiancé to try to make it in the arts, or on Broadway, but I'm always getting passed over…"
"Let me guess," the man started when Kurt paused. "Passed over for your best friend and your fiancé, am I right?"
"Yeah," Kurt said, slightly startled that he could hit the nail right on the head. "But, I wasn't complaining, because New York's still New York, even if you're not a star, and I've got other great opportunities and prospects."
"Like your role in that play?"
"Exactly!" Kurt exclaimed a little too loudly, excited that someone finally got it. "Only it's not big enough for them. They think I'm wasting my time, that I should go for something bigger, and maybe they're right. But it doesn't seem like there's anything bigger waiting on the horizon for me. I should take all the chances I've got, right? Because who knows when another one will come around."
The man looked up at the sky, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. After a few long minutes deliberating with the stars, he looked back at Kurt.
"Let me pump your gas and we'll talk," he decided.
"Okay." Kurt followed the man down to the pumps where his car was still parked, waiting for its tank to be filled. The attendant opened the gas tank door and removed the gas cap. He pulled down the pump handle, stuck it into the tank, and started pumping Kurt's gas.
"Why do you let those two asshats run your life?" the man said bitterly and a bit out of the blue. Kurt pulled back a bit.
"Excuse me?" Kurt said, doing what came naturally – defending his friends.
"Don't get me wrong, they probably have their reasons for being total douches," the man continued, "and they might think they're doing you a favor by sticking their noses where they don't belong, but ultimately whatever you do with your life is your decision to make. If you pass up on that role and wait for a bigger one, or if you say 'fuck you all, bitches' and go up on stage and smoke your damn cigarettes and say your lines, because you might blow some casting director away and become an overnight sensation. You never know. But, it's your path to walk. Not theirs."
Kurt nodded, watching the numbers on the pump scroll to $30. The man pulled the pump back out of the gas tank and hooked it back in place, tightening the gas cap and closing the tank door.
"So I should go back to the city and keep my role in the play, is that what you're saying, Hunter?"
"Huh?" The man's eyes nearly popped out of his skull, and a strange look clouded his features so suddenly that Kurt felt his body freeze.
"I'm sorry," Kurt said, "I just noticed your name tag. Do you not want me to call you Hunter?"
"N-no," the man said, stammering a bit. He reached his hand to his chest and fingered the small plastic badge. "I forgot I was wearing it." He kept looking at it, running his fingers over the engraved letters, chewing the inside of his cheek while he did. "Actually, please call me Sebastian. Hunter's kind of a nickname, but my given name's Sebastian."
Kurt smiled.
"Sebastian," he repeated. "I like that better. You look more like a Sebastian anyway."
Sebastian tutted and shook his head.
"There you go again, Kurt. Judging people by their looks. But we're getting off topic. Do you want to do the play?"
Kurt thought, but he only needed a second to come up with an answer.
"Yes," he said confidently. "Yes, I do."
"Then do it," Sebastian whispered as if imparting a great secret. "And might I add that if your best friend and your fiancé can't support your successes, no matter how big or small they may be, then you don't need to find a new play or a new job or a new whatever you want to do. You need to find new friends."
Kurt smiled wider, a great burden lifting from his shoulders as he absorbed Sebastian's advice and took it to heart.
"I'm really glad I came all the way out here for a pack of cigarettes," Kurt said, ducking his head bashfully.
"I am, too," Sebastian agreed.
Sebastian looked up at the sound of a car passing in the distance, and his expression seemed to shift.
"Look, it's getting late, and you have a long drive back, but if you don't mind, could I have your number?"
Kurt raised his head and met Sebastian's gaze.
"My number?" Kurt asked, excited and nervous and a little wary, but he immediately and efficiently stomped that in the dust.
"I would really like to come see your play. And maybe I could take you to dinner after if your asshole fiancé isn't up to the challenge."
Kurt bit his lip to keep from jumping at the opportunity. Was he really considering giving his number to another man? He had to be insane, and yet, he had spent the better part of two hours having the most insightful conversation of his life with this intelligent, astute man who just so happened to look like a GQ model, minus the grungy clothing, of course.
Besides, Kurt reasoned, he's only interested in seeing the play. A patron of the arts, and as an actor it was Kurt's responsibility to spread the love.
Kurt reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small business card holder, slipping one of his Vogue business cards out and handing it over. The man plucked it from Kurt's hand and read it before slipping it into the pocket of his jeans.
"I thank you very much," Sebastian said with a tiny bow. Kurt shook his head, trying to shake away sleep and the feeling that he did the stupidest thing in the universe by giving a stranger his phone number, even if it was only his work number…and maybe his cell.
Kurt climbed into his car, relieved and much more lighthearted now that he had found some direction. Sebastian closed Kurt's door and waved, putting his fingertips to his lips and blowing Kurt a kiss. Kurt waved back, pulling slowly from the parking lot. He looked in his rear view once more to see Sebastian heading for the mini-mart, waving at him one last time from the doorway.
Sebastian watched Kurt's car until it was a speck in the distance, heading back to civilization and a bright future on Broadway. As soon as the red of his brake lights blinked out into the darkness, Sebastian went back into the store and walked behind the counter. He opened the register and emptied its contents, folding the bills and shoving them into his pockets. He found a leather wallet sitting beneath the counter. He opened it and rifled through its contents. He pulled the credit cards from their individual slots and appraised each one.
"Visa, Visa, MasterCard, Discover," he counted off as he stuck them one by one into his pocket. He opened the wallet fully and gave a low whistle.
"Jackpot." He pulled ten folded twenties from the billfold and shoved them in his pocket along with the bills from the register.
"Sorry about all this, Hunter," Sebastian said to the quiet, open air. He pulled off the flannel with its plastic yellow name tag attached and tossed it on the floor, covering up a sticky patch of coagulated blood that had begun to pool. He stooped down to look over the body that lay there.
"Why couldn't you just give me the money, man?" he said to the two open eyes staring motionlessly upward. "I would have taken it and been on my way, but no, you had to be a big tough guy." Sebastian shook his head and tsked, smiling as a thought hit him. "But I guess one good thing came out of all this. I got to meet Kurt." Sebastian smacked the dead man's shoulder as if they were friends.
Sebastian stood. He hopped out from behind the counter and headed for the door. He turned the sign on the glass over from OPEN to CLOSED, walking out and yanking the door closed tight behind him.
He walked behind the mini-mart and got into his car; a beat up Chevy Nova that had seen better days. He chuckled to himself, inspired by the thought of seeing Kurt again. He turned the key in the ignition, and with a rumble of the old engine, peeled onto the highway, and disappeared into the night.
.