A Glee Christmas Carol (1/2)
Title: A Glee Christmas Carol
Author: mothergoddamn & rebness
Pairing/characters: Kurt/Blaine, Santana, Brittany, Finn and Rachel.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Marley's in it. Sorry.
Summary: On the Eve of Christmas, Kurt is shown the error of his Christmas hating ways by some very familiar faces. And Marley. God, I know.
A/N: Hello, this story was written before 4.10, so view it as AU from 4.09. Also, any similarities are from the psychic powers we both apparently hold. In fact, in our fic 'It's A Wonderful Life Without Finn Hudson' Rory was our angel a whole year before this aired. Damn right! In other news- we also have started wearing yellow flat caps, avoiding the sun and removing inflections from our speaking.
A Glee Christmas Carol
Part I
'Bah, humbug!' Kurt swore under his breath as a gaudy bauble dropped from his clasp and clattered to the floor. 'If there was any justice in the world, that thing would have shattered into a million pieces and the impact have taken out anything within a three mile radious.'
'Kurt, cheer up, it's Christmas!' said Rachel, nudging at his shoulder. 'And isn't it great to be back in McKinley again?'
'Actually, I'm a little worried about everyone's co-dependency on this school,' muttered Kurt, selecting a green (green!) snowman decoration from the box and glancing over at Santana and Quinn. 'Most people just, like, leave. I can't imagine the police reports after this lot had to graduate Kindergarten.'
'Oh, stop sulking.' Rachel pointed a piece of tinsel at him. 'You love it, you know you do.'
'Being in the same room as Blaine after everything that happened and trying to make this-- this-- I believe the term is tree but I remain unconvinced-- look festive isn't my idea of fun, Rachel.' He turned and sighed at the door of the locked choir room. 'Especially in a hallway.'
'But I thought you two were taking steps to being friends again?'
'Baby steps! Not Finn steps!' Kurt looked over his shoulder to wear Blaine was staring at him with eyes that were in danger of taking over his face. 'I don't know-- I'm getting there but I'm just not feeling the Christmas vibe this year.'
Rachel sighed heavily. 'I know that it's hard, believe me I know. But Christmas is about togetherness, being with those you care about.'
'I thought that was what Hannukah was about.' Kurt arched an eyebrow. 'You made me buy you eight presents, Rachel, eight. You can stop hinting about that rare Streisand LP, too. You can't appropriate every passing holiday just to fill the gaps in your music collection.'
'Well,' said Rachel flinging her hair over her shoulder. 'Someone just got uninvited from my Mōdraniht party.' Her expression softened. 'Look, Kurt, I'm glad you two are talking again, really, but maybe you both need to talk about something real. Alone.'
Kurt pressed his lips together and focused his energy on untangling the almost satanic knotted string of lights in his hand. He could feel Rachel watching him, studying him, and awaiting his reply but he just couldn't. Every time he thought he was becoming stronger about what had became of him and Blaine, a moment like this would suddenly occur and gnaw at his heart. Okay, yes, when Finn had asked the old gang to drop by and try and bring some Christmas cheer to the dejected glee club he had thought that it would have been no problem, that he could breeze in and everything else would click into place. But seeing Blaine, so eager and excited to see him, had affected him more than he was willing to admit.
He had loved Christmas in years past, but how was he to embrace its spirit when Blaine had broken his heart like one of those dire little baubles and when Finn was playing Jingle Bell Rock incessantly, and not even the Mean Girls version?
'Jingle bells swing and jinnnnngle bells ring--'
Ah, yes. That. Finn was now trying out the Whitney Houston version of that wretched song, attempting to hold the note in his braying donkey way.
Kurt winced as his stepbrother stomped over to him, making the tree decorations bounce as if he were a particularly unfashionable t-rex.
'Aw, what a great tree!' said Finn cheerfully.
'Really?'
'Yeah, all those little green Santas -- it's cool. It's like a Christmas/Men in Black mash-up.' Finn considered, then pulled out his phone. 'Siri, remember this: Christmas/Men in Black mash-up.'
'Let me think about that,' answered Siri. 'No.'
'God, I'm so sick of arguing with this thing.' Finn shoved the cell into his a back pocket. 'Anyway, what's up with you, man? You've been scowling all morning. Seriously, Kurt, you've got to let this go! At least until New Year's. Tis the season!'
'You're really going to lecture me about being grumpy at Christmas when Blaine broke my heart? Oh, and thank you for speaking to him about that, by the way, you know, taking my side...'
'But I didn't.'
Kurt glared. 'I know! But what I'm saying -- here, you put this on top of the tree -- is that you're pretending it doesn't matter. If Rachel was up in your face with puppy dog eyes every five minutes, your mood would-- oh, Rachel.'
She appeared from behind the tree, her eyes as wide open and innocent-looking as Bambi's. Kurt knew the look well; he refused to bend to its power. Luckily for him, she turned the beam of her gaze from him and directed it full-on at Finn, who took a step back.
'Whoah.'
Kurt smiled. 'Now do you see?'
Rachel opened her mouth to commence her well-rehearsed Christmas breakup redux speech to Finn (of course, segueing into a heartbreaking rendition of Last Christmas - she and Kurt had sourced a brooch she could stroke suggestively) when they were rudely interrupted.
'Hummel, I need fifty bucks.' Santana pushed past Rachel and held out a hand.
'We've left now, Santana, I don't owe you any protection money.'
'What? No, I already got that off Berry. Listen, I need to do an errand run for an actual star for the top of this tree rather than--' she pointed up at the remaining cardboard of a toilet roll that had been painted yellow. '...well, that.' She saw his sceptical look and jutted her chin. 'I need gas, too, dummy. Plus, services rendered, sales tax and I know you New Yorker types like to tip big.' On seeing he was unmoved, she rolled her eyes. 'Come on, Kurt, it's Christmas.'
'I-- forgot to bring my wallet. Add it to my tab.' Kurt turned from her, still catching a muttered curse aimed his way, before she stomped off, Brittany in tow.
'I gave her ten dollars, already,' said Blaine, appearing at his side. 'She told me it was a fine for wearing chinos in her presence.' He smiled sheepishly. 'Hey, Kurt.'
'Hey.' Kurt groaned inwardly at the blush he could feel rising to his cheeks. 'It's, uh, nice to see you.'
'You, too! Great! Fantastic! Real neat.' Blaine bit his lip and muttered something that sounded like stupid under his breath. 'Nice. It's nice to see you, too. You look great by the way. Healthy.'
'Oh-- thanks?'
'So...' Blaine placed his hands behind his back, popping up and down on his toes.
'We can still be friends, Blaine. We can still have a conversation.'
Blaine nodded eagerly. 'Oh, good. Because I've missed you, Kurt. Sincerely. I put my words down in song--'
He held up a hand. 'I forgot quite how much things in McKinley are resolved in song. You should try doing that on the 6, see how far that gets you.' He rubbed his arm, remembering. 'But save your song for a year when I feel like it.'
'So you do see a future--'
'Blaine, are you going to help me decorate this tree or not?'
'Oh, yes!'
Kurt couldn't help giving a begrudgingly fond smile as Blaine set about decorating the tree. They worked in silence, and Kurt marvelled at how his ex was always so good-natured about things, so enthusiastic. He never approached things half-heartedly, but jumped right in--
Like cheating, he thought sourly, and his good mood dissipated.
Blaine seemed to sense his shift in mood, and so didn't speak until they were done decorating and Kurt felt more composed. Only then did he speak: 'Kurt, Christmas is about so many things, and yet only one thing.'
Kurt nodded sagely. He pulled away from the tree to consider the decorations. 'Wait, by one thing, do you mean fashion or presents? Or fashion presents?'
Blaine sighed. 'No, no. Don't be flippant.'
'How dare you! I'm never flippant about fashion. Apart from that one time and that's because flippancy was in during the second week of June 2011.'
'I mean, Christmas is about giving, and charity.'
'That's two things.'
'No, not really.'
'Wait,' said Kurt, taking out his cell. 'I'll just look it up--'
'No! My point is, it's only special if you do something for other people. It's the season of goodwill, isn't it?'
Kurt cast him a tolerant look. 'Don't throw that on me now. I told you even before we were dating and you were a cheating cheater that cheated that I don't do-- that.'
Blaine glanced down at his crotch and reddened. 'No! I didn't mean that. Well, not really. What I meant was -- look, come with me to the New Directions with No Direction benefit.
Kurt froze. 'Excuse me?'
'I know, Hunter isn't fantastic with the-- uh-- titles. It's an event on Christmas Eve to raise money so we can have somewhere to have rehearsals. The Warblers thought it up.' Blaine beamed. 'I know they beat us at sectionals and all but in the spirit of Christmas, I guess. All of us are going and-- I thought that maybe you'd like to-- uh-- I mean only if you want to-- hmm-- sing a duet with me?'
Kurt blinked. 'And Sebastian's going to be there?'
'Sebastian? Well, I guess, he is a Warbler and--'
'And all the others who stood idly by while he tried to blind you? The others who stole our trophy? And good God, sang Flo Rida at an innocent crowd of people?' Kurt crossed his arms. 'Those people? And to top it all off, you want me to sing with you?' Kurt laughed bitterly. 'I don't think so.'
'But I thought-- you know for old times that--' Blaine held his hands in front of him, playing idly with a bauble. 'It's Christmas, Kurt.'
Kurt threw up his hands. 'People keep saying that to me! Like it's an automatic pass for everything! It's just another day, Blaine! No more important than any other day except in how much we all convince ourselves it actually matters!' He could feel the others turning to him as his voice rose, but he couldn't bring himself to care. 'And if you honestly think I'm going to show up at a charity show thrown by the Warblers, after everything they did, than you have another think coming.' He turned to the others. 'And I can't believe that you all would fall for it.'
'Kurt, what's got into you?' said Rachel, her eyes narrowed in concern. 'It's for a really good cause.'
'Really?' Kurt raised his eyebrows. 'Gangnam Style is something we need to preserve, is it?'
'It's not just about that,' protested Joe. 'It's a way to connect, to focus on a creative output.'
'Oh, right. I forgot! Are there not social network sites? Are there not hipster photography apps?' Kurt placed his hands on his hips. 'You know what, I tried. I tried to get into the spirit of Christmas but I just can't.'
'You're being really mean right now,' said the new blonde girl cheerleader with the ugly skinny ponytail. 'I like it.'
'No, I'm not being mean,' said Kurt sadly. 'I'm being realistic.' He gestured to the lacklustre tree, where the baubles were pulling the branches to breaking point. 'You can dress it up as much as you want-- but it doesn't hide what's really beneath, it doesn't change anything at all. You wake up on the 26th, and everything still sucks. People still hurt you.' He glanced at Blaine. 'People still can't sing.' He glanced at Finn, who winked and pointed at Sam. He shrugged. 'I'm seeing Christmas for what it really is, and it's about time you all did, as well.'
'Kurt, wait--!' Blaine called. 'Don't do this, not at Christmas.'
'As a great man once said: bah, humbug!' He walked towards the school exit with his head held high. After all, it was one of his better flounces.
*
'Kurt, are you okay? You've barely touched your food.' Carole was watching him from the other side of the table.
'What? Oh, sure-- yeah. Just tired I guess.' He poked at the meat and eyed the clumpy gravy suspiciously. 'It's-- uh-- just delicious, though.'
Carole smiled. 'More candied sprouts?'
He declined politely, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Burt. Before Carole, it had been Kurt who handled the Christmas lunch (he had a clear memory of being nine years old and shouting at his father to julienne the carrots while Burt had grown more and more frustrated and threatened to punch Julian). It had been chaotic and he'd driven his father half-crazy with his orders and perfectionism, but it had been special.
He sighed. It had all been so different, then. He'd been so different.
'So,' said Carole, interrupting his thoughts, 'I got a DVD of Rudolph we can watch over egg nog later.'
Kurt grimaced. 'Really?'
'You love that movie,' said Burt. 'Don't pretend you're too cool for it these days, son.' He smiled at Carole. 'He always cries at the end.'
'I do not!'
'You cry at Jingle Bell Rock,' said Finn reasonably.
'We all cry at your version of that,' said Burt. Carole slapped his shoulder lightly.
'Can I be excused?' Finn asked. 'I'm heading over to Blaine's to discuss songs for the benefit.' Finn shot a look over to him. 'You know, you're totally welcome to come, dude.'
'Nice try, Finn, but no. I'm not interested.'
'What's this?' asked Burt looking back and forth between them. 'You're not going, Kurt? I thought you'd be all excited to sing with your old glee club.'
Kurt rolled his eyes. 'Really? Maybe when I was in high school, that was the highlight of my year. Do you know what I did last Thursday, Finn?'
'Uh... catch a film?'
'I watched Lucia Palmieri give a live rendition of Tosca in Central Park. It wasn't quite gangnam style, but I made do with that.'
Finn nodded. 'Oh, right. Okay.' He stood up. 'Thanks for the dinner, mom. I'm going out to have some fun with our friends and be nice.'
Kurt smirked. 'Have fun!'
Carole clapped her hands together. 'Don't be out too late, Finn. I want an early start tomorrow for wrapping the presents, and then we can have our Christmas Eve eggnog and Rudolph thing.' She patted Kurt's hand. 'And you cry all you want, honey. It's Christmas, after all.'
*
Kurt snapped off the television as Alastair Sim's face filled the screen. Good God, could the world stop shoving Christmas down his throat? He dropped back on the bed with a groan and tried not to think of the others at the event. It was all so false! They were always glaring at each other and whining about the latest hook-ups, but some stupid event would change everything? No, they'd all be at each other's throats the next day. Fools.
He was just fluffing up his pillow for sleep when he heard something at his window. He listened for a moment, heard nothing more, then turned away again. A noise like glass cracking caused him to sit bolt upright. He stared at the window. Nothing. It wasn't that cold out. It couldn't have cracked.
'Hello?'
Okay, what the hell is that? he asked himself, panicked. It had been a woman's voice and God, he'd seen The Woman in Black! He didn't dare look above himself less some old lady come and suck out his soul.
He scrunched his eyes shut and willed it to go away. He counted to 100 and heard nothing. He tentatively reached above: no floating hag. He cautiously opened his eyes again.
Nothing.
But I heard her!
The house was in silence, his father and Carole having retired to bed a couple of hours earlier. He reflected that he was in what was technically nearest to the attic, so the serial killer or rabid raccoon rapping at the window would totally come and finish him first. He wondered if he had time to hurtle down the stairs before he was murdered for his beautiful skin.
Even as he leapt from his bed, he could see tendrils of smoke from beneath the door. That must have been it - his atheist guardian angel had warned him! Oh, kind fate! He opened his mouth to shout for his father, to warn them of the fire, when to his horror the smoke took human form. He opened his mouth again to shout for help, but he was choked with fear. He stumbled backwards as the figure grew more solid.
'Hi, Kurt.'
Well, thankfully no screaming yet. He leapt backwards as the apparition came closer, its ectoplasm curling and snaking along the floor.
'What the hell are you doing in my room?' he squeaked, reaching for the nearest weapon. He picked up a shoe and threw it at her -- it flew right through her. Her face had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar. And that was before he even started on that thing plopped on her head at tilted , hipster angle.
As if sensing his stare, the slim girl tapped at the whim of her quirky hat. 'I'm Marley Rose! And I am here to tell you that tonight you will be visited by three other apartitions, they will all tell you to change your ways before it's too late and it will come to a satisfying-- if predictable-- conclusion.'
Kurt blinked. 'Wow, you just lay it all out there, don't you?'
'It's kind of my thing.' She smiled widely and then held up a card. 'Would you like to sign my mother's day card?'
'It's-- it's December?'
'Every day is mother's day to me!'
'Okay, so I'm calling the po--ARGH!' Kurt leapt backwards as Marley surged towards him, feet never touching the ground and body passing easily through his dresser. 'How did you do that? Are you a ghost?' He clutched at his throat in horror. He knew he should have let Finn have this room when they moved. Damn that walk in wardrobe, damn it to hell.
'Well, no. Not really.' She paused. 'I don't think so anyway.'
'Hang on! I know you! You're the girl who fainted at sectionals, right? And found a new rehearsal room by opening a door and pointing outside?'
She laughed. 'Yeah, it was this whole thing. Anyway! I'm here about you and this little Christmas downer you have going on. I'm here to help you, Kurt.'
'What do you want with me?'
'Much,' answered Marley. 'But mainly for you to stop whining about Christmas.'
'I am not whin-- Wait, wait--' Kurt threw back the covers. 'This is all a dream, right? Some sort of weird gravy dream.' He laughed dryly. 'You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There's something a bit clunky gravy-like about you!' He paused. 'God, Carole's cooking is the worst.'
'It matters not who I am or why am here--
'And Marley? Like Jacob Marley? Really? That's a bit of reach.'
'Hear me! My time is nearly gone! Tonight you will be haunted by three spirits.'
'Let's not and say we did?'
'Repent, Kurt Hummel, repent your ways before they set in and you become bitter and cold and hated like Fox News at election time. You will be haunt--.'
'Ergh, I get it! You think I've never seen the TV specials?' He crossed his arms. 'Can we just get it over with then? Maybe if they all come at once and do a three part harmony or something?'
'Oh, my God-- you are really difficult to work with, you know that?' She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. 'As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted. These three ghosts will visit you upon each chime of the clock.' She pointed to the wall. 'Expect the first within the hour, the second the next hour and the third shall appear to you on the stroke of midnight.' She loomed close. 'On the stroke of midniiiiiggght.'
'The fact that you haven't stopped grinning this entire time has sort of taken the edge off the terror, you realise.'
*
Kurt woke up gently, the dull light from the street lamp outside illuminating his room. Slowly, Marley Rose and her warning came back to him as his mind pulled into focus. 'Was it a dream?' he thought, surely it was, just a dream brought on from watching that movi--
Ding, dong!
'A quarter past,' said Kurt, counting as the clock on the wall, a feat that it had never done before, began to chime.
Ding, dong!
'Half-past!' said Kurt, perhaps Carole had placed new batteries in it? That was the only sensible explanation. It certainly couldn't be something other-worldy. That was just ridiculous.
Ding, dong!
'A quarter to it,' said Kurt
Ding, dong!
'The hour itself,' said Kurt triumphantly, 'and nothing else!'
He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did.
'Oi!' Kurt shrieked as a slap rocked his head to the side. 'Wakes up, morning breath. We've only got an hour to get your glittery behind back to the top of the tree where it belongs.'
'Santana?' Kurt grabbed at his stinging face. 'Brittany? What are you--'
'We are the Ghosts of Christmas Past,' said Brittany in a voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance.
'So--' said Kurt, watching Santana warily as she held up his childhood teddy-bear with a sneer, '...dinosaurs and things?'
'No,' answered Brittany. 'Just your past.' She paused. 'Unless you knew dinosaurs?'
Kurt closed his eyes and counted to ten. Or attempted to; on number four his eyes flew open as Santana introduced her palm to his cheek once more. 'Seriously, Hummel, we are on a schedule here. Take my hand, will you, so we can go see if you were this annoying when you were a toddler.'
'But-- but--' Kurt shook his head as they both took a hand of his each. 'This is just an extremely lucid dream, that's all. Finn dreams about lesbians accosting him in his bedroom all the time.'
'I know, right?' Santana rolled his eyes. 'Why he thinks it's worthy of a Facebook update every single time, I'll never know.'
*
He remembered it vividly. It was perhaps his most real, most accessible memory of her. She was a perfumed presence, fussing over the turkey and casting wry glances at Burt as he stole a bite to eat. Fairytale of New York was playing on the radio, and he didn't notice the bitterness in the lyrics at all, because it was a fun song, he was happy. He was safe.
Kurt smiled as the tiny version of himself ohhed and ahhed as he pulled the wrapper off to reveal the easy bake oven underneath.
'Oh! I had one of those!' cried Brittany. 'It was the best Christmas. People came from all over just to see the inferno.'
Burt reached over and stroked at the nape of his wife's neck, a soft grin on his face. She turned to him and placed a peck on his cheek. At their feet, younger Kurt was happily babbling to himself as he opened and closed the door on the toy.
'Wow,' breathed Kurt. 'Look at them.'
'Look at you,' said Santana. 'You were happy.'
'Well, I was five, Santana. It was easier then.'
'It still could be. If you got out of your own way.' She touched at his arm. 'Come on. We've got to keep this moving.' The world spun as the air around them dropped away, leaving behind the happy moment in time and bringing them to cold, hard linoleum floor in a long white corridor.
'Where are we?' asked Kurt. 'Is this heav-- oh, never mind. That person is wearing polyester. This is so not heaven.' He glanced around again, noticing the tinsel that had been taped to the walls and the Safety During the Holidays posters that adorned the space below them. 'I know this place,' he whispered. 'It's--'
'The Lima Memorial Hospital,' finished Brittany. 'This is where it began.'
'Where what began?'
'This is where you first began to doubt the spirit of Christmas,' said Santana in a low whisper. Taking his arm, she turned him slightly so that he could view through a window within the door closest to them. In the room stood Kurt's father, a hat in his hand, listening with a downturned head as the man in a white coat spoke. Just behind him, a little boy sat with his legs swinging and a teddy held tight in his hands. Between the three, there was a bed where that same beautiful woman lay as if in slumber. Kurt didn't need to be in the room to know what the doctor was saying. He remembered every word.
'She died a few days later,' said Brittany. 'And that year your dad, he tried but--'
'It wasn't enough,' said Kurt. 'The house was too quiet. The lights too dull. The music sounded tinny and vague, and I made dad shut it off. I felt like I was drowning in the heaviness of her absence.' He wrapped his arms around himself. 'I began to forget little things about her. Dad threw out the last of her perfume, and I shouted and cried at him for days. He got a new bottle just so I could remember, but it wasn't even right. It didn't have that warmth, you know.' He smiled tightly. 'But he really tried, every year he would do all the same traditions that we used to have with her. We always opened one present on Christmas Eve, and every year without fail that present would be for new pyjamas to wear on Christmas morning.' He felt his eyes welling up. 'I loved her so much. And he tried so hard to keep her for me.'
'He's a good guy, your dad.'
'I know,' said Kurt with a smile. 'He always tried to protect me from the worst.'
Santana placed a hand upon his shoulder. 'But he couldn't always.'
'No, he coul--'
*
'--dn't!' Kurt hit the ground with a loud, hard smack. 'What the hell, Santana?'
'Hey, homo!'
Kurt, rubbing at his aching arm looked up in annoyance. Standing to his far left was a group of jocks, sneering down at a young, impeccably dressed boy. 'Oh, crap.'
'Yup.' Brittany reached out a hand to help him up. 'We've reached the Lifetime channel portion of the night.'
'Hey, does your dad know you're missing from, like the top of your tree?' The jocks laughed loudly. 'Because you're a fairy. Get it.
Because you're totally gay. You like cock is what I'm getting at here.'
Brittany laughed uproariously, wiping at her eyes. 'Ha. Cock. I love chickens.'
'God, Chris Hardy. I hated him. He was such a neanderthal.' Kurt crossed his arms and glared at the past scene. 'I decorated my locker that year with the most beautiful wreath. They stole it and stabled it to the top of the principal's convertible. I had detention for a month.' The other Kurt broke away from the gang, walking away with his head held high but the hurt clear in his eyes. Behind him the group still continued to cat-call and throw abuse. 'Can we just move on? I didn't particularly enjoy this the first time.'
'Sure.' Santana wrinkled her nose. 'There. Done.'
Kurt glanced around him, confused. 'Uh, we're still here.'
'Oh, no,' said Brittany sadly. 'I hate repeats.'
Kurt followed her gaze and realised Santana was right. They had moved on. But not much had changed. As the other Kurt walked towards him the surroundings began to shift and blur, but the subject remained the same. The clothes would segue into more fabulous attire, the hair would vary in numerous styles-- but the boy walking towards them was always sad. The boy walking towards them was always alone.
The three gave a start as the latest incarnation of Kurt was shoved hard from the side and to the ground.
'I'm sorry-- this is supposed to make me realise Christmas is some amazing thing?' He gestured at his past self, as he climbed to his feet and dusted himself down sadly. 'I'm miserable, guys!'
'Yeah. You were-- but maybe we can improve things.' Santana smirked. 'Well, the scenery at least.' She clicked her fingers.
*
Kurt stumbled as the reality shifted and the ground beneath his feet became carpented. 'Hey, this is Dalton!'
So very nice
I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice
My mother will start to worry
Beautiful, what's your hurry
'This must be a terrible memory,' gasped Santana. 'Look at your hair! You look like you just got evacuated out of London during World War II. Was Blaine confiscating your hairgel?'
'Oh, look how cute you both are!' Brittany clasped her hands together. 'You're all matching like the twins in The Shining!' She began to clap along with the music.
Mind if I move a little closer
At least I'm gonna say that I tried
What's the sense of hurting my pride
I really can't stay
Baby don't hold out
Ahh, but it's cold outside
I simply must go
Oh, baby, it's cold outside
The answer is no
You know it's cold outside
'Is the terrible memory this totally date rapey song?' Santana asked, sitting down on the couch next to the past Kurt and Blaine. 'Because otherwise I don't get it. You look pretty happy to me.'
'I was-- well.' Kurt shrugged. 'After this, Blaine does rush out to duet with some girl but--' He smiled. 'No, this is a nice mem--gah!'
'Oh! Mr. Schue!' Santana nodded sagely. 'Got you. Christmas ruined.'
'I''m just saying,' said Kurt. 'Dalton had telephones, you know?'
*
Kurt blinked as they materialised in the McKinley's choir room. 'Can I get frequent flyer points with this or--' He glanced towards the front and he felt his heart leap at how handsome Blaine looked beside Rachel.
It came into my dreams last night
A great, big man in red and white.
'Ergh,' spat Santana. 'That sounds like the beginning of a police report. What is up with Christmas music?' She nudged Kurt hard. 'Want to wind that tongue back in?'
'What?' said Kurt, indignantly. 'I'm just admiring his form. I can do that, can't I? Even if said form likes to rub itself up against other skanky forms.' He leant forward, placing his elbows on his knees and chin between his palms. 'This was a good Christmas. Blaine got me the sweetest gift.'
'He gave you trash!' cried Santana. 'I mean-- I know this whole deal was about showing the true meaning of Christmas and all but damn, Hummel, I would have dumped his ass then.'
Kurt turned to her with a glare. 'Santana, there is not romantic bone in your body--'
'--know the bone you're thinking about.'
'--I happened to love that gift. It was lovely and thoughtful-- if extremely impractical to wear-- and I adored it.' He glanced sadly as Blaine began to chase Rachel round the tree. 'I adored him.'
'So, wait-- this is a happy memory, too?' Brittany frowned. 'Did we take a wrong turning?'
Santana nodded and looked pointedly at him. 'I guess it is. I guess Kurt has had some bad Christmasses and he's had some good ones. And I guess maybe he should have faith in this one.'
As Rachel and Blaine joined together on the final note, the choir room melted away.
PART II
Author: mothergoddamn & rebness
Pairing/characters: Kurt/Blaine, Santana, Brittany, Finn and Rachel.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Marley's in it. Sorry.
Summary: On the Eve of Christmas, Kurt is shown the error of his Christmas hating ways by some very familiar faces. And Marley. God, I know.
A/N: Hello, this story was written before 4.10, so view it as AU from 4.09. Also, any similarities are from the psychic powers we both apparently hold. In fact, in our fic 'It's A Wonderful Life Without Finn Hudson' Rory was our angel a whole year before this aired. Damn right! In other news- we also have started wearing yellow flat caps, avoiding the sun and removing inflections from our speaking.
A Glee Christmas Carol
Part I
'Bah, humbug!' Kurt swore under his breath as a gaudy bauble dropped from his clasp and clattered to the floor. 'If there was any justice in the world, that thing would have shattered into a million pieces and the impact have taken out anything within a three mile radious.'
'Kurt, cheer up, it's Christmas!' said Rachel, nudging at his shoulder. 'And isn't it great to be back in McKinley again?'
'Actually, I'm a little worried about everyone's co-dependency on this school,' muttered Kurt, selecting a green (green!) snowman decoration from the box and glancing over at Santana and Quinn. 'Most people just, like, leave. I can't imagine the police reports after this lot had to graduate Kindergarten.'
'Oh, stop sulking.' Rachel pointed a piece of tinsel at him. 'You love it, you know you do.'
'Being in the same room as Blaine after everything that happened and trying to make this-- this-- I believe the term is tree but I remain unconvinced-- look festive isn't my idea of fun, Rachel.' He turned and sighed at the door of the locked choir room. 'Especially in a hallway.'
'But I thought you two were taking steps to being friends again?'
'Baby steps! Not Finn steps!' Kurt looked over his shoulder to wear Blaine was staring at him with eyes that were in danger of taking over his face. 'I don't know-- I'm getting there but I'm just not feeling the Christmas vibe this year.'
Rachel sighed heavily. 'I know that it's hard, believe me I know. But Christmas is about togetherness, being with those you care about.'
'I thought that was what Hannukah was about.' Kurt arched an eyebrow. 'You made me buy you eight presents, Rachel, eight. You can stop hinting about that rare Streisand LP, too. You can't appropriate every passing holiday just to fill the gaps in your music collection.'
'Well,' said Rachel flinging her hair over her shoulder. 'Someone just got uninvited from my Mōdraniht party.' Her expression softened. 'Look, Kurt, I'm glad you two are talking again, really, but maybe you both need to talk about something real. Alone.'
Kurt pressed his lips together and focused his energy on untangling the almost satanic knotted string of lights in his hand. He could feel Rachel watching him, studying him, and awaiting his reply but he just couldn't. Every time he thought he was becoming stronger about what had became of him and Blaine, a moment like this would suddenly occur and gnaw at his heart. Okay, yes, when Finn had asked the old gang to drop by and try and bring some Christmas cheer to the dejected glee club he had thought that it would have been no problem, that he could breeze in and everything else would click into place. But seeing Blaine, so eager and excited to see him, had affected him more than he was willing to admit.
He had loved Christmas in years past, but how was he to embrace its spirit when Blaine had broken his heart like one of those dire little baubles and when Finn was playing Jingle Bell Rock incessantly, and not even the Mean Girls version?
'Jingle bells swing and jinnnnngle bells ring--'
Ah, yes. That. Finn was now trying out the Whitney Houston version of that wretched song, attempting to hold the note in his braying donkey way.
Kurt winced as his stepbrother stomped over to him, making the tree decorations bounce as if he were a particularly unfashionable t-rex.
'Aw, what a great tree!' said Finn cheerfully.
'Really?'
'Yeah, all those little green Santas -- it's cool. It's like a Christmas/Men in Black mash-up.' Finn considered, then pulled out his phone. 'Siri, remember this: Christmas/Men in Black mash-up.'
'Let me think about that,' answered Siri. 'No.'
'God, I'm so sick of arguing with this thing.' Finn shoved the cell into his a back pocket. 'Anyway, what's up with you, man? You've been scowling all morning. Seriously, Kurt, you've got to let this go! At least until New Year's. Tis the season!'
'You're really going to lecture me about being grumpy at Christmas when Blaine broke my heart? Oh, and thank you for speaking to him about that, by the way, you know, taking my side...'
'But I didn't.'
Kurt glared. 'I know! But what I'm saying -- here, you put this on top of the tree -- is that you're pretending it doesn't matter. If Rachel was up in your face with puppy dog eyes every five minutes, your mood would-- oh, Rachel.'
She appeared from behind the tree, her eyes as wide open and innocent-looking as Bambi's. Kurt knew the look well; he refused to bend to its power. Luckily for him, she turned the beam of her gaze from him and directed it full-on at Finn, who took a step back.
'Whoah.'
Kurt smiled. 'Now do you see?'
Rachel opened her mouth to commence her well-rehearsed Christmas breakup redux speech to Finn (of course, segueing into a heartbreaking rendition of Last Christmas - she and Kurt had sourced a brooch she could stroke suggestively) when they were rudely interrupted.
'Hummel, I need fifty bucks.' Santana pushed past Rachel and held out a hand.
'We've left now, Santana, I don't owe you any protection money.'
'What? No, I already got that off Berry. Listen, I need to do an errand run for an actual star for the top of this tree rather than--' she pointed up at the remaining cardboard of a toilet roll that had been painted yellow. '...well, that.' She saw his sceptical look and jutted her chin. 'I need gas, too, dummy. Plus, services rendered, sales tax and I know you New Yorker types like to tip big.' On seeing he was unmoved, she rolled her eyes. 'Come on, Kurt, it's Christmas.'
'I-- forgot to bring my wallet. Add it to my tab.' Kurt turned from her, still catching a muttered curse aimed his way, before she stomped off, Brittany in tow.
'I gave her ten dollars, already,' said Blaine, appearing at his side. 'She told me it was a fine for wearing chinos in her presence.' He smiled sheepishly. 'Hey, Kurt.'
'Hey.' Kurt groaned inwardly at the blush he could feel rising to his cheeks. 'It's, uh, nice to see you.'
'You, too! Great! Fantastic! Real neat.' Blaine bit his lip and muttered something that sounded like stupid under his breath. 'Nice. It's nice to see you, too. You look great by the way. Healthy.'
'Oh-- thanks?'
'So...' Blaine placed his hands behind his back, popping up and down on his toes.
'We can still be friends, Blaine. We can still have a conversation.'
Blaine nodded eagerly. 'Oh, good. Because I've missed you, Kurt. Sincerely. I put my words down in song--'
He held up a hand. 'I forgot quite how much things in McKinley are resolved in song. You should try doing that on the 6, see how far that gets you.' He rubbed his arm, remembering. 'But save your song for a year when I feel like it.'
'So you do see a future--'
'Blaine, are you going to help me decorate this tree or not?'
'Oh, yes!'
Kurt couldn't help giving a begrudgingly fond smile as Blaine set about decorating the tree. They worked in silence, and Kurt marvelled at how his ex was always so good-natured about things, so enthusiastic. He never approached things half-heartedly, but jumped right in--
Like cheating, he thought sourly, and his good mood dissipated.
Blaine seemed to sense his shift in mood, and so didn't speak until they were done decorating and Kurt felt more composed. Only then did he speak: 'Kurt, Christmas is about so many things, and yet only one thing.'
Kurt nodded sagely. He pulled away from the tree to consider the decorations. 'Wait, by one thing, do you mean fashion or presents? Or fashion presents?'
Blaine sighed. 'No, no. Don't be flippant.'
'How dare you! I'm never flippant about fashion. Apart from that one time and that's because flippancy was in during the second week of June 2011.'
'I mean, Christmas is about giving, and charity.'
'That's two things.'
'No, not really.'
'Wait,' said Kurt, taking out his cell. 'I'll just look it up--'
'No! My point is, it's only special if you do something for other people. It's the season of goodwill, isn't it?'
Kurt cast him a tolerant look. 'Don't throw that on me now. I told you even before we were dating and you were a cheating cheater that cheated that I don't do-- that.'
Blaine glanced down at his crotch and reddened. 'No! I didn't mean that. Well, not really. What I meant was -- look, come with me to the New Directions with No Direction benefit.
Kurt froze. 'Excuse me?'
'I know, Hunter isn't fantastic with the-- uh-- titles. It's an event on Christmas Eve to raise money so we can have somewhere to have rehearsals. The Warblers thought it up.' Blaine beamed. 'I know they beat us at sectionals and all but in the spirit of Christmas, I guess. All of us are going and-- I thought that maybe you'd like to-- uh-- I mean only if you want to-- hmm-- sing a duet with me?'
Kurt blinked. 'And Sebastian's going to be there?'
'Sebastian? Well, I guess, he is a Warbler and--'
'And all the others who stood idly by while he tried to blind you? The others who stole our trophy? And good God, sang Flo Rida at an innocent crowd of people?' Kurt crossed his arms. 'Those people? And to top it all off, you want me to sing with you?' Kurt laughed bitterly. 'I don't think so.'
'But I thought-- you know for old times that--' Blaine held his hands in front of him, playing idly with a bauble. 'It's Christmas, Kurt.'
Kurt threw up his hands. 'People keep saying that to me! Like it's an automatic pass for everything! It's just another day, Blaine! No more important than any other day except in how much we all convince ourselves it actually matters!' He could feel the others turning to him as his voice rose, but he couldn't bring himself to care. 'And if you honestly think I'm going to show up at a charity show thrown by the Warblers, after everything they did, than you have another think coming.' He turned to the others. 'And I can't believe that you all would fall for it.'
'Kurt, what's got into you?' said Rachel, her eyes narrowed in concern. 'It's for a really good cause.'
'Really?' Kurt raised his eyebrows. 'Gangnam Style is something we need to preserve, is it?'
'It's not just about that,' protested Joe. 'It's a way to connect, to focus on a creative output.'
'Oh, right. I forgot! Are there not social network sites? Are there not hipster photography apps?' Kurt placed his hands on his hips. 'You know what, I tried. I tried to get into the spirit of Christmas but I just can't.'
'You're being really mean right now,' said the new blonde girl cheerleader with the ugly skinny ponytail. 'I like it.'
'No, I'm not being mean,' said Kurt sadly. 'I'm being realistic.' He gestured to the lacklustre tree, where the baubles were pulling the branches to breaking point. 'You can dress it up as much as you want-- but it doesn't hide what's really beneath, it doesn't change anything at all. You wake up on the 26th, and everything still sucks. People still hurt you.' He glanced at Blaine. 'People still can't sing.' He glanced at Finn, who winked and pointed at Sam. He shrugged. 'I'm seeing Christmas for what it really is, and it's about time you all did, as well.'
'Kurt, wait--!' Blaine called. 'Don't do this, not at Christmas.'
'As a great man once said: bah, humbug!' He walked towards the school exit with his head held high. After all, it was one of his better flounces.
*
'Kurt, are you okay? You've barely touched your food.' Carole was watching him from the other side of the table.
'What? Oh, sure-- yeah. Just tired I guess.' He poked at the meat and eyed the clumpy gravy suspiciously. 'It's-- uh-- just delicious, though.'
Carole smiled. 'More candied sprouts?'
He declined politely, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Burt. Before Carole, it had been Kurt who handled the Christmas lunch (he had a clear memory of being nine years old and shouting at his father to julienne the carrots while Burt had grown more and more frustrated and threatened to punch Julian). It had been chaotic and he'd driven his father half-crazy with his orders and perfectionism, but it had been special.
He sighed. It had all been so different, then. He'd been so different.
'So,' said Carole, interrupting his thoughts, 'I got a DVD of Rudolph we can watch over egg nog later.'
Kurt grimaced. 'Really?'
'You love that movie,' said Burt. 'Don't pretend you're too cool for it these days, son.' He smiled at Carole. 'He always cries at the end.'
'I do not!'
'You cry at Jingle Bell Rock,' said Finn reasonably.
'We all cry at your version of that,' said Burt. Carole slapped his shoulder lightly.
'Can I be excused?' Finn asked. 'I'm heading over to Blaine's to discuss songs for the benefit.' Finn shot a look over to him. 'You know, you're totally welcome to come, dude.'
'Nice try, Finn, but no. I'm not interested.'
'What's this?' asked Burt looking back and forth between them. 'You're not going, Kurt? I thought you'd be all excited to sing with your old glee club.'
Kurt rolled his eyes. 'Really? Maybe when I was in high school, that was the highlight of my year. Do you know what I did last Thursday, Finn?'
'Uh... catch a film?'
'I watched Lucia Palmieri give a live rendition of Tosca in Central Park. It wasn't quite gangnam style, but I made do with that.'
Finn nodded. 'Oh, right. Okay.' He stood up. 'Thanks for the dinner, mom. I'm going out to have some fun with our friends and be nice.'
Kurt smirked. 'Have fun!'
Carole clapped her hands together. 'Don't be out too late, Finn. I want an early start tomorrow for wrapping the presents, and then we can have our Christmas Eve eggnog and Rudolph thing.' She patted Kurt's hand. 'And you cry all you want, honey. It's Christmas, after all.'
*
Kurt snapped off the television as Alastair Sim's face filled the screen. Good God, could the world stop shoving Christmas down his throat? He dropped back on the bed with a groan and tried not to think of the others at the event. It was all so false! They were always glaring at each other and whining about the latest hook-ups, but some stupid event would change everything? No, they'd all be at each other's throats the next day. Fools.
He was just fluffing up his pillow for sleep when he heard something at his window. He listened for a moment, heard nothing more, then turned away again. A noise like glass cracking caused him to sit bolt upright. He stared at the window. Nothing. It wasn't that cold out. It couldn't have cracked.
'Hello?'
Okay, what the hell is that? he asked himself, panicked. It had been a woman's voice and God, he'd seen The Woman in Black! He didn't dare look above himself less some old lady come and suck out his soul.
He scrunched his eyes shut and willed it to go away. He counted to 100 and heard nothing. He tentatively reached above: no floating hag. He cautiously opened his eyes again.
Nothing.
But I heard her!
The house was in silence, his father and Carole having retired to bed a couple of hours earlier. He reflected that he was in what was technically nearest to the attic, so the serial killer or rabid raccoon rapping at the window would totally come and finish him first. He wondered if he had time to hurtle down the stairs before he was murdered for his beautiful skin.
Even as he leapt from his bed, he could see tendrils of smoke from beneath the door. That must have been it - his atheist guardian angel had warned him! Oh, kind fate! He opened his mouth to shout for his father, to warn them of the fire, when to his horror the smoke took human form. He opened his mouth again to shout for help, but he was choked with fear. He stumbled backwards as the figure grew more solid.
'Hi, Kurt.'
Well, thankfully no screaming yet. He leapt backwards as the apparition came closer, its ectoplasm curling and snaking along the floor.
'What the hell are you doing in my room?' he squeaked, reaching for the nearest weapon. He picked up a shoe and threw it at her -- it flew right through her. Her face had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar. And that was before he even started on that thing plopped on her head at tilted , hipster angle.
As if sensing his stare, the slim girl tapped at the whim of her quirky hat. 'I'm Marley Rose! And I am here to tell you that tonight you will be visited by three other apartitions, they will all tell you to change your ways before it's too late and it will come to a satisfying-- if predictable-- conclusion.'
Kurt blinked. 'Wow, you just lay it all out there, don't you?'
'It's kind of my thing.' She smiled widely and then held up a card. 'Would you like to sign my mother's day card?'
'It's-- it's December?'
'Every day is mother's day to me!'
'Okay, so I'm calling the po--ARGH!' Kurt leapt backwards as Marley surged towards him, feet never touching the ground and body passing easily through his dresser. 'How did you do that? Are you a ghost?' He clutched at his throat in horror. He knew he should have let Finn have this room when they moved. Damn that walk in wardrobe, damn it to hell.
'Well, no. Not really.' She paused. 'I don't think so anyway.'
'Hang on! I know you! You're the girl who fainted at sectionals, right? And found a new rehearsal room by opening a door and pointing outside?'
She laughed. 'Yeah, it was this whole thing. Anyway! I'm here about you and this little Christmas downer you have going on. I'm here to help you, Kurt.'
'What do you want with me?'
'Much,' answered Marley. 'But mainly for you to stop whining about Christmas.'
'I am not whin-- Wait, wait--' Kurt threw back the covers. 'This is all a dream, right? Some sort of weird gravy dream.' He laughed dryly. 'You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There's something a bit clunky gravy-like about you!' He paused. 'God, Carole's cooking is the worst.'
'It matters not who I am or why am here--
'And Marley? Like Jacob Marley? Really? That's a bit of reach.'
'Hear me! My time is nearly gone! Tonight you will be haunted by three spirits.'
'Let's not and say we did?'
'Repent, Kurt Hummel, repent your ways before they set in and you become bitter and cold and hated like Fox News at election time. You will be haunt--.'
'Ergh, I get it! You think I've never seen the TV specials?' He crossed his arms. 'Can we just get it over with then? Maybe if they all come at once and do a three part harmony or something?'
'Oh, my God-- you are really difficult to work with, you know that?' She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. 'As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted. These three ghosts will visit you upon each chime of the clock.' She pointed to the wall. 'Expect the first within the hour, the second the next hour and the third shall appear to you on the stroke of midnight.' She loomed close. 'On the stroke of midniiiiiggght.'
'The fact that you haven't stopped grinning this entire time has sort of taken the edge off the terror, you realise.'
*
Kurt woke up gently, the dull light from the street lamp outside illuminating his room. Slowly, Marley Rose and her warning came back to him as his mind pulled into focus. 'Was it a dream?' he thought, surely it was, just a dream brought on from watching that movi--
Ding, dong!
'A quarter past,' said Kurt, counting as the clock on the wall, a feat that it had never done before, began to chime.
Ding, dong!
'Half-past!' said Kurt, perhaps Carole had placed new batteries in it? That was the only sensible explanation. It certainly couldn't be something other-worldy. That was just ridiculous.
Ding, dong!
'A quarter to it,' said Kurt
Ding, dong!
'The hour itself,' said Kurt triumphantly, 'and nothing else!'
He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did.
'Oi!' Kurt shrieked as a slap rocked his head to the side. 'Wakes up, morning breath. We've only got an hour to get your glittery behind back to the top of the tree where it belongs.'
'Santana?' Kurt grabbed at his stinging face. 'Brittany? What are you--'
'We are the Ghosts of Christmas Past,' said Brittany in a voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance.
'So--' said Kurt, watching Santana warily as she held up his childhood teddy-bear with a sneer, '...dinosaurs and things?'
'No,' answered Brittany. 'Just your past.' She paused. 'Unless you knew dinosaurs?'
Kurt closed his eyes and counted to ten. Or attempted to; on number four his eyes flew open as Santana introduced her palm to his cheek once more. 'Seriously, Hummel, we are on a schedule here. Take my hand, will you, so we can go see if you were this annoying when you were a toddler.'
'But-- but--' Kurt shook his head as they both took a hand of his each. 'This is just an extremely lucid dream, that's all. Finn dreams about lesbians accosting him in his bedroom all the time.'
'I know, right?' Santana rolled his eyes. 'Why he thinks it's worthy of a Facebook update every single time, I'll never know.'
*
He remembered it vividly. It was perhaps his most real, most accessible memory of her. She was a perfumed presence, fussing over the turkey and casting wry glances at Burt as he stole a bite to eat. Fairytale of New York was playing on the radio, and he didn't notice the bitterness in the lyrics at all, because it was a fun song, he was happy. He was safe.
Kurt smiled as the tiny version of himself ohhed and ahhed as he pulled the wrapper off to reveal the easy bake oven underneath.
'Oh! I had one of those!' cried Brittany. 'It was the best Christmas. People came from all over just to see the inferno.'
Burt reached over and stroked at the nape of his wife's neck, a soft grin on his face. She turned to him and placed a peck on his cheek. At their feet, younger Kurt was happily babbling to himself as he opened and closed the door on the toy.
'Wow,' breathed Kurt. 'Look at them.'
'Look at you,' said Santana. 'You were happy.'
'Well, I was five, Santana. It was easier then.'
'It still could be. If you got out of your own way.' She touched at his arm. 'Come on. We've got to keep this moving.' The world spun as the air around them dropped away, leaving behind the happy moment in time and bringing them to cold, hard linoleum floor in a long white corridor.
'Where are we?' asked Kurt. 'Is this heav-- oh, never mind. That person is wearing polyester. This is so not heaven.' He glanced around again, noticing the tinsel that had been taped to the walls and the Safety During the Holidays posters that adorned the space below them. 'I know this place,' he whispered. 'It's--'
'The Lima Memorial Hospital,' finished Brittany. 'This is where it began.'
'Where what began?'
'This is where you first began to doubt the spirit of Christmas,' said Santana in a low whisper. Taking his arm, she turned him slightly so that he could view through a window within the door closest to them. In the room stood Kurt's father, a hat in his hand, listening with a downturned head as the man in a white coat spoke. Just behind him, a little boy sat with his legs swinging and a teddy held tight in his hands. Between the three, there was a bed where that same beautiful woman lay as if in slumber. Kurt didn't need to be in the room to know what the doctor was saying. He remembered every word.
'She died a few days later,' said Brittany. 'And that year your dad, he tried but--'
'It wasn't enough,' said Kurt. 'The house was too quiet. The lights too dull. The music sounded tinny and vague, and I made dad shut it off. I felt like I was drowning in the heaviness of her absence.' He wrapped his arms around himself. 'I began to forget little things about her. Dad threw out the last of her perfume, and I shouted and cried at him for days. He got a new bottle just so I could remember, but it wasn't even right. It didn't have that warmth, you know.' He smiled tightly. 'But he really tried, every year he would do all the same traditions that we used to have with her. We always opened one present on Christmas Eve, and every year without fail that present would be for new pyjamas to wear on Christmas morning.' He felt his eyes welling up. 'I loved her so much. And he tried so hard to keep her for me.'
'He's a good guy, your dad.'
'I know,' said Kurt with a smile. 'He always tried to protect me from the worst.'
Santana placed a hand upon his shoulder. 'But he couldn't always.'
'No, he coul--'
*
'--dn't!' Kurt hit the ground with a loud, hard smack. 'What the hell, Santana?'
'Hey, homo!'
Kurt, rubbing at his aching arm looked up in annoyance. Standing to his far left was a group of jocks, sneering down at a young, impeccably dressed boy. 'Oh, crap.'
'Yup.' Brittany reached out a hand to help him up. 'We've reached the Lifetime channel portion of the night.'
'Hey, does your dad know you're missing from, like the top of your tree?' The jocks laughed loudly. 'Because you're a fairy. Get it.
Because you're totally gay. You like cock is what I'm getting at here.'
Brittany laughed uproariously, wiping at her eyes. 'Ha. Cock. I love chickens.'
'God, Chris Hardy. I hated him. He was such a neanderthal.' Kurt crossed his arms and glared at the past scene. 'I decorated my locker that year with the most beautiful wreath. They stole it and stabled it to the top of the principal's convertible. I had detention for a month.' The other Kurt broke away from the gang, walking away with his head held high but the hurt clear in his eyes. Behind him the group still continued to cat-call and throw abuse. 'Can we just move on? I didn't particularly enjoy this the first time.'
'Sure.' Santana wrinkled her nose. 'There. Done.'
Kurt glanced around him, confused. 'Uh, we're still here.'
'Oh, no,' said Brittany sadly. 'I hate repeats.'
Kurt followed her gaze and realised Santana was right. They had moved on. But not much had changed. As the other Kurt walked towards him the surroundings began to shift and blur, but the subject remained the same. The clothes would segue into more fabulous attire, the hair would vary in numerous styles-- but the boy walking towards them was always sad. The boy walking towards them was always alone.
The three gave a start as the latest incarnation of Kurt was shoved hard from the side and to the ground.
'I'm sorry-- this is supposed to make me realise Christmas is some amazing thing?' He gestured at his past self, as he climbed to his feet and dusted himself down sadly. 'I'm miserable, guys!'
'Yeah. You were-- but maybe we can improve things.' Santana smirked. 'Well, the scenery at least.' She clicked her fingers.
*
Kurt stumbled as the reality shifted and the ground beneath his feet became carpented. 'Hey, this is Dalton!'
So very nice
I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice
My mother will start to worry
Beautiful, what's your hurry
'This must be a terrible memory,' gasped Santana. 'Look at your hair! You look like you just got evacuated out of London during World War II. Was Blaine confiscating your hairgel?'
'Oh, look how cute you both are!' Brittany clasped her hands together. 'You're all matching like the twins in The Shining!' She began to clap along with the music.
Mind if I move a little closer
At least I'm gonna say that I tried
What's the sense of hurting my pride
I really can't stay
Baby don't hold out
Ahh, but it's cold outside
I simply must go
Oh, baby, it's cold outside
The answer is no
You know it's cold outside
'Is the terrible memory this totally date rapey song?' Santana asked, sitting down on the couch next to the past Kurt and Blaine. 'Because otherwise I don't get it. You look pretty happy to me.'
'I was-- well.' Kurt shrugged. 'After this, Blaine does rush out to duet with some girl but--' He smiled. 'No, this is a nice mem--gah!'
'Oh! Mr. Schue!' Santana nodded sagely. 'Got you. Christmas ruined.'
'I''m just saying,' said Kurt. 'Dalton had telephones, you know?'
*
Kurt blinked as they materialised in the McKinley's choir room. 'Can I get frequent flyer points with this or--' He glanced towards the front and he felt his heart leap at how handsome Blaine looked beside Rachel.
It came into my dreams last night
A great, big man in red and white.
'Ergh,' spat Santana. 'That sounds like the beginning of a police report. What is up with Christmas music?' She nudged Kurt hard. 'Want to wind that tongue back in?'
'What?' said Kurt, indignantly. 'I'm just admiring his form. I can do that, can't I? Even if said form likes to rub itself up against other skanky forms.' He leant forward, placing his elbows on his knees and chin between his palms. 'This was a good Christmas. Blaine got me the sweetest gift.'
'He gave you trash!' cried Santana. 'I mean-- I know this whole deal was about showing the true meaning of Christmas and all but damn, Hummel, I would have dumped his ass then.'
Kurt turned to her with a glare. 'Santana, there is not romantic bone in your body--'
'--know the bone you're thinking about.'
'--I happened to love that gift. It was lovely and thoughtful-- if extremely impractical to wear-- and I adored it.' He glanced sadly as Blaine began to chase Rachel round the tree. 'I adored him.'
'So, wait-- this is a happy memory, too?' Brittany frowned. 'Did we take a wrong turning?'
Santana nodded and looked pointedly at him. 'I guess it is. I guess Kurt has had some bad Christmasses and he's had some good ones. And I guess maybe he should have faith in this one.'
As Rachel and Blaine joined together on the final note, the choir room melted away.
PART II