The Raging Silence. (Sequel) Chapter One: A Gathering Storm.
Title: The Raging Silence (1/around4) (Part of my future Baby universe ‘verse, previous parts begin here)
Chapter One: A Gathering Storm
Pairing: Puck/Kurt
Rating: PG-13 atm, overall probably 15 to be on the safe side
Other characters: Burt, a few OCs and occasional cameos from Glee members, but Puck and Kurt are the main focus throughout.
Genre: Angst, horror
Summary: Kurt remembers the time when he was excited about their next baby. Things get a little fuzzy after that, a confusing mess of memories and dreams he would rather forget.
This is the next part of my Baby ‘verse, but set several years after the other parts I have done so far. This is not another sweet instillation; this is angst galore with little redeeming fluff. Sorry. I promise there are happy parts to follow in the next mini-series I have planned to follow on from this one.
A/N: The thriller elements of this fic were inspired by a combination of several horror films I have watched throughout my life, most notably, The Haunting in Connecticut, Stir of Echoes and The Orphanage. You may recognise certain aspects of the plot if you have seen these films, but I have not followed any of them religiously and neither they nor the fic will be spoiled if you haven’t.
Warnings: Mpreg, horror of the psychological nature, but I don’t profess to be an expert in this field.
I hope it’s convincing and creepy enough for any horror fans, but I don’t think you should be too worried if horror isn’t your thing but you liked the previous parts. This chapter is pretty tame- I do intend for it to get a bit scarier :D
***
The sun beats down on the crown of Kurt’s head as he struggles out of the car, sweat sliding down the back of his neck to dampen his shirt. A welcome breeze ruffles his hair as he untangles his arm from the safety belt. He leans back into the car, hot leather sticking to his skin- and scoops up a pile of papers and a nail gun.
Under the sun’s heavy gaze he wanders the streets of this familiar neighbourhood, stopping at every other tree, every notice board, to tack up another sheet. As the sun drops further through the sky, the papers in his arms dwindle until he finds himself with just one left.
He’s almost back where he started; he nails the final sheet to a tree, smoothing the paper down with his free hand. From here, he can clearly see the house, a forlorn, sagging structure, empty now, just as it has been since they left.
Kurt retreats back to his car, stowing the nail gun safely in his boot. There is only one last thing he has to do- what he has really come here for. A car is in the driveway of a house several doors up; he is glad. He is in no hurry to be here again after today.
He presses the doorbell and waits. Through the screen door he can see green carpet and faded white wallpaper, decorated with little pink flowers. A brand new Welcome mat crunches cheerfully beneath his feet. It’s a middle aged woman that answers; she has dark blonde hair, done up a scruffy top-knot, and she smiles widely as she opens the door. Her looks have faded, but he can see that she was beautiful, once.
“Can I help you with something, darlin’?”
Kurt returns her warmth as much as he is able, inclining his head.
“My name is Kurt Puckerman- I used to live at number 12.” He begins, glancing again at the worn house. She follows his gaze, and he watches with something akin to fascination as her smile fades, realisation painting pity across her features.
Before she can speak, Kurt asks; “Could I come in for a moment? I like to talk with all the new neighbours.”
“Of course!” She steps aside hastily to let him pass, before leading him into her sitting room. Cardboard boxes litter the hallway, piled perilously, labelled with thick marker pen. Kurt dodges them artfully, taking the seat that she offers.
“I’m Connie. Connie Cross.” She presses her fingers into his palm for a moment, as though her fleeting touch could somehow assuage a little of his grief. It’s a futile gesture, but nether-the-less, Kurt is grateful for the attempt.
She offers him a drink; Kurt accepts a lemonade. For a while, they sip the sweet liquid in silence. And when Kurt is halfway through the glass, he begins.
“This is a good neighbourhood- a good place for children. That’s why my husband and I moved here. We were a young family; and we had outgrown living with my father, in Lima. It’s not far from here- you’ve probably passed the turnings to it on your way to the city.”
She nods, her steely blue gaze wandering over his drawn face.
He glances out of the window, watching as small beetle crawls leisurely across the glass pane. “I was pregnant with our second child when my husband first found the house. It was practically perfect in every way.”
Kurt remembers the time when he was excited about their next baby. Things get a little fuzzy after that, a confusing mess of memories and dreams he would rather forget.
+++
“Open your eyes.”
Kurt sees nothing at first, blinded by the bright autumn light. Puck’s hands drop from where they’ve been resting over his face to settle on his shoulders, a reassuring weight as Kurt’s vision comes back into focus. The house solidifies in front of him- a modest, ramshackle affair, in need of a good scrub and lick of paint but-
“This is exactly it.” Kurt whispers, almost afraid it will slip away if he so much as breathes too loudly. Puck doesn’t seem to hear him through, because he launches into an explanation;
“I know it needs some work - alright - a lot of work, but we’ve still got time, before she comes along, and I think it’s just the right size for us, it’s even got the apple tree you wanted…”
“Noah-“ Kurt twists underneath his touch, so they’re face to face- so that Puck can see the giddy excitement that must be written all over his. “This is exactly it.” He repeats. “This is the house from my dreams, you found it!”
---
“So, you thought of a name yet?” asks Burt, announcing his presence as he joins Kurt on the back porch.
Kurt shakes his head, tearing his gaze away from where Puck is valiantly trying to teach their three year old son how to throw a football properly.
“Not yet.”
Burt sighs, watching the label on his beer slowly peel away, as though it might somehow hold all the answers to the meaning of the universe.
“I thought you were all gearing up to move to New York, not some little town a couple of miles from here.” He finally says, and Kurt can hear the disappointment dripping from every word.
It takes all of Kurt’s, not inconsiderable, acting skills to keep the smile on his face. “It’s a lovely house, Dad. I know you’ll like it. And we will go to New York. Just… not yet.”
“Yeah, and how are you planning on doing that, with two kids, a mortgage, and no college qualifications? Jesus Christ, Kurt, you’re… You’re barely twenty years old.”
Kurt turns away again, so that Burt won’t see the gathering tears.
“I’m sorry that my life hasn’t worked out the way that you wanted.” He grips onto the balcony, fingers biting into the wood. Oscar’s gleeful squeals ring out, clear through the evening air.
”I never meant to let you down.”
Kurt stumbles across the garden, scrubbing hastily at his face, uncaring for once about the proper way to remove tears in order to minimise the likelihood of deep-set wrinkles.
“Mama!” Oscar is always delighted for any excuse to cuddle- immediately making grabbing gestures with his podgy little hands. Kurt is grateful for it- he scoops his baby up, pressing gentle kisses into his downy hair.
“You alright, babe?” Puck flops onto the grass, thoroughly worn out.
Kurt doesn’t answer, nestling closer to Oscar’s soft scent. I don’t regret a minute, he thinks, catching sight of Burt’s retreating frame out of the corner of his eye. Not a single minute.
+++
Kurt wanders through the empty rooms, the floorboards infirm beneath his feet. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle with unease.
“Noah?”
But there is no sound; not a single noise.
“Oscar? Scarlett? Where are you?”
A sickening crunch cuts through the silence. Kurt scrambles backwards to reveal a broken doll, porcelain horribly mutilated by his weight. But Scarlett is much too young for dolls like this. Isn’t she?
He whips around at the sound of childish laugher, but there is only smoke and emptiness.
“Where are you?!”
Kurt wakes with a piercing scream, clawing at the bedcovers, shaking, and no amount of comfort Puck can give will calm him, not until the sun begins to rise.
+++
“What about, Scarlett?”
Kurt fumbles with the dish he was holding, dropping it into the sink, unconcerned by the loud noise it creates. He turns to stare at Puck, wide-eyed and somehow, powerless.
“Why? Why that name? Where did you get it from?”
Puck just looks at him, moving from his lopsided stance in the doorframe to join Kurt by the window. Then finally, he says; “I just figured it fitted. You know how I like the word scar. I thought-“
Kurt groans quietly, covering his eyes with one dampened wrist. “I’m going insane. The house is one thing, but. Noah, I know we used to laugh at Rachel, and I feel ridiculous just asking this… do you think she might be right? Do you think some people have… psychic abilities?”
He lets his arm drop to his side so he can gauge Puck’s reaction. The confliction on his husband’s face forces him to elaborate.
“Because that was her name, in my dream. Scarlett.”
---
“There must be some mistake.” Kurt frowns, but the doctor just smiles, shaking his head.
“You’re not the first to have these feelings, but the screen rarely lies.”
“No- you don’t understand- I have these dreams-“
“I’m afraid you’re definitely having another boy.” The doctor scribbles something down on his clipboard, the condescending smile still fixed on his lips, but his tone is firm.
Bewildered, Kurt turns to Puck, who only shrugs.
“But that’s still okay, right babe?”
Kurt turns to the screen again, watches as their baby- their son, slumbers. Hesitantly, he presses the fingers of his free hand to the monitor.
“Of course.”
---
“Let go of me! She’s stolen him, Noah, don’t you see? She was mad because I wouldn’t listen to her and she’s taken him, she’s taken our baby!”
“What- Kurt, slow down. Who-“
“Scarlett!”
Puck takes a deep breath, before slowly pressing a hand to Kurt’s cheek. His wedding ring is icy cool against the heated flush of Kurt’s skin. “It wasn’t real, Kurt. We’re having a boy. She isn’t real.”
“Noah-“
“It was a bad dream- a really bad dream, but, it’s over now.”
Kurt presses his forehead against Puck’s t-shirt, and the familiar wall of muscle is enough to sooth him. For now.
---
Chapter One: A Gathering Storm
Pairing: Puck/Kurt
Rating: PG-13 atm, overall probably 15 to be on the safe side
Other characters: Burt, a few OCs and occasional cameos from Glee members, but Puck and Kurt are the main focus throughout.
Genre: Angst, horror
Summary: Kurt remembers the time when he was excited about their next baby. Things get a little fuzzy after that, a confusing mess of memories and dreams he would rather forget.
This is the next part of my Baby ‘verse, but set several years after the other parts I have done so far. This is not another sweet instillation; this is angst galore with little redeeming fluff. Sorry. I promise there are happy parts to follow in the next mini-series I have planned to follow on from this one.
A/N: The thriller elements of this fic were inspired by a combination of several horror films I have watched throughout my life, most notably, The Haunting in Connecticut, Stir of Echoes and The Orphanage. You may recognise certain aspects of the plot if you have seen these films, but I have not followed any of them religiously and neither they nor the fic will be spoiled if you haven’t.
Warnings: Mpreg, horror of the psychological nature, but I don’t profess to be an expert in this field.
I hope it’s convincing and creepy enough for any horror fans, but I don’t think you should be too worried if horror isn’t your thing but you liked the previous parts. This chapter is pretty tame- I do intend for it to get a bit scarier :D
***
The sun beats down on the crown of Kurt’s head as he struggles out of the car, sweat sliding down the back of his neck to dampen his shirt. A welcome breeze ruffles his hair as he untangles his arm from the safety belt. He leans back into the car, hot leather sticking to his skin- and scoops up a pile of papers and a nail gun.
Under the sun’s heavy gaze he wanders the streets of this familiar neighbourhood, stopping at every other tree, every notice board, to tack up another sheet. As the sun drops further through the sky, the papers in his arms dwindle until he finds himself with just one left.
He’s almost back where he started; he nails the final sheet to a tree, smoothing the paper down with his free hand. From here, he can clearly see the house, a forlorn, sagging structure, empty now, just as it has been since they left.
Kurt retreats back to his car, stowing the nail gun safely in his boot. There is only one last thing he has to do- what he has really come here for. A car is in the driveway of a house several doors up; he is glad. He is in no hurry to be here again after today.
He presses the doorbell and waits. Through the screen door he can see green carpet and faded white wallpaper, decorated with little pink flowers. A brand new Welcome mat crunches cheerfully beneath his feet. It’s a middle aged woman that answers; she has dark blonde hair, done up a scruffy top-knot, and she smiles widely as she opens the door. Her looks have faded, but he can see that she was beautiful, once.
“Can I help you with something, darlin’?”
Kurt returns her warmth as much as he is able, inclining his head.
“My name is Kurt Puckerman- I used to live at number 12.” He begins, glancing again at the worn house. She follows his gaze, and he watches with something akin to fascination as her smile fades, realisation painting pity across her features.
Before she can speak, Kurt asks; “Could I come in for a moment? I like to talk with all the new neighbours.”
“Of course!” She steps aside hastily to let him pass, before leading him into her sitting room. Cardboard boxes litter the hallway, piled perilously, labelled with thick marker pen. Kurt dodges them artfully, taking the seat that she offers.
“I’m Connie. Connie Cross.” She presses her fingers into his palm for a moment, as though her fleeting touch could somehow assuage a little of his grief. It’s a futile gesture, but nether-the-less, Kurt is grateful for the attempt.
She offers him a drink; Kurt accepts a lemonade. For a while, they sip the sweet liquid in silence. And when Kurt is halfway through the glass, he begins.
“This is a good neighbourhood- a good place for children. That’s why my husband and I moved here. We were a young family; and we had outgrown living with my father, in Lima. It’s not far from here- you’ve probably passed the turnings to it on your way to the city.”
She nods, her steely blue gaze wandering over his drawn face.
He glances out of the window, watching as small beetle crawls leisurely across the glass pane. “I was pregnant with our second child when my husband first found the house. It was practically perfect in every way.”
Kurt remembers the time when he was excited about their next baby. Things get a little fuzzy after that, a confusing mess of memories and dreams he would rather forget.
+++
“Open your eyes.”
Kurt sees nothing at first, blinded by the bright autumn light. Puck’s hands drop from where they’ve been resting over his face to settle on his shoulders, a reassuring weight as Kurt’s vision comes back into focus. The house solidifies in front of him- a modest, ramshackle affair, in need of a good scrub and lick of paint but-
“This is exactly it.” Kurt whispers, almost afraid it will slip away if he so much as breathes too loudly. Puck doesn’t seem to hear him through, because he launches into an explanation;
“I know it needs some work - alright - a lot of work, but we’ve still got time, before she comes along, and I think it’s just the right size for us, it’s even got the apple tree you wanted…”
“Noah-“ Kurt twists underneath his touch, so they’re face to face- so that Puck can see the giddy excitement that must be written all over his. “This is exactly it.” He repeats. “This is the house from my dreams, you found it!”
---
“So, you thought of a name yet?” asks Burt, announcing his presence as he joins Kurt on the back porch.
Kurt shakes his head, tearing his gaze away from where Puck is valiantly trying to teach their three year old son how to throw a football properly.
“Not yet.”
Burt sighs, watching the label on his beer slowly peel away, as though it might somehow hold all the answers to the meaning of the universe.
“I thought you were all gearing up to move to New York, not some little town a couple of miles from here.” He finally says, and Kurt can hear the disappointment dripping from every word.
It takes all of Kurt’s, not inconsiderable, acting skills to keep the smile on his face. “It’s a lovely house, Dad. I know you’ll like it. And we will go to New York. Just… not yet.”
“Yeah, and how are you planning on doing that, with two kids, a mortgage, and no college qualifications? Jesus Christ, Kurt, you’re… You’re barely twenty years old.”
Kurt turns away again, so that Burt won’t see the gathering tears.
“I’m sorry that my life hasn’t worked out the way that you wanted.” He grips onto the balcony, fingers biting into the wood. Oscar’s gleeful squeals ring out, clear through the evening air.
”I never meant to let you down.”
Kurt stumbles across the garden, scrubbing hastily at his face, uncaring for once about the proper way to remove tears in order to minimise the likelihood of deep-set wrinkles.
“Mama!” Oscar is always delighted for any excuse to cuddle- immediately making grabbing gestures with his podgy little hands. Kurt is grateful for it- he scoops his baby up, pressing gentle kisses into his downy hair.
“You alright, babe?” Puck flops onto the grass, thoroughly worn out.
Kurt doesn’t answer, nestling closer to Oscar’s soft scent. I don’t regret a minute, he thinks, catching sight of Burt’s retreating frame out of the corner of his eye. Not a single minute.
+++
Kurt wanders through the empty rooms, the floorboards infirm beneath his feet. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle with unease.
“Noah?”
But there is no sound; not a single noise.
“Oscar? Scarlett? Where are you?”
A sickening crunch cuts through the silence. Kurt scrambles backwards to reveal a broken doll, porcelain horribly mutilated by his weight. But Scarlett is much too young for dolls like this. Isn’t she?
He whips around at the sound of childish laugher, but there is only smoke and emptiness.
“Where are you?!”
Kurt wakes with a piercing scream, clawing at the bedcovers, shaking, and no amount of comfort Puck can give will calm him, not until the sun begins to rise.
+++
“What about, Scarlett?”
Kurt fumbles with the dish he was holding, dropping it into the sink, unconcerned by the loud noise it creates. He turns to stare at Puck, wide-eyed and somehow, powerless.
“Why? Why that name? Where did you get it from?”
Puck just looks at him, moving from his lopsided stance in the doorframe to join Kurt by the window. Then finally, he says; “I just figured it fitted. You know how I like the word scar. I thought-“
Kurt groans quietly, covering his eyes with one dampened wrist. “I’m going insane. The house is one thing, but. Noah, I know we used to laugh at Rachel, and I feel ridiculous just asking this… do you think she might be right? Do you think some people have… psychic abilities?”
He lets his arm drop to his side so he can gauge Puck’s reaction. The confliction on his husband’s face forces him to elaborate.
“Because that was her name, in my dream. Scarlett.”
---
“There must be some mistake.” Kurt frowns, but the doctor just smiles, shaking his head.
“You’re not the first to have these feelings, but the screen rarely lies.”
“No- you don’t understand- I have these dreams-“
“I’m afraid you’re definitely having another boy.” The doctor scribbles something down on his clipboard, the condescending smile still fixed on his lips, but his tone is firm.
Bewildered, Kurt turns to Puck, who only shrugs.
“But that’s still okay, right babe?”
Kurt turns to the screen again, watches as their baby- their son, slumbers. Hesitantly, he presses the fingers of his free hand to the monitor.
“Of course.”
---
“Let go of me! She’s stolen him, Noah, don’t you see? She was mad because I wouldn’t listen to her and she’s taken him, she’s taken our baby!”
“What- Kurt, slow down. Who-“
“Scarlett!”
Puck takes a deep breath, before slowly pressing a hand to Kurt’s cheek. His wedding ring is icy cool against the heated flush of Kurt’s skin. “It wasn’t real, Kurt. We’re having a boy. She isn’t real.”
“Noah-“
“It was a bad dream- a really bad dream, but, it’s over now.”
Kurt presses his forehead against Puck’s t-shirt, and the familiar wall of muscle is enough to sooth him. For now.
---