Shine, Chapter Four
My tumblr dash is dead, and I'm done editing. Good time to update, no?
Prologue - Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three
Chapter Four
They were soaked again in an instant. Blaine blinked against the water that was clouding his eyes. It was pouring wherever they were, and his feet were soaked and immersed in something vaguely soggy, and his hand was still clinging tightly to the arm that Kurt had wrapped around his waist.
They were standing on a cloud.
"What the hell did you do?" he yelled. He could barely hear himself over the torrential downpour.
"What did I do?" Kurt shrieked. "What did you do? 'Think of home'? That was a great plan! You thought of your home and I thought of mine and now we're halfway between the two!"
"Well, you stupid cow!" Blaine bellowed, throwing his arms up. "What did you think of your home for?"
"You just said home!" Kurt yelled, slapping Blaine's arms away from him. "If you wanted me to think of your home, you should have said so!"
"Some crazy man was going to cut your heart out, and you wanted more specific instructions? Perhaps you'd like it in writing! Or a diagram, maybe!"
Kurt was going to reply, really. He had the perfect cutting comeback. But he was rudely interrupted by the event of a net falling on his and Blaine's heads.
They were hoisted onto the deck of a ship-or at least, that's what it appeared to be. Faceless men in dark, rubbery jackets that gave the appearance of glaring forebodingly down at the two men still tangled in the net.
"Look, Captain Puckerman!" called one of the closest, taking off his goggles to examine the two of them. "Got ourselves a little bonus!"
Blaine's eyes actually widened when he realized that it was a girl. In all the fairytales he'd ever read, he'd never once encountered a female pirate.
The group of people parted, a tall figure pushing through them to crouch down in front of them.
"A couple of lightning marshals," another provided-a male's voice, this time.
The man-Captain Puckerman-pushed back his hood, pushing his goggles up. He squinted at them. His face was tanned, the only hair on his head a thin stripe over the top of his skull.
"They don't look like lightning marshals to me," he told the first woman who had spoken, still scrutinizing their faces.
"Why else would anyone be up here in the middle of a storm?" one of the men yelled.
"Use your brain, David," Captain Puckerman snapped. "Maybe for the same damn reason we are! What's your name?"
Blaine just gaped at him.
"Maybe a night in the brig will loosen their lips," Captain Puckerman said, waving a hand. "Take them there."
"You heard him!" the first woman called, waving at two men. "Take them to the brig! And the rest of you-back to work! We've got lightning to catch!"
They were tied back to back, strapped into a set of apparently immovable chairs in the center of the room, and left there by the crew.
“They're going to kill us, aren't they?” Kurt asked quietly. His voice was impressively calm.
“I don't know,” Blaine admitted, hanging his head.
“It's kind of funny,” Kurt said, with a small laugh. “I used to watch people have adventures, you know. I envied them. I wished I could, too."
Blaine tried to smile. “Have you ever heard the expression 'be careful what you wish for'?"
Kurt's voice immediately turned sharp. “What, so ending up with my heart cut out, that'll serve me right, then?"
“No--” Blaine said, his voice softening, “No, no, that's not what I meant."
There was a brief silence, where each tried to pretend they couldn't hear the other sniffling.
“Look, I admire you dreaming,” Blaine offered, after a moment. “Choir boy like me? I could never have imagined an adventure this big in order to wish for it. I just thought I'd find some lump of celestial rock, and take it home, and that would be it."
“And you got me instead,” Kurt said, a small smile crossing his face.
They both laughed for a little bit, even though it wasn't really funny. Maybe they just needed something to laugh about, to get their minds off things.
“If there's one thing I've learned from my years of watching Earth,” Kurt said, after a moment, “it's that people aren't what they seem. That man wasn't the friendly innkeeper he pretended to be. He may have worked in an inn, but he most certainly wasn't an innkeeper. And Blaine, you're much more than just a choirboy. You saved my life."
He allowed his hand, just momentarily, to brush over Blaine's.
To his surprise, Blaine's fingers curled around his, holding his hand there.
Santana stared down at her sister's body.
She tried to feel a shred of remorse. She actually did. But for some reason, she simply couldn't muster it up.
Lauren deserved it.
“Well, well, well,” she said, softly. Sam was staring at Lauren's body, the corners of his mouth turned down. He'd always been softer than her.
“Does she have the stone?” she asked him, sharply.
He looked up, his eyes hard. “I'm not checking,” he said.
She rolled her eyes, snapping her fingers. One of her men strode over, clasping his hands behind his back. “Your majesty?"
“Check and make sure she doesn't have the stone,” she snapped.
The man hurried to do so.
She sensed the presence of someone else just before a hand wrapped around her ankle, and she flung herself to the ground, drawing her knife in one smooth motion and holding it to the throat of the man who'd been hidden beneath an overturned, abandoned cart.
“Where's my stone?” she hissed.
He shook his head, whimpering pitifully. “I don't--"
She shook him a little.
“Oh-oh-the woman-your sister-I heard her speak of a stone. Yeah. The boy had it. The boy had it."
Santana's brow furrowed. “What boy?” What would a boy want with her stone?
“I dunno. A boy. He got away. Because this was a trap set up for him, but your sister, she come just straight into it."
“A trap?” Santana echoed. “Set by whom?"
“A man you should pray you'll never meet,” the boy whispered fearfully. “He's-he's gone. He took your sister's carriage."
“Not here, madam,” one of her men called, pulling his hand from the tub in which her sister's body still rested and wiping it off, a semi-disgusted look upon his face. Santana ignored him.
“This man wanted my stone?” Santana asked sharply, her knife blade digging even more deeply into his throat.
The boy choked, clawing a little at Santana's arm. She didn't move.
“No,” he gasped, finally. “He wanted the boy's heart. He said the boy was a star and he wanted to cut out his heart and--"
“Eat it,” Santana said, releasing the boy suddenly. He slumped to the ground, rubbing his jaw. “Oh my God.” She stood up, turning to face the rest of her men. “Do you have any idea what this means?"
They all shook their heads, particularly dim-witted expressions on their faces.
“Everlasting life,” Santana breathed, too elated to even poke fun at their stupidity. “Cannibalism isn't my style, but can you imagine-Queen. Forever."
She chose to ignore the look of horror on Sam's face.
The carriage didn't have a driver.
Actually, more accurately, it did have a driver. He was just seated in the most uncustomary of seats-inside the cabin of the carriage, rather than outside.
Karofsky sighed. There was no point in conserving his magic anymore-he was already beginning to look haggard and old once more. It was only a matter of time until he was back to his previous state. He needed that star.
He rubbed the ring, frantically. “Ask again,” he barked at his brothers.
“We have asked again, and the answer is still the same,” Strando snapped. “He is airborne!"
“Well, he can't stay that way forever, inform me as soon as he touches the ground,” Karofsky said stiffly, folding his arms. “Immediately, do you understand?"
“Watch your tongue, brother!” Azimio growled. “It is you and not we who've lost him!"
“Lost him and broken the knife,” Strando added. “Even if you capture it, how will you kill it?"
“Maybe you should come back now, and one of us will set out in your place,” Azimio suggested, a sneer curling across his face.
“Don't be ridiculous,” Karofsky snapped back. “I'll bring him home, and deal with him there. Make sure everything is ready for our arrival."
The sky had lightened-the worst of the storm was over. Still, nobody had come for them.
Kurt shifted uncomfortably against Blaine's back.
“Tell me about Rachel,” he said, regretting it almost as soon as the words had left his mouth.
Blaine's brow furrowed. “Well, she-she--” He thought for a minute. “There's nothing more to tell you."
Kurt's lips pressed together. “Because from the small amount I know of love... I've been told it's unconditional. I've never been in love, but... my father and I are all that each other has, and I've never placed a value on his love for me. Love isn't something you can buy."
“Hold on,” Blaine said, as it sunk in. “This wasn't-it wasn't about me buying her love. It was a way for me to prove how I felt, that I was ready to marry her. That I wanted to marry her."
“Ah,” Kurt said, his voice still somewhat skeptical. “And what's she doing to prove how she feels about you?"
“Well--” Blaine argued instinctively, then stopped.
Both of them smiled to themselves, Blaine a little sheepishly, Kurt a little triumphantly.
“Look, Kurt, you'll understand when you meet her. All right?"
Honestly, though, he knew Kurt wouldn't. Kurt wouldn't understand why Blaine had to fight so hard for Rachel's attention when Jesse got it so easily. He wouldn't understand why Blaine wanted to marry her so badly, because he wouldn't see what he normally saw when he looked down at love on earth.
“Provided we don't get murdered by pirates first, of course,” he added, to take the tension away from the atmosphere.
“Mmm, murdered by pirates...” Kurt mused, his voice low and humorous. “Heart torn out and eaten... meet Rachel... can't quite decide which sounds more fun."
“Have courage,” Blaine said, grinning.
“I hated you at first, you know,” Kurt said softly.
Blaine snorted in a rather undignified way. “Yes. I got that message very clearly from the moment we met."
“Okay, I didn't hate you,” Kurt amended. “But I really wanted to."
“Why?” Blaine asked, before he could stop himself.
Kurt hummed a little. “I was angry at the world, actually, because believe it or not, the sky is a much nicer place to be than down here. I was angry at myself for not paying attention and being knocked out of the sky. I was angry at my father because he let me be knocked down-oh, I know he didn't, really,” he added, when Blaine cleared his throat. “It just felt that way, to me."
“So you were mad at everything else and you took it out on me?” Blaine asked, lightly.
Kurt half-sighed. “You were there. It was easy."
“Of course it was easy. I immediately put a chain on you as soon as I figured out who you were.” Blaine's voice sounded abashed.
“But you saved my life,” Kurt said softly. “It doesn't matter if you only did it because you need me in order to marry Rachel. You still did it. You could have left me there and saved yourself, but you didn't."
“Fat lot of help any of that did, though,” Blaine couldn't help but add. “Look where we are now."
Kurt clicked his tongue. “Well. Maybe they'll be sympathetic to our plight?"
They were both silent for a few moments longer.
“It wasn't, you know,” Blaine said, after a moment.
“Wasn't... what?” Kurt asked, after Blaine made no move to clarify.
“Wasn't just because I want to marry Rachel,” Blaine said. “I-I like you, Kurt. I like having you around."
Kurt's stomach fluttered, even after he told it sternly not to.
“We're-we're friends, right?"
The uncertainty in Blaine's voice was in no way adorable, and Kurt told himself this. “I'd say after that-yes. There are some things two people can't go through without ending up friends, and being attacked by an insane warlock intent on cutting out hearts and eating them has to be one of them."
“I'm glad you're here,” Blaine said, softly, and Kurt couldn't help but feel the same way.
“We've located the sky vessel,” Azimio announced.
Karofsky raised an eyebrow.
“It's headed North, for the port town on Mount McKinley. And you are no longer the only one seeking the star. There's someone following your tracks!"
“A witch? A warlock?"
“A princess. And she's catching you up! Get a move on."
Santana was clever. Cleverer than Lauren had been, in any case, and Lauren had been smart.
Quinn was left with nothing. The warlock had taken her carriage and Lauren's horses. She was left with her riding cloak and dress and the purse that stayed tucked inside her bodice at all times. She didn't even have shoes on.
Her eyes had snapped open the instant she'd heard Blaine's voice shouting below, and once she'd smelled smoke, she hadn't wasted a moment. She'd taken the stool sitting at the bedside and thrown it through the window, which shattered instantly-flimsy workmanship. She'd climbed down the trellis, staring wide-eyed when a beam of light flew from the inn and the warlock screamed furiously from within.
She'd watched from the safety of the woods as the warlock took everything he desired and left Lauren dead in the bathtub.
Then she'd fled.
The stone was no longer worth it. Not when she knew that someone like that warlock was after their stone-or at least, after them.
She kept thinking about Blaine.
She hoped he'd survived.
Captain Puckerman threw open the window in the brig and inhaled the sweet air. It always smelled better, the higher up they were.
“So,” he growled, spinning to face them. “This is the part where you two tell me who you are and why the hell you're up here.” He jerked his head at Kurt. “Or I'll snap his fingers one by one like dried twigs."
The crew, listening intently outside the door, laughed.
“My name is Blaine Anderson,” Blaine said calmly, straining his neck to make eye contact. “This is my-my-partner, Kurt."
“Your partner?” Captain Puckerman said, in a mock-pitying sort of tone. “Aw, but this little princess is a little too pretty to belong to a dwarf like you. It's share and share alike aboard my ship!"
Kurt's head whipped towards the door at the sound of the jeering crew, the expression on his face terrified.
“If you dare even touch him--” Blaine said, feeling his stomach twist up because what perversion-or maybe, no, that's not why he was filled with such dread, but he didn't have time to think on it, because the Captain had Blaine's jaw in his hand, and was staring him in the eye, cold and calculating.
“You may think you're showing some sort of bravery in front of your little friend,” Captain growled, “but if you talk back to me again, I'll feed your tongue to the dogs, you impertinent little pup."
“Sir -” Blaine pleaded.
“Better. But still interrupting.” Captain Puckerman turned away from them to pace once more. “Let's see. A hanging's always good for morale. Maybe we'll watch you dance a gallows jig!” He paused, listening to the crew laugh and cheer outside with a slight smile on his face. “Or maybe I'll just tip you over the side and have done with it!"
He crouched down until he was once again eye-level with Blaine and Kurt. “It's a very long way down. Plenty of time to think about your pathetically boring and short lives."
“Please,” Blaine said, feeling Kurt's hand tighten on his. “Please, we're just trying to get home. Back to a place called Wall, where I come from."
“What did you say?” Captain Puckerman asked, freezing.
“I said we were trying to get home, to Wall.” Blaine enunciated, and nearly screamed as a dagger flew to his throat.
Captain Puckerman was inches from his face. “That's one lie too many, fairy-boy."
“What's he saying?” Wes hissed, from the other side of the wall.
Mercedes waved him off, her eyes widening as she pressed her ear as closely to the door as was possible. At the sound of her Captain's roar, she pulled away. “On the deck, on the deck, go, go, go--!"
“Big mistake, Mr. Anderson, and the last one you'll ever make!"
They reached the deck just in time to see a body flying out the window of the brig, sinking down into the clouds and disappearing.
Captain Puckerman looked up.
The crew pulled back immediately.
“No! No! You brute! You murderer!” Kurt's voice was hoarse from screaming as he was dragged across the deck by the Captain.
“Get up!” Puckerman barked, and Kurt was stunned into silence by a sharp blow dealt to his cheekbone by a deceptively innocent-looking blond woman.
“I'm taking the boy to my cabin,” the Captain called, “and mark my words, anyone who disturbs me for the next few hours will be getting the same treatment."
Mercedes looked taken aback, slightly disgusted, and slightly offended. “What, you'll--” she made a dirty gesture with her hands.
“No, you stupid bitch, I'll throw you over the side as well!"
Mercedes made a rude gesture at him, but looked relieved. “Oh, yeah,” she said, and moved to shut the door and stand in front of it, throwing a conspiratorial wink at the Captain as she did.
“Get in there, princess,” they heard Puckerman yell, and the door slammed shut.
Mercedes shot an unimpressed glance at the surrounding company, who were all waiting, staring eagerly at the door. "Captain's busy. So should you be."
“So,” said Captain Puckerman, turning from the doors to look at a grinning Blaine and Kurt. “That went well, I think.""
Blaine, feeling Kurt's eyes on him, crossed his arms self-consciously; he'd had to give his clothing to Captain Puckerman (quickly), and was dressed only in his underclothes.
“Now, tell me the news about England.” Captain Puckerman pulled out a chair and sat down, straddling it. “The girls there still prettier than the ones over here?"
“You must've been fortunate enough to see some of the good ones,” Blaine said without thinking, and was startled when Kurt snorted in agreement.
Captain Puckerman laughed, slapping Blaine on the back. “I'm glad I didn't kill you."
Blaine looked like he wasn't quite sure what to say back to that.
“I can't believe your crew fell for that. Where on earth did you get that mannequin?” Kurt asked, looking utterly bemused.
Captain Puckerman waved a dismissive hand. “It works every time. They're idiots. I use a combination of intimidation and fear to build my rep without ever having to knock someone's lights out. Ever tried to get bloodstains out of white leather? Nightmare."
Both Kurt and Blaine just blinked at him.
“We're going to have to disguise you,” Captain Puckerman said, waving a hand at Blaine.
“Captain Puckerman--"
The Captain snorted. “Call me Puck."
“Puck-I still don't understand how your crew won't recognize me."
“Blaine, when I'm done, your own mother won't recognize you.” At the mention of Blaine's mother, Puck got a strange sort of leer on his face that Blaine was afraid to ask about. “We only have two hours before we make port, so this'll have to be fast. First--"
He stood up, twisting one of the lamps that lined the walls of the cabin. A door opened beside it, revealing a massive closet full of clothing.
“You have to look the part,” he said, shrugging. “I kind of have a thing for costumes."
He thrust an outfit at Blaine-breeches, a vest, a white collared shirt, and oh, a long white coat that Blaine had to pretend he wasn't salivating over. It was spectacular.
“You're going to want to go navy,” Puck told Kurt, gruffly, as if lowering his voice into an even more manly tone might excuse the fact that he was giving out fashion advice.
“Oh, I'm fine,” Kurt said, politely, although he was itching to rifle through what looked like a truly amazing collection of clothing. He'd always been envious about that one thing when looking down at Earth-human clothing.
“Princess, you're wearing a bathrobe,” Puck said, sarcastically.
Kurt didn't protest a second time. He hurried to the racks of clothing.
Puck shoved Blaine into a small, curtained-off partition in the closet. “Now. England. I want to hear everything."
“But... you're not from England,” Blaine called over the curtain, pushing his head through the neck of the shirt.
“Sadly, no, but I heard the stories all the time. People told me they were myths, but I had to believe it because it sounded a hell of a lot better than what I had over here."
“So you were here looking over there,” Blaine said, a smile in his voice.
“Being a pirate gets boring fast,” Puck replied, which wasn't really an answer, but Blaine would take it. He stepped out from the curtain, clothed in the garments, and Puck examined him critically for a moment.
“Your hair,” he grimaced. “It's got to go."
Blaine's hand flew to his head. “What's wrong with my hair?” he asked defensively.
Kurt poked his head out from behind a rack of clothing. “It looks like it's been plastered to your head. How much animal fat does it take for you to get it like that?"
“Princess is right, Anderson,” Puck said, grinning. “You need a new look."
He sat Blaine in a chair, draping an apron around him as he examined his hair. “Kurt's probably better at this than I am."
“Happy to help,” Kurt said, and the tone of his voice made Blaine twist up to scowl at him. Kurt smiled back, angelically.
“Tilt your head back,” Kurt said softly, and Blaine complied.
Puck began talking again as water rushed over Blaine's head and Kurt began to scrub at his hair.
"I tried to make my father proud, you know, because he was ruthless and bad and feared everywhere. But I just wanted to make music, and I'm not cut out for the job. So I just worked on getting a killer reputation of ruthless pirate and cold-blooded killer, and took on the name Puckerman for the intimidation factor. It goes back to my Jew heritage-shalom-but my enemies and crew are thinking 'Pucker! Man!'"
"That doesn't even make sense--” Kurt tried to say, but Blaine had already begun talking.
“I don't understand that,” he said, stifling a small moan because Kurt had just done something with his fingernails against his scalp that felt amazing, for some reason. “Surely it would make you happier to just be yourself? Why fight to be accepted by people you don't actually want to be like?"
“Yeah,” Kurt said, sarcastically. “Why would anyone do that to himself?"
Blaine felt his neck heat.
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