Title: You took it all, but I'm still breathing
Warnings: description of violence, injury, and death, description of Burt's death.
Reviews:
dawofmorning: Thank you so much! So glad you liked it!
Iris7124: we love this version of Kurt too! So glad others do too lol thank you so much though! We tried really hard to make sure we were staying true to him while writing a darker version of Kurt. So glad it's coming through. And this version of Blaine is very determined and very sweet! This chapter will answer some of your questions for sure!
It had been a few days of this tentative truce between them. Hummel was not exactly pleasant, but he wasn't threatening to kill or maim him every other second. Blaine was experiencing a joy he hadn't gotten to feel in awhile with the mandolin. He loved playing, always had. He never could afford an instrument of his own and had to borrow the bard's or play whenever people would let him. But now he had his very own and he played it as much as he could. He still couldn't believe Hummel had given it to him. He thought maybe he was trying to trick him again, but he wasn't. Since he wasn't being given chores anymore, he practiced his playing. He had been a little rusty, but the more he played the better he got. This was much better than chopping wood.
Strumming the instrument, he strolled around the castle, casually peeking into rooms that weren't locked. He would sit out in the courtyard whispering to the cats and trying to figure out which one was Lady Rachel. Sometimes he would climb up on the wall and stare at the castle and try to work the puzzle in his head.
Mercedes would join him a lot and he would try to get information out of her or just talk. The wizard was rarely seen. When Blaine asked her what he was doing, she would look away or get up and stretch like she hadn't heard him. He still had time yet, but he knew he had to think of a plan. Fast.
This day, Blaine decided to incorporate a puppet show into his entertainment. He planned it all day and rehearsed. After eating his own dinner, he set everything up in the dining room and awaited Hummel.
It wasn't long before he came in, olive green and black robes swirling behind him. He moved a little slower than normally as if he was tired and Blaine wondered again what he did all day.
Hummel slumped into his seat at the table to the plate Blaine had prepared for him and immediately sucked down his glass of wine. He set it down, refilled it, and finally looked up at Blaine's makeshift stage. It was just some blankets he had pinned up between some chairs. Hummel squinted at it. "What's this?"
"I've prepared a show for you, Master Hummel! I think you will find your heart tilting in my favor after this!" Blaine gave him his biggest smile.
Hummel muttered something to himself and drained his glass again.
He would change his tune after this. Blaine was confident.
He began his story with a Humble Young Performer approaching a Very Grumpy Wizard and begging him to let his best friend go. The Wizard said no, he would not. Then the performer sang a lovely song that broke The Wizard's heart about showing love and kindness. The Wizard was so moved that he gave his prisoner to him, but he was still sad about the villagers. The performer suggested talking to them, so they went to the village together. Wizard puppet apologized to Town Master puppet and the villagers and they apologized in return. They held little felt hands and sang a song of friendship. He had spent a lot of time making these and thought The Wizard was particularly good.
Hummel had eaten while he watched, seemingly unamused. He had another glass of wine making the total now three. When Blaine finished, Hummel had finished too and he slow clapped.
"Well, isn't that just the prettiest picture?" He said it sweetly, but his eyes were hard.
Blaine bowed stiffly. He knew he would have to be careful here. He was getting drunk and he could potentially kill him if he was angered.
"I just thought you might like to see how things could be different, Master Hummel." Blaine set his puppets down. "If you just tried talking perhaps—"
"You foolish, foolish idiot," Hummel spat. "If you think I could waltz into that village and say, 'Oops! Sorry I've murdered so many people. Are we all square then?' and then we all sing a little song that fixes everything, I would ask if you had delusion in your dinner cup because mine is only wine." He held up said cup and dangled it about condescendingly.
Blaine's face heated. He did not appreciate being mocked when he worked so hard. "Of course that's not how real life works! It's just a show! I just meant you might try peace instead of just killing everyone who disagrees with you!"
Hummel gave him a patronizing smile. "You are right! They are so friendly in the village! I'll just waltz into the iron fence they have built to keep me out specifically and it will be completely fine! It's practically a welcome party!"
Blaine winced. "You might be right about that, but they are just scared. Of course they would build a fence like that if they are afraid you will come grab them like you did Lady Rachel! But I think they would listen if you just tried!"
"You're delusional," Hummel replied with a derisive snort. His face was pink from the wine and he was draining his fourth glass. "Completely mad."
"I'm not! You're just mean and bitter!"
Hummel chuckled and blinked slowly. "Oh, absolutely I am. You would be too if they fucked up your life."
That took him aback. "What do you mean?"
Hummel waved and a chair scraped out. Blaine sat in it.
"Since you like fairytales so much, here's one. Caution, there is no happy ending."
So easily we're persuaded when the lines are blurred and faded
Once upon a time there was a boy. He was a mostly happy child. The boy didn't have much, but he had his parents who loved him more than anything and whom he loved more than anything else in the world.
His mother was taken from them at a young age, the light in their lives just gone. The villagers rejoiced. They all whispered about Elizabeth. They called her a witch even though she never manifested any sort of magic. She was just adept at making healing potions and poultices. Many were jealous, including the Town Master's future wife and her best friend. They spread rumors about her and shunned her. It didn't bother her in the least, for she knew they were wrong. She was always so good about that.
The young Town Master, Paul Karofsky, was in love with Elizabeth and would propose to her every chance he got, but she rejected him. Her heart belonged to the boy's father.
He was a quiet man, but had a heart of gold. Burt Hummel was his name and he was a well respected builder who kept to himself. When they married, people thought he would take her and she would toss away her evil ways. But he defended her, telling the villagers she could do as she pleased and they didn't know what they were talking about. Elizabeth and Burt kept to themselves, ignoring the whispers and enjoying their lives.
Soon they had a child, a boy that they cherished and loved. He grew up in that warmth, but only from them. Again, the villagers called her a witch and said her child was cursed, especially when she shared her love of plants with him. His face was too angelic they would say. They shunned him as best as they could, the adults treating him like he was a demon and the children mocking him. The worst was the Town Master's son Dave. I believe you've already met?
The boy learned not to care what others said or thought because he had his parents, a home, and books to escape to. His favorite was about a misunderstood witch who everyone turned against because she was different. You can imagine how the boy related. She turned into the villain though, something he knew he would never do.
Then his mother died.
Predictably, some in the village claimed the boy sucked the life from her or she died for her sins. The boy and his father mourned her deeply, but something miraculous came from that tragedy: real magic. Now, the boy always knew he was different. Special, his parents said. One in a million, his father said. The boy didn't think so, only felt the ache of a friendless life. A lonely life. He didn't mind it so much when he had them, but he did still long for a friend.
The day they buried his mother, the boy sat with his father at the table, food prepared but untouched and growing colder the longer they sat and stared at it. The boy had cried all his tears and now only wished for sleep so that he could pretend it was all a dream. His father had similar thoughts apparently, because he asked the boy if he was ready for bed. They agreed to give up the efforts to eat and began putting the spread away. However, the boy lifted a pitcher with shaky hands to set it on its shelf. It slipped from his grasp and fell, shattering instantly. This wouldn't have been such a tragedy, but the pitcher had been the mother's favorite and they both mourned the loss, harder since they lost her so recently. The boy sunk to his knees, longing to fix his mistake. He felt a tug, just a little thing, down in his gut and he thought mend. Then the miracle happened. The pieces of the pitcher floated into the air and began to slot together like a puzzle. The boy and his father stared in wonder, the tears frozen on their faces. Soon, the pitcher was whole and settled onto the floor. The boy and his father began to search for answers and found he was filled with magic. At first, the boy was thrilled. He thought maybe it might make the other children want to play with him. When he told his father this, he frowned sternly.
He said, "You must never show anyone your magic. People are afraid of what they don't understand and they will fear you. This village is especially dangerous since so many people are against magic. They already whisper about you. Keep it a secret and then one day, you will set out on your own to make your fortune and you can decide who to tell."
"Yes, Papa," the boy said obediently. "I won't say a word." He thought about leaving, being free. But another thought plagued him. "But what will you do if I leave? Won't you be alone?"
His father chuckled, his favorite sound, and hugged him. "I won't be around forever. But even so, you can't live your life worrying about me."
The thought of his father not being around sprung tears and a pain that was nearly unbearable, especially so fresh after his mother's death. "I want you to be around for always, Papa." His big sad eyes grew determined. "I'm magic. If anything happens to you, I'll bring you back!"
His father's face became serious once again. "Absolutely not. I might not be magic, but I know it's not a good idea to upset the balance of things. If I die, then that's what should be."
The boy refused to meet his father's eyes, but his jaw was set. He wouldn't agree.
"Promise me. Right now, promise me you won't ever do something like that."
The boy grumbled his promise, but inside was defiant.
Time passed and the boy practiced his magic. It grew until it was as familiar as his own skin and more and more powerful. His peers still treated him with passiveness or disdain, thinking him odd. He still had no friends, but wished desperately for one.
Then came the day everything changed.
He was sitting in a tree in the school yard, reading his favorite book when a girl approached him. He had given up any hope of finding friends at this point, but he had talked to the girl a few times before and she seemed friendly. She even defended him a few times. He was up in a tree because when his tormentors inevitably came for him, he could see them coming. The girl asked him about his book and he snapped at her. He knew from experience that most people were not kind, but she was genuine. She climbed into the tree with him and kindly tried to befriend him. However, like most things in his life, this good thing was not to be. The girl tried to shift to a more comfortable position and lost her seat. She went crashing down to the ground. The boy leaped to help her, but her arm was broken. She cried and held the appendage. It was quite gruesome, the bone had splintered and was jutting out. He knew he had the power to help, to heal his new and only friend.
He was only trying to help, to use his magic for good, but it backfired spectacularly. He did what his father had warned against; he used magic to mend her arm. The light flared bright as he remembered the pitcher on the day of his mother's death. He had greater control now and this girl's arm was no pitcher. It was more difficult than anything else he had attempted, but he did it. She held her arm in complete shock. Her face had gone pale and when he reached for her to check her wound, she flinched away. In an instant, he had lost his only friend. Others had seen the light and come to investigate, the Town Master's son, his greatest tormentor, among them. They threw stones at him, chased him all the way home. He was sobbing by the time he arrived. Thankfully his father appeared and chased the bullies away. He held his boy as he cried, but wasn't angry. He said he wished it could be different, but he had done the right thing.
The boy loved colors, admiring the different dyes and textures of the tailor's fabrics. He would stand and watch him turn a kaleidoscope of different materials into something spectacular until he was inevitably shooed away. His magic had color sometimes, a bright white or green. His dad sometimes was haloed in colors of warmth, familiarity, and home. At that moment, the colors were numerous, swirling around and around. He had lost so much that day, his favorite book, his friend, and his anonymity, but he still had that wonderful man. It eased the pain greatly.
They boy wasn't allowed at school anymore, nor around the other children. His father became outspoken on his behalf, defending him when others wanted him exiled. He defended him and took up teaching him when no one else would accept him.
Yes, he championed his son, right until the day he died.
A man like that, so loving and kind, deserved to slip away peacefully in his sleep. He deserved an easy life with his son caring for him long into his grey years. But he was met with a violent end.
When he was fifteen, the boy was at home, doing his chores when he felt it. His heart rent right down the middle. The boy gasped in pain and clutched his chest, but it wasn't him that was hurt. No, he had tied himself to his father with magic and it called out to him. He ran as fast as he could through the village, ignoring how his neighbors spat and hissed at him. He arrived at the Town Master's house to find his father lying on the ground dying and the Town Master standing over him. He was telling the boy's father it would be so easy to kill his son now that he was gone. Assured him they would kill the boy quickly.
Rage seeped into the boy's veins, boiling and deadly. He thought of all the ways he could use his magic to harm Karofsky who was letting his father bleed out in front of him, all in the name of hatred. But the boy was still to soft and naïve yet. He couldn't hurt another person. It wouldn't have been right. So he tried to reason with the Town Master, but the man saw his opportunity and attempted to kill the boy.
The boy's magic was simultaneously part of him and sentient. His magic was the most honest thing about him. He was merely defending himself when his magic ripped a hole through Karofsky that a goat could walk through. The boy was immediately sorry, devastated that he had hurt another person. Even one so unpleasant as Paul Karofsky. He ran to his father and saw it had been an accident. His father could have lived had the Town Master not let him bleed out. The healer could have saved him. He might have saved him. The boy sobbed as he clutched his dying father to his chest. The only person in the world who loved him. The only one who cared. His only family, gone, leaving him an orphan at fifteen.
I won't say what the father's last words to the boy were, because it's no one's business but his, but one thing I will reveal is that his father told him to run. He said to leave him and their home, the place he was born and lived a happy life with his parents. The place they had laughed and cried. Where his father had taught him how to be a good man and his mother had taught him about how to nurture plants. The only place he felt safe. The boy felt the loss of his home almost as deep as he felt the loss of his father. Except that his father was his home.
He stayed with him until he drew his last breath. He couldn't heal him because he wasn't strong enough yet. The wound was too deep and complicated. He tried and tried, but he failed. His father had already been half gone by the time he made it to him. But oh, how he tried. A piece of the boy died that day.
He ran, just as his father had said to do. It almost killed him to leave his body, but he wasn't strong enough to bring him. He ran back to his home long enough to grab a few things from their cottage, but the villagers were already upon him. So again he ran. He ran until his feet blistered and bloody scratches from brambles covered his arms. He ran a whole day until he couldn't run any longer and the screams of the villagers had long quieted. He found a hollow tree and slept there, waking all through the night to sob and mourn his loss. When the morning came, he dried his eyes. His magic was his only comfort and he knew he had to live for his father. So, he built his castle. He fashioned it after the castle in his favorite story, a place no one could hurt him. It was a sloppy thing, but it was his first attempt.
He remained there, stewing in his sadness until the day she came. His only almost-friend trekked through the woods to see him. She returned his book, the one he had dropped the day she broke her arm. He was touched she had saved it for him, especially since it was the only gift he had left from his parents. She explained that his old home had been damaged by the villagers. She said his father had been buried without much ceremony, but they did bury him out of respect for all he had done for the village. The boy was furious. His father deserved more than a modest grave. And he should be next to his mother. The girl eventually left and promised to visit again, but the boy didn't really pay attention. He was plotting.
He snuck into the village late at night. All he wanted was his parents. That's all he ever wanted. He spent the entire night digging up their remains. It was difficult, but with his gift it was a little easier. His magic had grown since he used it like a muscle every day and he was more powerful than before. It hurt him deeply to see what the village had done to his old home, but he had a new home. It was time to let it go. The Town Master's son confronted him. Dave was angry, as was his right. He tried to kill the boy, but he was able to evade him. He wouldn't listen when the boy tried to explain. As he always had, he only thought the worst of the boy and would hear nothing against his father. The boy finally escaped.
He was able to bring them back to his castle and he created a beautiful resting place for them. At last, he had some semblance of peace. He spent the days alone, repairing his castle, rereading his book, and looking to the horizon for his friend to return. In the evenings, he sat near his parents graves and pulled any weeds, telling them about his day. He was full of sorrow, but he felt more at peace since they were all together again.
Soon after this, the first assassin came.
The village sent her. She posed as a wanderer starving and looking for shelter. She resembled his mother. The boy was gullible and gave her berth, only for her to try and murder him in his bed that very night. He bested her, but it was close. That was two lives he had taken and it weighed heavily on his foolish heart.
The next assassin was bolder, a knight who made no pretenses. He attacked the boy and was put down just like the other. The boy noticed it was getting easier and easier to kill. Before he was dispatched, he called the boy a bleeder and a murderer and a grave robber. He said the village had sent him. The boy didn't understand why the village wouldn't leave him alone. He had exiled himself and had never gone back save for his parents. He wondered if that is why his friend hadn't returned.
On his sixteenth birthday, he came. He was beautiful and sweet and swept the boy off his feet. At first the boy had the sense not to trust him, but soon he lowered his defenses. It had been weeks and the traveler had gained his trust, never moving to harm him. But the moment the boy gave this man his heart and let him kiss him, he tried to slit the boy's throat. The boy was devastated. He was heartbroken. Before he killed the only man he ever loved, he confessed he had also been sent by the village. That's when the boy's heart froze.
He went that very night to the village. His rage had been a fire, but his revenge was cold. He caused a storm to blow through, tearing houses apart. He cursed the ground where the Town Master killed his father so nothing would grow there again. He razed crops and livestock. He left their stupid little village a mess so they would know they had failed to kill him. Some people died. Dave Karofsky fumed and threw a little tantrum. The wizard laughed in his face.
It wasn't long after that they built their little fence. You might wonder where a piss-poor village like that got funds to build such a thing? You've seen it. Well, as it turns out Mrs. Karofsky's friend had gone off and married a Lord. He blamed the wizard for his best friend dying when she was the fool who wouldn't leave her house. Dave Karofsky's mother? Ah, you've heard the story. I'm sure he was very sad. Anyway, her friend decided to build the fence so that nothing like that would happen again. You see, he now had his own daughter with his husband and couldn't imagine what he would do if anything happened to her.
When the Wizard arrived back to his castle, blood on his hands and his soul shattered, he realized it didn't match how he felt inside. So, he choked away all the flowers, bled every color from the grounds, and replaced the walls with ice. He refused any more guests no matter how bedraggled they appeared. He prowled his castle alone, becoming more bitter each day.
His friend finally returned and he asked her why she had waited so long. You know what she told him? It wasn't safe. As if the world was safe for him. As if the village and people from all across the kingdom did not send murderers after him every chance they got. So he asked her to stay forever. The boy finally had friends and home with his parents by his side. What more could he ask for? She told him her family had been shunned because she was associated with him. Her own family had turned against her for even coming to see him. So, she stayed. He made sure of it.
So no. I don't believe I will attempt to make peace with those vile savages. I believe I will only wish them spiders in their cups and nails in their beds. I wish them only sorrow.
Cut clean when I twist that knife, no one falls for the villain
Blaine was silent after Kurt's story. That's who he was to him now. He couldn't think of him as Master Hummel or just a wizard. He had been hurt deeply if what he said was the truth. But why would he lie? The way his eyes shone when he talked about his parents and how broken he was when he spoke of his first love looked so real. He himself shed some tears as he had spoken. He knew how much it hurt to lose a parent who was so important to you, but he had his family to comfort him. Kurt had had no one. Except…
"Mercedes," Blaine said out loud.
Kurt looked up sharply from where he had been staring down at the two gold rings he wore on his left hand. He had spun them when he spoke of his parents. Now he stared at Blaine like he had forgotten he was there.
"Mercedes is your friend from the story. The one who's arm you healed. But, if she came to you, why would you turn her into a cat?"
Kurt sucked in a rattling breath and released it. "I wanted to make certain she would never leave. My cats can roam, but they can't leave the grounds."
"But she hates being a cat! You have to let her go."
Kurt stared at the rings. "I intend to change her back soon."
Blaine relaxed at that. Another thought occurred to him. "The man who built the fence. Is that one of Lady Rachel's fathers?"
Kurt didn't answer, but stood a little unsteadily. Blaine was going to help him, but he knew he wouldn't be welcome. Of course he didn't want anyone to touch him. No one had shown him kindness since his own parents. As he walked by, Kurt shot a tiny bolt of lightning at the Town Master puppet and turned it to a pile of ash. He giggled and shuffled off to bed.
Blaine sat at the table for about an hour after he left. He had a lot to consider, turning Kurt's story over in his mind. It matched everything Karofsky had said except for the fact that Kurt hadn't killed his own father. Karofsky's parents both hated the Hummel's and Dave's mother's friend was one of the Lord's Berry. It explained why he chose to kidnap her, but not why he was keeping her. They knew who he was though. At least one of them. So it was revenge then. But what was he going to do with her? He stared at the little pile of ash and tried to sort through how he felt.
After he had cleaned up and went to bed, Blaine stared up at the canopy. He was tired, but his head was filled with Kurt's story. Was he a little discouraged that his idea had failed? Yes. But Kurt had been correct. His notion of just talking things out with Dave and the rest of the village was quite silly. He hadn't known about everything. Truthfully, he was a little angry Karofsky hadn't been completely honest with him. Unless Kurt was lying. Blaine groaned and flopped over. He had no idea who to believe. He was a little scared of him still, but mostly felt bad for him. If he was telling the truth, the village had brought a lot of this misfortune upon themselves. He wished he could travel back and talk to them once again, but Kurt would surely forbid it. He didn't know how he felt about that, but he did know how it felt to be judged unfairly.
No one in his family was magical and he had never been to a place like Lima that was so steadfastly against magic, but there were some places where he and his family were looked down upon. Whether it was because of the way they looked or their status or profession, it wasn't a pleasant feeling nor was it fair. Blaine sympathized with Kurt on that front.
No matter what, Lady Rachel was innocent in all this. He recalled her sitting with him in the sunshine near where his family had camped. She had toyed with her braids and confessed he was her only friend.
"You're one of mine as well. There's Sam, but we will most likely be married one day so I'm not certain if he counts," Blaine had replied. He was holding Sam puppet in his arms.
Rachel had laughed. She was just Rachel back then. Just a girl. He hadn't even known she was a Lady until the day before they left. "He is lucky. I have to marry someone important." She wrinkled her nose. "I hope whoever I marry likes me. I wish I could marry you since you can tolerate me."
Blaine hugged her. "He will love you. I will come avenge you if he doesn't."
She hugged him back. "So you'll come rescue me?"
"Always."
Blaine wiped the tears from his face, his resolve refreshed. "Always, Rachel. I'll come for you always."
The next day, Kurt was nowhere to be found. Blaine called for him, but his voice only echoed back. Mercedes didn't appear either. While it was a little concerning, Blaine decided he would proceed with his day as usual. He would prepare a song to cheer Kurt up after sharing his story and maybe he could share something with him as well. He just hoped Kurt would understand him.
Little did he know he would be reunited with Rachel much sooner than expected.
Sorry this one was a little shorter than the others, but we thought since there was so much information we would need too keep it shorter so it wasn't too much.
Music used:
Title/breaks:
-Alive: Sia
-How Villains Are Made: Madelan Duke
-Bitter: Chappell Roan
We do not own music!*
