Fic: "For Which I Have to Howl" -- Epilogue, Kurt/Blaine, COMPLETE OMG
HOLY CRAP I HAVE NEVER WRITTEN AND COMPLETED A STORY THIS LARGE BEFORE, YOU GUYS!!
Title: For Which I Have to Howl -- (Part 5/5) -- COMPLETE
Author: emilianadarling
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine (Side pairings: Tina/Mike, Finn/Rachel, and Puck/Quinn. Highlight for spoiler pairings:unrequited Karofsky/Kurt, eventual sexual but non-romantic Puck/Kurt)
Rating: NC-17 overall (R for this chapter)
Warnings: One a chapter by chapter basis! Disturbing themes, werewolves.
Length: 3,300 for this chapter, and over 48,500 overall.
Spoilers: This is an AU, so not really. But elements from the entire series thus far have been pulled in.
Story Summary: Werewolf AU. Tension is rising in the pack, and having the very-human Kurt Hummel come to visit his brother and boyfriend is putting a strain on everyone. Having Blaine and Kurt mate should help the problem, but the process proves to be more complicated - both physically and emotionally - than either of them could have imagined.
This Chapter: “The silence lasts for a few minutes. Comfortable and safe, the dual sound of their breathing filling each other’s ears. ”
Notes: I can't believe it's over, you guys. And I can't believe that one little prompt led to the creation of this beast! Thank you so much for coming along on this different-from-usual-but-so-much-fun journey with me. You are all complete rock stars, and thank you so much for your feedback and support! :D
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Epilogue
Six Months Later
The basement is dark and cramped, and the dim glow from its one dangling light fixture is not enough to permeate every shadow and corner. Although the room itself is large, the space is cramped with furniture draped in off-white bedsheets and towering stacks of cardboard boxes. The boxes themselves are all labelled in fading black sharpie. An occasional misplaced auto part can be seen amidst the mess.
From the doorway, Kurt can make out some of the writing scrawled across the brown cardboard in the dim light. ‘Lizzie’s Jewellery’ in his dad’s practically illegible scribble; ‘Chris’s Uniforms’ in Carole’s neat handwriting, clearly years old.
“When was the last time anyone went through all this?” asks Kurt, peering into the dark. A large box inscribed ‘Finn’s baby things’ sits just to the right of the basement door. “When we moved in here?”
“Nah,” says Burt, pausing to clear his throat against the dust. “A lot of this has been in storage for years longer. We mostly just combined it all and shoved it in here when we bought the house.”
“Don’t you want to get rid of any of it?”
“Some things it’s nice to hold on to, even if you don’t use them much. Now, I’m almost positive it’s just over here...” Burt moves toward one of the shapeless piles covered in white sheets, limping slightly as he steps over a sleeping bag that must have fallen down off one of the piles. Kurt follows behind him. “We didn’t need two when we all moved in together, and Carole and Finn’s was nicer. Ah, here we go.”
Burt pulls back the sheet, sending a flurry of dust into the air and revealing the loveseat underneath. The seams are beginning to fray in places, and its time in storage has left it with a strong smell of dust; it will have to be given a good clean tonight. But the burgundy is as deep and warm as Kurt remembers, and its cushions look just as squashy and comfortable as they were when he was small. The sight of it makes Kurt let out a small half-laugh as he remembers all of the shoddy forts he used to make out of its cushions, hiding underneath them to read Goosebumps or The Baby-sitters Club in paperback.
“It’s old,” adds Burt quickly, “and a bit small. And it isn’t designer or anything.”
“It’s perfect,” says Kurt, feeling a wide grin stretch across his face. “It’ll go so well with mom’s dresser. And it should fit perfectly in the apartment!”
“Yeah, you definitely couldn’t fit a proper couch in there. It’s tiny.”
“It’s New York,” counters Kurt, affronted. “Of course it’s tiny.”
Burt chuckles and wraps an arm around Kurt’s shoulder, pulling him in close and giving him a squeeze.
Kurt doesn’t quite fit there as well as he used to. He’s as tall as his dad, now; maybe even taller. The memory of his father towering over him, a seemingly-indestructible fortress of gentle strength and warmth, looms large in his mind. But Burt’s embrace is as loving and comforting as ever: that, at least, is unchanged by time. Kurt leans into the warmth of Burt’s shoulder and breathes in his father’s familiar smell. No name brand soap, and Old Spice, and motor oil. The rough material of Burt’s work shirt is scratchy against his cheek.
The embrace lasts slightly longer than it normally would, and when Burt finally pulls away he coughs. Sniffs loudly. Kurt gives him a minute, waiting for the tightness in his own throat to fade.
“Now,” says Kurt, once almost a full minute has passed. “Do you feel up to helping me get this upstairs?”
“Hey, I’m still your old man,” insists Burt, clapping a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “Of course I do.”
The loveseat is fairly light, and getting it upstairs isn’t too difficult - although Kurt does take most of its weight as the two of them haul it up the basement steps. When they reach the first floor landing and set it down, he takes quick stock of his father. Burt is slightly out of breath, but not dangerously so. He doesn’t seem to be favouring his leg any more than usual. His dad removes his ball cap and swipes a hand across his forehead.
“You found it!” cries Carole, coming around the corner. She takes a proper look at the loveseat, then lets out a happy sigh. “Oh, Kurt, you’re so right. It’s going to look wonderful in your new place.”
His stepmother smiles warmly at the two of them before blinking, hard, and inhaling deeply through her nose. For just a split second, something faraway and wistful comes into her expression. She presses her lips together tightly, and Kurt can practically read the what-might-have-beens and never-again-memories in her expression. After a few moments, however, Carole is smiling again. She leans forward and runs a hand -the one with only two fingers - through Kurt’s hair absently.
“Your father and I are so proud of you,” she says. “Following your dreams like this... you’re going to take that city by storm.”
“New York isn’t going to know what hit it,” adds Burt, puffed up with pride. Kurt’s eyes are starting to sting, and he can feel a tightness in his chest.
“You’re sure,” says Kurt, words coming out in a rush. “You’re sure it’s okay. If I go. I won’t... I won’t be leaving you.”
The two of them exchange a look, and Burt wraps an arm around Carole’s waist.
“We’ll be fine, kiddo,” says Burt.
“Finn’s last e-mail helped,” adds Carole quietly into Burt’s shoulder.
Kurt reminds himself to thank his brother at the next available opportunity for whatever he wrote, because the two of them look... fine. Solid. Like they’re going to be okay. And it’s hard, because he knows that everything is going to change tomorrow. Everything is going to be different.
But at the same time, nothing is. Because even broken apart, stretched across thousands of miles, the four of them are still a family. There is a connection there that distance cannot break.
And at least, this time, the separation is voluntary.
Kurt glances up at the hallway clock, whose hands indicate that it is 6:07pm.
“I have to go finish boxing up the last couple of things in my room, and then I have to take a call,” says Kurt, but he cannot quite stop staring at the sight the two of them make together. Carole with that sad-but-proud smile on her face, and Burt with his arm wrapped protectively around her. He can tell by the slight movement in her arm that Carole is rubbing small circles into Burt’s back; she is small enough to tuck into his father’s shoulder in just the way he used to when he was younger.
There is so much love and support in the way they hold each other, standing in the hallway of their too-large house. And Kurt knows that they are, in fact, going to be fine.
“Dinner should be ready by 7:30,” says Carole. “After we’ve had a quick bite, we can get the loveseat and the last few boxes packed into the truck, all right?”
Kurt nods, and then leans forward and kisses her on the cheek. Her tiny hum of pleasure rings in his ears as he heads upstairs to his bedroom.
--
Most of Kurt’s bedroom is already tucked into boxes, but there are a few things left aside to deal with at the last minute. His toiletries, the last of his clothes. A couple of books he’ll be leaving behind, but hasn’t got around to sorting through yet. Kurt settles himself on the floor and begins to categorize the stack fo books - mostly assigned reading from English, children’s books he didn’t like or doesn’t remember, and young adult literature he is now ashamed to have enjoyed - into piles of ‘storage’ and ‘goodwill’.
His cell phone sits on the floor next to him, turned up to full volume.
By the time it finally rings, Kurt has managed to finish up with the books and has packed all but the most necessary-for-tomorrow-morning toiletries into a travel bag. He is sitting cross-legged on his still-made bed - a twin is all that will fit in the new apartment, and he and his dad are going to pick up some sheets for it once they reach the city - with a last few piles of clothes strewn around him. He answers after the second ring, noting that the time on his phone indicates 6:32pm.
“Hey, you,” says Kurt into the receiver.
“Hey,” replies Blaine, sounding slightly out of breath. His voice alone, even in that one syllable and with the tinny quality that the best cell coverage cannot get rid of, is enough to make Kurt’s head loll back against his pillow and a wide grin spread across his face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call earlier. The sitter was a bit late, and when she finally showed up I volunteered to take Beth so that Quinn could give her instructions in peace.”
The image of Blaine offering up his babysitting services in that slightly-too-eager way of his - as though he genuinely would rather be doing nothing else than hold a fussing child and waggle stuffed toys in front of her face - is enough to make Kurt laugh into the receiver.
“Hey, Beth is a handful and you know it,” Blaine says, jokingly defensive. “It’s not fair for anything that’s only four months old to have so much energy.” A pause. “She also seems to have developed an unhealthy fixation with my hair.”
“Mm,” agrees Kurt softly. “Your hair is quite remarkable.”
Kurt takes a deep breath, closes his eyes - and allows himself to really experience it. To feel it in the way that everyday life simply doesn’t permit. He allows the now ever-present echoes of Blaine to move from the edge of his mind to the forefront; to let the way he feels Blaine inside his head become the main focus instead of a warm background presence. Kurt lets himself bask in Blaine’s affection for Beth, in his gentleness and his excitement at having a child to hold and love and entertain. He feels Blaine’s apprehension at the sun, hanging low in the sky, and feels his own skin prickle in phantom anticipation.
And Kurt can feel Blaine’s love for him, too. Strong and deep and constant. Unrelenting and gentle, Kurt can feel the bond between them stretch across the distance. Made of something stronger than emotions, now.
He lets the way Blaine loves him wash over his entire body as he lies back on the bed; it makes him shiver. Kurt honestly cannot remember how they used to manage, being so far apart and not being able to feel each other like this. Like a physical presence within their bodies.
The silence lasts for a few minutes. Comfortable and safe, the dual sound of their breathing filling each other’s ears. Hundreds of miles away, Kurt knows that Blaine is doing the same thing he is.
“Sorry for not being able to be there today,” adds Kurt after a while, when he is finally willing to pull himself away from fixating on the warm, sweet presence of Blaine in his mind. “Having some random babysitter from town in the house must be pretty weird.”
“Don’t apologize!” Blaine chastises him. “You have to move tomorrow, and we’re all just grateful you’ve been able to be here for as many full moons as you have. Besides, I do believe that Quinn and Puck are spinning her a pretty convincing story. And it’s not like we’ll be able to have you pop up to look after the baby once we’re in Idaho, anyways.” There is a brief pause. “It’s so weird that we’re both moving house at the same time.”
“Yeah,” agrees Kurt, chuckling. “It’s too bad. I’m going to miss our monthly playdates.” Kurt stares up at the ceiling, white and speckled and familiar. It makes him sad, somehow. “You’re all going to be so far away.”
“I know,” admits Blaine, voice faltering for a second. Kurt can practically see his expression; thick eyebrows pulling together, hazel eyes softening. Yellow, Kurt reminds himself, glancing outside at the dipping sun. They’re yellow right now.
“We’ve stayed here too long as it is, though,” Blaine continues. “There was a warning issued a few days ago against travelling through these woods. ‘Large wild animals’ have been observed. It’s time, and we’re thinking we can be out of the motel by the end of the week. We knew the pack would be heading West eventually, and I’m just - just glad that we did this. You know. Before.”
“Me too.” Blaine hums softly in pleasure in Kurt’s ear. “Plus,” adds Kurt, taking on a playfully haughty tone. “It’s only fair, since I’m going to have the time of my life in New York. Rubbing elbows with the stars, working for my big break...”
“If anyone can make it, it’s you,” murmurs Blaine, and there is such certainty in his voice that it makes Kurt’s whole body feel warm.
Kurt licks his lips, then looks at his still-unpacked bedside clock. It reads 6:41. “How long do we have?”
“Only a little while,” says Blaine apologetically. “Puck’s gathering everyone up now. I just wanted to say goodnight, and good luck for tomorrow from all of us. Everyone’s going to miss seeing you so much.”
“I know,” says Kurt, and he does.
Because after that night, there had been no more opposition. No more anger.
He’d known that Puck was going to invoke the rights ever since that night in the lobby, well-worn books spread around them and pack members all clustered around in what had become a rare moment of calm. Because their family had been falling apart, struggling and fighting and clawing, and a solution simply had to be found. Even high off his mind off Blaine’s blood, Puck’s decision - and its aftermath - had been no surprise.
The night that he and Blaine became mates is a blur of blood and pleasure in his mind; gentle hands holding him so carefully in place, pushing his hair out of his eyes and rubbing small circles into arms. Of growing pleasure, and harsh refusal, and desperate and unthinking bliss. Feeling full with the knowledge of belonging, of being loved.
It had all worked out so well, in the end. The rights had tied Kurt and the pack together in a way that no one could deny; deep and instinctual on a level that none could question. There was no need for anger or opposition, after that. Just acceptance. Another member of the family, to be loved and teased and taunted.
And Kurt would do anything - absolutely anything - for his family.
“At least I’m used to ten hour drives,” jokes Kurt, glancing out the window. The town that he has lived in almost all of his life lies sprawled outside, quaint and rural and conservative. Full of memories: some good, some unspeakably bad. Full of familiar places. The high school. The coffee shop. His mother’s grave.
It’s time for him to leave, too. But at least he’ll be bringing something familiar with him when he goes. Gentle and loving and always there, in the back of his mind.
“How are your parents holding up?” Blaine asks, and there is something so soft and sweet in his voice. Kurt can practically imagine him; curled up in bed or in an armchair in the lobby, curls falling into his face and a little smile tugging lazily at the corners of his mouth.
“Well, I think. All things considered. My dad... he knows I’ve always wanted to do this. And he’s driving me tomorrow, so it isn’t the end just yet. We’re staying in a hotel, then getting me moved into the new place the next day.”
“Send me pictures as soon as you get there?”
“Of course.”
“And I fully expect a Skype tour.”
“Of course, Blaine.” There’s another moment of soft, comfortable silence. “How’s the pack dealing with the new girl?”
“Lauren?” Blaine’s voice immediately tightens into something very determinedly polite-sounding, and Kurt can barely hold himself back from laughing. Before they found her a few weeks ago, Lauren had been living alone and wild for over a year. Despite her hackled, defensive attitude, Puck had welcomed her to the pack with open arms. “She’s... adjusting.”
Kurt rather suspects that Blaine finds Lauren’s force of personality a bit grating.
Personally, Kurt finds her hilarious.
“Puck loves her, though,” adds Blaine, sounding resigned. “Says she’s a perfect fit with us. So she’s probably here to stay.”
“He does have a good idea every once and a while,” smiles Kurt. He sighs into the receiver, and imagines his breath traveling to brush across Blaine’s ear hundreds of miles away.
They sit like that for a long while. Quiet, and calm, and breathing into the phone. Being together.
“I love you,” comes Blaine’s sudden voice over the phone. Husky and real, and hearing the words aloud still makes Kurt shiver pleasantly. He can hear Blaine exchanging words with someone in the background, and after a moment Blaine speaks again. “I have to go. Call me when you and your dad get settled into the hotel tomorrow?”
“Of course,” says Kurt. “I love you, too.” He has never been more sure of anything in his life.
“Goodnight, Kurt.” Brimming with affection, and care, and assurance.
They hang up with a click.
Kurt takes a deep breath. Then he puts the phone down, gets up off the bed, and goes over to close his bedroom window. There is no need for the neighbours to have any more reason to give their house sideways looks.
For the next twenty-eight minutes, Kurt busies himself around the room as best he can. Taping down boxes, straightening the sheets of his bed. Bagging up the clothes that no longer fit him after his growth spurt and labelling them as being destined for goodwill.
He can feel Blaine buzzing at the back of his mind with apprehension.
Kurt knows the exact moment when the moon comes out in Missouri, because that is when the pain hits.
It’s only a shadow, a ghost of what Blaine must be feeling - but it sends him to the floor regardless, screaming and sobbing and gasping into his hands. It feels as though his insides are twisting, as though his skin is on fire. Kurt clutches his stomach and sobs, unable to think, unable to speak. Only able to feel agony as it sears through him.
It isn’t real, he knows it isn’t real. But tears still streak down his face as he lies sprawled on the floor, mouth wide open and gaping as his body contorts itself into grotesque twists. Crying out as it gnaws his insides and splits him apart. Kurt knows his parents must be able to hear him downstairs, knows that it must take all their willpower not to come upstairs and make sure he is all right.
But the pain doesn’t belong to them. It belongs to him and Blaine. Theirs to share, theirs to endure.
And so Kurt rides it out. Lets his body feel torn apart and re-arranged, knowing that hundreds of miles away his lover is being broken apart. Feels Blaine at the back of his mind, changing and twisting and snarling, less and less human with every passing second. Kurt lets it burn through him, fill him up, and break him down.
Because it makes them both stronger, in the end. The separation, the agony. Makes them better, and brighter, and deeper inside one another’s minds.
Kurt presses his face into the soft carpet and makes the pain his own.
When it ends, a few minutes later, Kurt lies gasping and trembling on his bedroom floor. Soaked in a cold sweat, he feels Blaine - not Blaine, the Wolf - wake up.
And hundreds of miles away, the Wolf begins to howl.
Kurt laughs, arches up into the sensation, and lets the undiluted joy of freedom wash over him like a wave.
The End
Title: For Which I Have to Howl -- (Part 5/5) -- COMPLETE
Author: emilianadarling
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine (Side pairings: Tina/Mike, Finn/Rachel, and Puck/Quinn. Highlight for spoiler pairings:unrequited Karofsky/Kurt, eventual sexual but non-romantic Puck/Kurt)
Rating: NC-17 overall (R for this chapter)
Warnings: One a chapter by chapter basis! Disturbing themes, werewolves.
Length: 3,300 for this chapter, and over 48,500 overall.
Spoilers: This is an AU, so not really. But elements from the entire series thus far have been pulled in.
Story Summary: Werewolf AU. Tension is rising in the pack, and having the very-human Kurt Hummel come to visit his brother and boyfriend is putting a strain on everyone. Having Blaine and Kurt mate should help the problem, but the process proves to be more complicated - both physically and emotionally - than either of them could have imagined.
This Chapter: “The silence lasts for a few minutes. Comfortable and safe, the dual sound of their breathing filling each other’s ears. ”
Notes: I can't believe it's over, you guys. And I can't believe that one little prompt led to the creation of this beast! Thank you so much for coming along on this different-from-usual-but-so-much-fun journey with me. You are all complete rock stars, and thank you so much for your feedback and support! :D
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Epilogue
Six Months Later
The basement is dark and cramped, and the dim glow from its one dangling light fixture is not enough to permeate every shadow and corner. Although the room itself is large, the space is cramped with furniture draped in off-white bedsheets and towering stacks of cardboard boxes. The boxes themselves are all labelled in fading black sharpie. An occasional misplaced auto part can be seen amidst the mess.
From the doorway, Kurt can make out some of the writing scrawled across the brown cardboard in the dim light. ‘Lizzie’s Jewellery’ in his dad’s practically illegible scribble; ‘Chris’s Uniforms’ in Carole’s neat handwriting, clearly years old.
“When was the last time anyone went through all this?” asks Kurt, peering into the dark. A large box inscribed ‘Finn’s baby things’ sits just to the right of the basement door. “When we moved in here?”
“Nah,” says Burt, pausing to clear his throat against the dust. “A lot of this has been in storage for years longer. We mostly just combined it all and shoved it in here when we bought the house.”
“Don’t you want to get rid of any of it?”
“Some things it’s nice to hold on to, even if you don’t use them much. Now, I’m almost positive it’s just over here...” Burt moves toward one of the shapeless piles covered in white sheets, limping slightly as he steps over a sleeping bag that must have fallen down off one of the piles. Kurt follows behind him. “We didn’t need two when we all moved in together, and Carole and Finn’s was nicer. Ah, here we go.”
Burt pulls back the sheet, sending a flurry of dust into the air and revealing the loveseat underneath. The seams are beginning to fray in places, and its time in storage has left it with a strong smell of dust; it will have to be given a good clean tonight. But the burgundy is as deep and warm as Kurt remembers, and its cushions look just as squashy and comfortable as they were when he was small. The sight of it makes Kurt let out a small half-laugh as he remembers all of the shoddy forts he used to make out of its cushions, hiding underneath them to read Goosebumps or The Baby-sitters Club in paperback.
“It’s old,” adds Burt quickly, “and a bit small. And it isn’t designer or anything.”
“It’s perfect,” says Kurt, feeling a wide grin stretch across his face. “It’ll go so well with mom’s dresser. And it should fit perfectly in the apartment!”
“Yeah, you definitely couldn’t fit a proper couch in there. It’s tiny.”
“It’s New York,” counters Kurt, affronted. “Of course it’s tiny.”
Burt chuckles and wraps an arm around Kurt’s shoulder, pulling him in close and giving him a squeeze.
Kurt doesn’t quite fit there as well as he used to. He’s as tall as his dad, now; maybe even taller. The memory of his father towering over him, a seemingly-indestructible fortress of gentle strength and warmth, looms large in his mind. But Burt’s embrace is as loving and comforting as ever: that, at least, is unchanged by time. Kurt leans into the warmth of Burt’s shoulder and breathes in his father’s familiar smell. No name brand soap, and Old Spice, and motor oil. The rough material of Burt’s work shirt is scratchy against his cheek.
The embrace lasts slightly longer than it normally would, and when Burt finally pulls away he coughs. Sniffs loudly. Kurt gives him a minute, waiting for the tightness in his own throat to fade.
“Now,” says Kurt, once almost a full minute has passed. “Do you feel up to helping me get this upstairs?”
“Hey, I’m still your old man,” insists Burt, clapping a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “Of course I do.”
The loveseat is fairly light, and getting it upstairs isn’t too difficult - although Kurt does take most of its weight as the two of them haul it up the basement steps. When they reach the first floor landing and set it down, he takes quick stock of his father. Burt is slightly out of breath, but not dangerously so. He doesn’t seem to be favouring his leg any more than usual. His dad removes his ball cap and swipes a hand across his forehead.
“You found it!” cries Carole, coming around the corner. She takes a proper look at the loveseat, then lets out a happy sigh. “Oh, Kurt, you’re so right. It’s going to look wonderful in your new place.”
His stepmother smiles warmly at the two of them before blinking, hard, and inhaling deeply through her nose. For just a split second, something faraway and wistful comes into her expression. She presses her lips together tightly, and Kurt can practically read the what-might-have-beens and never-again-memories in her expression. After a few moments, however, Carole is smiling again. She leans forward and runs a hand -the one with only two fingers - through Kurt’s hair absently.
“Your father and I are so proud of you,” she says. “Following your dreams like this... you’re going to take that city by storm.”
“New York isn’t going to know what hit it,” adds Burt, puffed up with pride. Kurt’s eyes are starting to sting, and he can feel a tightness in his chest.
“You’re sure,” says Kurt, words coming out in a rush. “You’re sure it’s okay. If I go. I won’t... I won’t be leaving you.”
The two of them exchange a look, and Burt wraps an arm around Carole’s waist.
“We’ll be fine, kiddo,” says Burt.
“Finn’s last e-mail helped,” adds Carole quietly into Burt’s shoulder.
Kurt reminds himself to thank his brother at the next available opportunity for whatever he wrote, because the two of them look... fine. Solid. Like they’re going to be okay. And it’s hard, because he knows that everything is going to change tomorrow. Everything is going to be different.
But at the same time, nothing is. Because even broken apart, stretched across thousands of miles, the four of them are still a family. There is a connection there that distance cannot break.
And at least, this time, the separation is voluntary.
Kurt glances up at the hallway clock, whose hands indicate that it is 6:07pm.
“I have to go finish boxing up the last couple of things in my room, and then I have to take a call,” says Kurt, but he cannot quite stop staring at the sight the two of them make together. Carole with that sad-but-proud smile on her face, and Burt with his arm wrapped protectively around her. He can tell by the slight movement in her arm that Carole is rubbing small circles into Burt’s back; she is small enough to tuck into his father’s shoulder in just the way he used to when he was younger.
There is so much love and support in the way they hold each other, standing in the hallway of their too-large house. And Kurt knows that they are, in fact, going to be fine.
“Dinner should be ready by 7:30,” says Carole. “After we’ve had a quick bite, we can get the loveseat and the last few boxes packed into the truck, all right?”
Kurt nods, and then leans forward and kisses her on the cheek. Her tiny hum of pleasure rings in his ears as he heads upstairs to his bedroom.
--
Most of Kurt’s bedroom is already tucked into boxes, but there are a few things left aside to deal with at the last minute. His toiletries, the last of his clothes. A couple of books he’ll be leaving behind, but hasn’t got around to sorting through yet. Kurt settles himself on the floor and begins to categorize the stack fo books - mostly assigned reading from English, children’s books he didn’t like or doesn’t remember, and young adult literature he is now ashamed to have enjoyed - into piles of ‘storage’ and ‘goodwill’.
His cell phone sits on the floor next to him, turned up to full volume.
By the time it finally rings, Kurt has managed to finish up with the books and has packed all but the most necessary-for-tomorrow-morning toiletries into a travel bag. He is sitting cross-legged on his still-made bed - a twin is all that will fit in the new apartment, and he and his dad are going to pick up some sheets for it once they reach the city - with a last few piles of clothes strewn around him. He answers after the second ring, noting that the time on his phone indicates 6:32pm.
“Hey, you,” says Kurt into the receiver.
“Hey,” replies Blaine, sounding slightly out of breath. His voice alone, even in that one syllable and with the tinny quality that the best cell coverage cannot get rid of, is enough to make Kurt’s head loll back against his pillow and a wide grin spread across his face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call earlier. The sitter was a bit late, and when she finally showed up I volunteered to take Beth so that Quinn could give her instructions in peace.”
The image of Blaine offering up his babysitting services in that slightly-too-eager way of his - as though he genuinely would rather be doing nothing else than hold a fussing child and waggle stuffed toys in front of her face - is enough to make Kurt laugh into the receiver.
“Hey, Beth is a handful and you know it,” Blaine says, jokingly defensive. “It’s not fair for anything that’s only four months old to have so much energy.” A pause. “She also seems to have developed an unhealthy fixation with my hair.”
“Mm,” agrees Kurt softly. “Your hair is quite remarkable.”
Kurt takes a deep breath, closes his eyes - and allows himself to really experience it. To feel it in the way that everyday life simply doesn’t permit. He allows the now ever-present echoes of Blaine to move from the edge of his mind to the forefront; to let the way he feels Blaine inside his head become the main focus instead of a warm background presence. Kurt lets himself bask in Blaine’s affection for Beth, in his gentleness and his excitement at having a child to hold and love and entertain. He feels Blaine’s apprehension at the sun, hanging low in the sky, and feels his own skin prickle in phantom anticipation.
And Kurt can feel Blaine’s love for him, too. Strong and deep and constant. Unrelenting and gentle, Kurt can feel the bond between them stretch across the distance. Made of something stronger than emotions, now.
He lets the way Blaine loves him wash over his entire body as he lies back on the bed; it makes him shiver. Kurt honestly cannot remember how they used to manage, being so far apart and not being able to feel each other like this. Like a physical presence within their bodies.
The silence lasts for a few minutes. Comfortable and safe, the dual sound of their breathing filling each other’s ears. Hundreds of miles away, Kurt knows that Blaine is doing the same thing he is.
“Sorry for not being able to be there today,” adds Kurt after a while, when he is finally willing to pull himself away from fixating on the warm, sweet presence of Blaine in his mind. “Having some random babysitter from town in the house must be pretty weird.”
“Don’t apologize!” Blaine chastises him. “You have to move tomorrow, and we’re all just grateful you’ve been able to be here for as many full moons as you have. Besides, I do believe that Quinn and Puck are spinning her a pretty convincing story. And it’s not like we’ll be able to have you pop up to look after the baby once we’re in Idaho, anyways.” There is a brief pause. “It’s so weird that we’re both moving house at the same time.”
“Yeah,” agrees Kurt, chuckling. “It’s too bad. I’m going to miss our monthly playdates.” Kurt stares up at the ceiling, white and speckled and familiar. It makes him sad, somehow. “You’re all going to be so far away.”
“I know,” admits Blaine, voice faltering for a second. Kurt can practically see his expression; thick eyebrows pulling together, hazel eyes softening. Yellow, Kurt reminds himself, glancing outside at the dipping sun. They’re yellow right now.
“We’ve stayed here too long as it is, though,” Blaine continues. “There was a warning issued a few days ago against travelling through these woods. ‘Large wild animals’ have been observed. It’s time, and we’re thinking we can be out of the motel by the end of the week. We knew the pack would be heading West eventually, and I’m just - just glad that we did this. You know. Before.”
“Me too.” Blaine hums softly in pleasure in Kurt’s ear. “Plus,” adds Kurt, taking on a playfully haughty tone. “It’s only fair, since I’m going to have the time of my life in New York. Rubbing elbows with the stars, working for my big break...”
“If anyone can make it, it’s you,” murmurs Blaine, and there is such certainty in his voice that it makes Kurt’s whole body feel warm.
Kurt licks his lips, then looks at his still-unpacked bedside clock. It reads 6:41. “How long do we have?”
“Only a little while,” says Blaine apologetically. “Puck’s gathering everyone up now. I just wanted to say goodnight, and good luck for tomorrow from all of us. Everyone’s going to miss seeing you so much.”
“I know,” says Kurt, and he does.
Because after that night, there had been no more opposition. No more anger.
He’d known that Puck was going to invoke the rights ever since that night in the lobby, well-worn books spread around them and pack members all clustered around in what had become a rare moment of calm. Because their family had been falling apart, struggling and fighting and clawing, and a solution simply had to be found. Even high off his mind off Blaine’s blood, Puck’s decision - and its aftermath - had been no surprise.
The night that he and Blaine became mates is a blur of blood and pleasure in his mind; gentle hands holding him so carefully in place, pushing his hair out of his eyes and rubbing small circles into arms. Of growing pleasure, and harsh refusal, and desperate and unthinking bliss. Feeling full with the knowledge of belonging, of being loved.
It had all worked out so well, in the end. The rights had tied Kurt and the pack together in a way that no one could deny; deep and instinctual on a level that none could question. There was no need for anger or opposition, after that. Just acceptance. Another member of the family, to be loved and teased and taunted.
And Kurt would do anything - absolutely anything - for his family.
“At least I’m used to ten hour drives,” jokes Kurt, glancing out the window. The town that he has lived in almost all of his life lies sprawled outside, quaint and rural and conservative. Full of memories: some good, some unspeakably bad. Full of familiar places. The high school. The coffee shop. His mother’s grave.
It’s time for him to leave, too. But at least he’ll be bringing something familiar with him when he goes. Gentle and loving and always there, in the back of his mind.
“How are your parents holding up?” Blaine asks, and there is something so soft and sweet in his voice. Kurt can practically imagine him; curled up in bed or in an armchair in the lobby, curls falling into his face and a little smile tugging lazily at the corners of his mouth.
“Well, I think. All things considered. My dad... he knows I’ve always wanted to do this. And he’s driving me tomorrow, so it isn’t the end just yet. We’re staying in a hotel, then getting me moved into the new place the next day.”
“Send me pictures as soon as you get there?”
“Of course.”
“And I fully expect a Skype tour.”
“Of course, Blaine.” There’s another moment of soft, comfortable silence. “How’s the pack dealing with the new girl?”
“Lauren?” Blaine’s voice immediately tightens into something very determinedly polite-sounding, and Kurt can barely hold himself back from laughing. Before they found her a few weeks ago, Lauren had been living alone and wild for over a year. Despite her hackled, defensive attitude, Puck had welcomed her to the pack with open arms. “She’s... adjusting.”
Kurt rather suspects that Blaine finds Lauren’s force of personality a bit grating.
Personally, Kurt finds her hilarious.
“Puck loves her, though,” adds Blaine, sounding resigned. “Says she’s a perfect fit with us. So she’s probably here to stay.”
“He does have a good idea every once and a while,” smiles Kurt. He sighs into the receiver, and imagines his breath traveling to brush across Blaine’s ear hundreds of miles away.
They sit like that for a long while. Quiet, and calm, and breathing into the phone. Being together.
“I love you,” comes Blaine’s sudden voice over the phone. Husky and real, and hearing the words aloud still makes Kurt shiver pleasantly. He can hear Blaine exchanging words with someone in the background, and after a moment Blaine speaks again. “I have to go. Call me when you and your dad get settled into the hotel tomorrow?”
“Of course,” says Kurt. “I love you, too.” He has never been more sure of anything in his life.
“Goodnight, Kurt.” Brimming with affection, and care, and assurance.
They hang up with a click.
Kurt takes a deep breath. Then he puts the phone down, gets up off the bed, and goes over to close his bedroom window. There is no need for the neighbours to have any more reason to give their house sideways looks.
For the next twenty-eight minutes, Kurt busies himself around the room as best he can. Taping down boxes, straightening the sheets of his bed. Bagging up the clothes that no longer fit him after his growth spurt and labelling them as being destined for goodwill.
He can feel Blaine buzzing at the back of his mind with apprehension.
Kurt knows the exact moment when the moon comes out in Missouri, because that is when the pain hits.
It’s only a shadow, a ghost of what Blaine must be feeling - but it sends him to the floor regardless, screaming and sobbing and gasping into his hands. It feels as though his insides are twisting, as though his skin is on fire. Kurt clutches his stomach and sobs, unable to think, unable to speak. Only able to feel agony as it sears through him.
It isn’t real, he knows it isn’t real. But tears still streak down his face as he lies sprawled on the floor, mouth wide open and gaping as his body contorts itself into grotesque twists. Crying out as it gnaws his insides and splits him apart. Kurt knows his parents must be able to hear him downstairs, knows that it must take all their willpower not to come upstairs and make sure he is all right.
But the pain doesn’t belong to them. It belongs to him and Blaine. Theirs to share, theirs to endure.
And so Kurt rides it out. Lets his body feel torn apart and re-arranged, knowing that hundreds of miles away his lover is being broken apart. Feels Blaine at the back of his mind, changing and twisting and snarling, less and less human with every passing second. Kurt lets it burn through him, fill him up, and break him down.
Because it makes them both stronger, in the end. The separation, the agony. Makes them better, and brighter, and deeper inside one another’s minds.
Kurt presses his face into the soft carpet and makes the pain his own.
When it ends, a few minutes later, Kurt lies gasping and trembling on his bedroom floor. Soaked in a cold sweat, he feels Blaine - not Blaine, the Wolf - wake up.
And hundreds of miles away, the Wolf begins to howl.
Kurt laughs, arches up into the sensation, and lets the undiluted joy of freedom wash over him like a wave.
The End