The Sun From Both Sides Chapter 4
Chapter 4
A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.-Jean de La Fontaine
Kurt had calmed sufficiently to sit back in his chair without hyperventilating or passing out. His dad was standing at the door to the choir room having a heated conversation with Principal Figgins, Mr. Schue, and Coach Sylvester, although how the cheerleading coach was involved was a bit of a mystery.
Ms. Pillsbury arrived at the choir room, completely ignoring the arguing knot of adults and making a beeline for Kurt. Her large soft eyes held nothing but kindness, and she reached into the pocket of her lovely pale pink cardigan to hand Kurt a silver-plated hand mirror. He held her gaze for a long moment, marveling at her caretaker instincts. They’d never been close, but she’d someone understood when no one else did that seeing the new Oracle markings on his face would help ground him in his new reality.
Bracing himself, he flipped open the compact. For a second, he couldn’t really comprehend the change, but he slowly adjusted to his altered reflection. High on his cheekbones shone the delicate laurel leaves, their warm subtle glow somewhat complementing the color of his eyes. Kind of. Years of dedicated moisturizing and exfoliating was laid low by markings that made him look like some kind of Sailor Moon cosplay freak. He sighed bitterly, snapping the compact shut and handing it back to the guidance counselor. Emma turned the silver disc in her hands for a moment before speaking.
“Kurt, I know this isn’t anything like what you planned for yourself but I wasn’t surprised when I heard. I’ve seen a lot of students walk through these halls, a lot of them facing things just as terrible as what you have, these last few years,” she paused for a moment, waiting until he met her eyes again. “You have a rare kind of inner strength, Kurt. I’ve always seen that about you. This may not be what you dreamed of, but I’m heartened by the idea of you stepping into this role. You have courage and strength and a special sort of sweetness that recognizes that compassion isn’t necessarily a weakness. You’re going to do great things, I truly believe that.”
Kurt just stared at her, unable to form a reply. She smiled at him, a bastion of compassionate strength in his currently crazy reality. A lifetime devoted to Hestia, Goddess of the hearth, had yielded up a natural caretaking spirit with unparalleled sympathetic instincts. How she had survived this long at McKinley was anyone’s guess, but they were blessed that she had stuck it out.
Coach Sylvester’s approach saved Kurt from having to reply with anything other than a tremulous smile. The coach stalked over to stand beside the guidance counselor, eyeing Kurt critically.
“I see we’ve dispensed with the tragic histrionics before I arrived, Porcelain. Well done. Witnessing them would have lowered my unusually high opinion of you. I always knew you’d make it big, Cheerios always do, but you’re six years, four months, and eleven days ahead of the schedule I mapped out for you. Outstanding.” She nodded sharply, as if she’d guided the hand of Apollo herself. Kurt wasn’t sure he’d put that past her capabilities.
She checked her watch and glanced at the door. “I do enjoy being the bearer of bad news, so I’ll be the first to let you know that the press is surrounding the school like a flock of angry harpies. Also, Oracle Medeiros and your new Guardian should be arriving any minute now. Welcome to the rest of your life, Oracle Hummel. I’ll expect your projections of the future of my Cheerios for the next fifteen years typed up and on my desk by eight AM tomorrow morning.” She leaned closer for a second, lowering her voice.
“You’re not going to be at McKinley much longer, Porcelain. Don’t let Figgins push you around. He was always beneath you-but you both know it now.” A final sharp nod and she stalked away, staring at the assembled crowd with her usual incredible disdain.
Kurt didn’t have to puzzle out her last remark for long. His dad’s raised voice rang suddenly across the room.
“You spend the last two and a half years turning a blind eye to the harassment Kurt goes through every day and now you want to step out in front of the press with your arm around his shoulder like you’re the frickin’ Dumbledore to his Harry Potter?! Like Hades you will. An hour ago you couldn’t have cared less about my kid.”
Heart swelling with love for his dad, Kurt lowered his head into his hands, trying to ignore the increasing press of voices and feelings around him, a sharp pain starting to blossom behind his eyes. The more people gathered around him, the more he could feel a suffocating press of pure sensation pushing into his mind. If it got any worse Kurt was worried he wouldn’t be able to breathe at all.
“Mr. Hummel, Kurt has always been a special student here at McKinley. I’m sure he would want to help his high school by generating a little positive publicity,” Principal Figgins’ voice simpered.
“You will not use my son as a tool to fundraise for your pathetic high school!” Burt thundered back, his face turning read as he pushed his cap back on his head. The sight of his flushed features roused Kurt from the ever increasing delirium of the disembodied voices and feelings around him.
“Dad! Your heart!”
Burt said something in reply but Kurt was beginning to have trouble hearing the people around him over the voices in his head. He shut his eyes and pressed his fingers against his temples, desperately trying to get the voices to shut up. He breathed slowly through his nose, seized by the idea, however irrational, that his headache was coming from the lack of air and the pressure around him. He knew intellectually that he wasn’t actually suffocating, but the strength of the sensation was alarming in the way it was short circuiting his grasp on reality.
Kurt knew without opening his eyes that the adults present were crowding around him, he could literally feel them crushing in around him. He tried to speak, to beg them to back away before they killed him, but all that emerged from his mouth was a strangled moan. He could hear an argument start over his head and he desperately wished everyone would just go away so he could think.
A sharp accented voice cut through the babble and someone pushed through the crowd surrounding Kurt, coming to stand protectively between him and the press of bodies. Gentle hands cupped his face, loosening his fingers from where they were digging into his temples.
As soon as the hands touched him, every inch of his body relaxed and a sense of instinctual recognition flowed over him. The stranger’s thumbs brushed over his cheekbones in an echo of the touch of Apollo earlier that day. The touch helped immensely, but Kurt still felt disoriented inside his own mind, like being in a dream he wasn’t sure how to wake up from.
Then a soft sound joined the touch, like an extra lifeline or a light in a dark tunnel, telling him ‘this way’. It was someone signing under their breath, quiet but no less musical for its low volume. It took Kurt a moment to recognize Katy Perry’s Teenage Dream. The voice kept singing, the sound like a trail of breadcrumbs through Kurt’s chaotic mind.
Suddenly there was utter relief as the voices died away as if someone had muted them, leaving Kurt in an insulated bubble where he could think and breathe normally again. He opened his eyes to find a pair of whiskey gold hazel eyes staring at him in concern. The eyes crinkled around the edges as their owner smiled self-consciously, perhaps at the intimacy of their position.
“Hey, welcome back,” the stranger said, dropping his hands to Kurt’s shoulders. “You went really deep there-for a minute I was afraid I wasn’t going to get you back.”
Kurt was feeling recovered enough to arch his brow at the guy in a manner that clearly said explain yourself now, please. Now that he could focus, Kurt was surprised by how young the man was-his own age, more boy than man, really. Dark thick hair was gelled back ruthlessly, crowning a face that would do anyone Golden Age leading man proud. The boy managed to make a poly-blend uniform look, if not fashionable, at least presentable and even a bit appealing.
The boy drew away, allowing Kurt to see that everyone in the room was staring at them. He felt his treacherously fair skin flush immediately. The strange boy seemed composed in a way that made Kurt vaguely jealous, as if he was used to people staring.
A petite Latina woman in a stunning Diane von Furstenberg print wrap dress stepped forward, clearly impatient. Kurt registered the Oracle marks on her face and realized this was Vitoria Medeiros, the South American Oracle.
“Excellent. You two have bonded well already, that was quite well done, Guardian Anderson. Oracle Hummel, I am Oracle Vitoria Medeiros and I will be your principle guide during your training period. The young man in front of you is Blaine Anderson, your Guardian. I will explain these things further at a later, more discrete moment. It is enough now for you to know that you and Mr. Anderson will be depending on each other for quite some time to come. Do try to get along.”
The large man behind her said something in Spanish, causing her to glance at her watch. “Si, Juan, gracias. We must be going now, or we will miss our flight plan’s take off window. Oracle Hummel, Guardian Anderson, Mr. Hummel, we must move quickly now, yes? We must be on a plane to Delphi tonight for your predecessor Oracle Freeman’s funeral. Vamanos!” With a snap of her beautifully manicured fingers, Oracle Medeiros clearly communicated that she had an agenda and hanging out in McKinley Senior High School was not on it.
Given Burt’s lack of argument to the ‘flying to Delphi imminently’ plan, Kurt surmised some discussion must have gone on while his Guardian was helping him filter out the psychic cacophony that had been drowning him. Kurt was beginning to wonder if he’d ever have any say in anything ever again.
“Wait! I can’t go to Delphi tonight! I don’t even have a passport!” It sounded inane even as Kurt said it, but for Olympus’ sake, you can’t just decide to go to Greece and leave an hour later! And why wasn’t his father objecting more to this woman summarily dictating that they were leaving the country tonight?
Burt seemed to sense his son’s disquiet, and came over to rub his shoulder reassuringly. “I know this is a lot to take in, Kurt, but I’m going with you. They’re not separating us; however that doesn’t change the fact that you are an Oracle now and there are responsibilities that go with that. I’ll always be there for you, but there are things the Temple and your Guardian can give you that I can’t, things that you need now. There are some things I need to tell you, too, but that’ll have to wait for a bit.”
Medeiros was respectful enough to let Burt finish before remarking in a highly amused tone, “This is true. Also, you will not be needing a passport. Do you think your President Obama must show his passport when arriving in foreign countries? Of course not, he just arrives. So too do Oracles, and they are always happy to see us.” Her Guardian snorted in amusement, his eyes indulgent as he watched his Oracle command the room.
Following the Oracle from the room, taking a guilty pleasure in her utter disdain for Principle Figgins’ attempts to get her attention, Kurt leaned over to his Guardian.
“Is she always like this?”
The shorter boy looked amused. “Well, I’ve only known her for about two hours, but yes. She is always like this,” he replied. “By the way, I’m Blaine. It’s nice to meet you.” Blaine smiled at Kurt, and the newest Oracle cursed himself as he felt his stomach flip.
Taking Blaine’s offered hand tentatively, he smiled back. “I’m Kurt. It’s nice to meet you as well, although I wish it was under different circumstances.”
As they followed the senior Oracle/Guardian pair down the halls of McKinley, with students crowded in classroom doors taking photos and videos on their phones, the teachers not even making a token effort at restraining them, Blaine sighed and gave Kurt a wry look.
“You could say that again.”
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Blaine had known that he would ‘bond’ to his Oracle, but he’d expected something more complex-more ritualistic-than just walking up to him and ‘Oh, there you are.’ That was what had happened, however.
By the time he, Medeiros, and Cortez had arrived at the high school and located the new Oracle, it had been more than an hour since his Calling and he was already in serious distress. They’d been held up at the door of the school for a bit before they were finally allowed in. During this time, Blaine began feeling extremely uneasy with the delay. He hadn’t even realized he was shifting from foot to foot with impatience until Guardian Cortez put a restraining on his shoulder.
“I know, little brother, we are getting you to him soon. He has his father and will be alright until you arrive.”
Although unnerved that the older man seemed to have a better idea of what was going on in his head than Blaine himself did, he settled under the reassuring touch.
Soon enough they arrived at what appeared to be a music room, where a small crowd of people huddled tightly around a figure slumped in a chair. A blonde woman in a tracksuit was loudly ordering everyone to back off, but no one seemed to be listening. A pained moan could barely be heard over the babble of voices, except to Blaine, who felt the distressing sound shoot straight through his body.
Blaine was moving before he even realized it, pushing through the crowd even as Medeiros erupted into Spanish expletives behind him. A judicious use of elbows got him to the center of the huddle, where the boy he’d seen on the news was sitting, digging his fingers into his temple.
Instinct took over. Blaine cupped his Oracle’s face, sensing the chaos in the boy’s mind. It wasn’t quite telepathy, more like an inner knowledge of what could effect an Oracle to cause this response. He loosened the digging fingers, brushing his thumbs over the softly glowing laurel marks. He could tell his touch alone was providing relief, but somehow he also knew that the Oracle was still caught inside his own mind. Blaine began humming, and then singing a song he’d been practicing with the Warblers under his breath.
It seemed to work. Blaine could sense the pale boy rousing to consciousness, slowly approaching through the tangled dark of an Oracle’s mind. He understood better now that his role was as much anchor as protector, keeping his Oracle from getting lost in a mind suddenly larger, darker, and more complex than any human is built to deal with.
Blue eyes fluttered open and like a joint snapping into alignment, it happened. They were bonded. It was an amazing feeling.
‘Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you forever.’
Several hours later Blaine had helped Kurt sort through his wardrobe for clothes appropriate for a Grecian autumn and then packed a bag at his own home significantly more quickly, despite Kurt’s color commentary. The pair hadn’t been more than a few feet apart since bonding. Medeiros had assured them that once they’d settled with each other and developed their bond, they’d be able spend more time apart and at greater distances without ill effect.
They stepped out of the limo on the tarmac of a private airfield outside of Columbus. Burt emerged from the depths of the limo behind them. Blaine’s parents were out of the country already, so he had no one to accompany him. Kurt had squeezed his hand when he’d admitted this, assuring him that Burt would be overbearing enough for both of them given the opportunity. Burt, alarmingly, hadn’t disagreed.
Blaine could hear the shouts of the press outside the fence, cameras flashing frantically in the purple twilight. Cortez, backed up by Medeiros, had expressly forbade them from speaking to the press yet, telling them that the Temple’s PR firm would handle all that until they were more adjusted to their positions.
A Lear Jet sat waiting for them, Chariot One emblazoned across it in gold writing. Burt sucked in his breath behind them, pushing his cap back in amazement.
“This is your plane?” The man asked, turning toward Medeiros.
Medeiros found this amusing, like so many things they did and said around her. “No, I sent my plane back to Santiago, we did not need two. This plane arrived from Washington DC this afternoon. It is Kurt and Blaine’s plane. While they are still underage it will be stationed here to be at their disposal.”
She did not pause as she said this, waltzing past the stunned boys as if she hadn’t just given them a private plane. Kurt broke out of his amazement first, grabbing the handle of his suitcase and trooping after her grimly.
“She’s having way too much fun with this,” Blaine heard him grumble and had to agree.
Burt broke out of his stupor, catching up with the boys. “Kurt-this plane-” He broke off, trying to frame what he was going to say.
Kurt had no trouble translating. “There’s going to be rules, I bet.”
Burt nodded frantically. “YES! Yes, rules. So many rules.”
Blaine smiled at the warmth of the interaction. “No joy rides in the Lear Jet?” He asked, joining in the banter.
“There will be no anything in the Lear Jet without my express permission until you’re both eighteen… or thirty. We’ll see,” Burt glowered at both of them as they boarded the jet.
The interior of the jet was sumptuous; there was no other word for it. Blaine had flown before, always first class, but it was nothing like this. A smartly uniformed flight attendant greeted them, dipping her head respectfully to Kurt and Blaine. The boys stopped at a pair of seats, hesitating awkwardly for a moment. It took a second, but Blaine figured out what Kurt wanted that he was hesitating to ask for.
“You’ve never flown before?”
At Kurt’s mute, embarrassed nod, he smiled reassuringly. “Take the window. I’ve seen it before. There won’t be much to see at night, but we’ll probably see the sun rise over the ocean later.” Kurt’s glowing smile made Blaine feel strange, like he’d given him something so much more significant than the window seat.
The pair settled in for takeoff. Kurt’s hand found his as they lifted off, tightening frantically even as the Oracle craned his neck to see out the window. Blaine squeezed back reassuringly, watching the other boy with a strange, tight warm feeling in his chest as they climbed into the night, winging towards Greece and their future.
After they’d reached cruising altitude and eaten one of the better meals Blaine had ever had, Medeiros and Cortez moved to sit across from them.
“So, you have many questions, I am sure. Allow us to give you some background first and then you can ask any questions that remain. In this way, we will not leave anything out.” Medeiros waited for them to agree, then settled back in her chair.
“First, Kurt, I will offer you the same apology that was offered to me after I was called. The reason is this: we knew you would be the next Oracle from the moment you were born.”
Kurt half stood from his chair, his face red with outrage, but the older Oracle silenced him with a gesture.
“Remember, I have been where you are. I know the pain and shock you are feeling and I would have spared you it if I could. However, it was for your own safety that we did not contact you earlier, that we let you be surprised. What I am about to tell you is something no one outside of the Temple knows. We have always kept the identity of potential Oracles from the public, historically we told the parents but no one else. However, about eighty years ago a spy managed to infiltrate the Temple and gain access to those names. They were a sect of Zeus worshippers who had perverted the tenets of their God and grown out of control. Mr. Hummel knows what I am talking about, I think. Hummel is, after all, a German name.”
Burt nodded, soberly. “My grandfather told me about it, about why they fled Germany before the Second World War.”
Blaine sucked in his breath, understanding. “The Nazis. They killed your potential Oracles. That’s why the Temple of Apollo was the first Olympian Sect to oppose the Third Reich.”
Medeiros nodded in approval. “Indeed, Mr. Anderson. In one single night in 1933 they wiped out an entire generation of potential oracles, in Europe, Africa, and Asia. While the Temple was still reeling from that blow, they managed to poison two of the current Oracles, in Europe and Asia. With the Oracles dead and no one positioned to replace them, the Temple became blind to anything happening in Europe or Asia. It was fifteen years before a new generation of Oracles was born and old enough to assume rudimentary duties over those areas. In the intervening time, Germany and Japan rampaged across those continents, stopped only by a brutal horrific war that should have been prevented.”
Twisting his cap in his hands, Burt spoke quietly. “I owe you an apology, too, Kurt. The reason why I wasn’t surprised you were the Oracle is because you aren’t the first in the Hummel family. My Grandfather’s younger brother was murdered by the Nazis in 1933, and the family fled to America the next day. He was the potential Oracle and it was the Temple of Apollo that got the rest of them out so fast. They wanted to preserve the line in case we ever produced another Oracle. They were right, ‘cause here you are.” The man looked distressed but he plowed on, staring earnestly into his son’s eyes.
“I swear Kurt, I never thought this would actually happen. I knew there was a chance but I thought the Temple would have contacted us when you were born, like they did your great-great-grandparents. I guess I just buried my head in the sand and ignored the signs. I wish I’d prepared you better for this, Kurt. I really do.”
Blaine held his breath, gripping Kurt’s hand so tightly it must have hurt, though the other boy showed no sign of feeling it. Kurt closed his eyes for a long moment, his features blank and eerily pale. Finally, the hand in his squeezed back and Kurt opened his eyes.
“It’s okay, dad. I don’t think I would have believed you even if you’d told me. I was in denial today right up until Apollo appeared and grabbed my face, even after Brittany told me what would happen.”
Blaine and Burt let out simultaneous sighs of relief that Kurt wasn’t more upset by this revelation. Medeiros nodded approvingly at the scene, as though she’d engineered it all.
“Excellent! To carry on, since that terrible time we Oracles reveal the names of our successors only to each other and our Guardians. We tell no one else, not priest or acolyte, no one. The only other person who knows is a temporary guard placed undercover to keep an eye on potentials. This person is not a Temple member, it is a member of an underground sect formed during World War II. The agent alone receives an order with only a name, and they never hear from us again.”
Kurt’s head snapped up, comprehension dawning in his eyes. “Coach Sylvester.”
Burt sputtered, “That crazy cheerleading coach who made you drink water and sand shakes two meals a day?”
Blaine’s eyes widened even as Kurt and Medeiros nodded. “She told Mercedes and I last year that her parents were famous Nazi hunters-and she’s always looked out for me, in her unique way.”
Medeiros looked extremely pleased. “You two are very sharp. This will make my job so much easier, which I like. I do not intend to spend the entire winter in Ohio if I can avoid it.”
“Sue Sylvester was indeed tasked with your wellbeing until your Calling, although I cannot comment on her methods. She received no instruction from us. This is why you were never told of your future, Kurt. I am sorry it had to be that way, but you can see why we can’t afford to take chances,” Cortez added, looking compassionately at the young Oracle. “You, Blaine, were not foretold. We took an educated guess that it was probably you, given your proximity to Kurt, but Vitoria did not have a vision confirming you as his Guardian until halfway through the flight this morning. It is often this way, I was not even Chosen by Apollo until the day Vitoria was Called. Mine was very late. No one knows why it is this way with Guardians, but it is a lifelong commitment, so it must be a careful choice on Apollo’s part. This, at least, is what I think.”
It was the longest speech Blaine had ever heard out of Cortez. He could see Kurt turned to look at him from the corner of his eye.
“This is a good pairing, it will work out. Not like the European pair, French and English. Bicker, bicker, bicker, like tiny children all day long. You two will work beautifully,” Medeiros smiled at them both.
Cortez snorted. “This is a prediction from the Oracle?”
Sniffing in disdain, Medieros replied, “This is a prediction from a woman. Women always know.”
Blaine turned back to Kurt with a smile, to find the boy turned away from him, staring out the window with a strange sad look in his eyes. Wanting to see that smile again, he leaned close and asked the question that had been on his mind for the last few minutes.
“Hey, did you really drink water and sand shakes?”
It worked, Kurt turning back to him with life in his eyes again. “Oh my Gods, my hips looked fantastic then! So much better in skinny jeans.”
A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.-Jean de La Fontaine
Kurt had calmed sufficiently to sit back in his chair without hyperventilating or passing out. His dad was standing at the door to the choir room having a heated conversation with Principal Figgins, Mr. Schue, and Coach Sylvester, although how the cheerleading coach was involved was a bit of a mystery.
Ms. Pillsbury arrived at the choir room, completely ignoring the arguing knot of adults and making a beeline for Kurt. Her large soft eyes held nothing but kindness, and she reached into the pocket of her lovely pale pink cardigan to hand Kurt a silver-plated hand mirror. He held her gaze for a long moment, marveling at her caretaker instincts. They’d never been close, but she’d someone understood when no one else did that seeing the new Oracle markings on his face would help ground him in his new reality.
Bracing himself, he flipped open the compact. For a second, he couldn’t really comprehend the change, but he slowly adjusted to his altered reflection. High on his cheekbones shone the delicate laurel leaves, their warm subtle glow somewhat complementing the color of his eyes. Kind of. Years of dedicated moisturizing and exfoliating was laid low by markings that made him look like some kind of Sailor Moon cosplay freak. He sighed bitterly, snapping the compact shut and handing it back to the guidance counselor. Emma turned the silver disc in her hands for a moment before speaking.
“Kurt, I know this isn’t anything like what you planned for yourself but I wasn’t surprised when I heard. I’ve seen a lot of students walk through these halls, a lot of them facing things just as terrible as what you have, these last few years,” she paused for a moment, waiting until he met her eyes again. “You have a rare kind of inner strength, Kurt. I’ve always seen that about you. This may not be what you dreamed of, but I’m heartened by the idea of you stepping into this role. You have courage and strength and a special sort of sweetness that recognizes that compassion isn’t necessarily a weakness. You’re going to do great things, I truly believe that.”
Kurt just stared at her, unable to form a reply. She smiled at him, a bastion of compassionate strength in his currently crazy reality. A lifetime devoted to Hestia, Goddess of the hearth, had yielded up a natural caretaking spirit with unparalleled sympathetic instincts. How she had survived this long at McKinley was anyone’s guess, but they were blessed that she had stuck it out.
Coach Sylvester’s approach saved Kurt from having to reply with anything other than a tremulous smile. The coach stalked over to stand beside the guidance counselor, eyeing Kurt critically.
“I see we’ve dispensed with the tragic histrionics before I arrived, Porcelain. Well done. Witnessing them would have lowered my unusually high opinion of you. I always knew you’d make it big, Cheerios always do, but you’re six years, four months, and eleven days ahead of the schedule I mapped out for you. Outstanding.” She nodded sharply, as if she’d guided the hand of Apollo herself. Kurt wasn’t sure he’d put that past her capabilities.
She checked her watch and glanced at the door. “I do enjoy being the bearer of bad news, so I’ll be the first to let you know that the press is surrounding the school like a flock of angry harpies. Also, Oracle Medeiros and your new Guardian should be arriving any minute now. Welcome to the rest of your life, Oracle Hummel. I’ll expect your projections of the future of my Cheerios for the next fifteen years typed up and on my desk by eight AM tomorrow morning.” She leaned closer for a second, lowering her voice.
“You’re not going to be at McKinley much longer, Porcelain. Don’t let Figgins push you around. He was always beneath you-but you both know it now.” A final sharp nod and she stalked away, staring at the assembled crowd with her usual incredible disdain.
Kurt didn’t have to puzzle out her last remark for long. His dad’s raised voice rang suddenly across the room.
“You spend the last two and a half years turning a blind eye to the harassment Kurt goes through every day and now you want to step out in front of the press with your arm around his shoulder like you’re the frickin’ Dumbledore to his Harry Potter?! Like Hades you will. An hour ago you couldn’t have cared less about my kid.”
Heart swelling with love for his dad, Kurt lowered his head into his hands, trying to ignore the increasing press of voices and feelings around him, a sharp pain starting to blossom behind his eyes. The more people gathered around him, the more he could feel a suffocating press of pure sensation pushing into his mind. If it got any worse Kurt was worried he wouldn’t be able to breathe at all.
“Mr. Hummel, Kurt has always been a special student here at McKinley. I’m sure he would want to help his high school by generating a little positive publicity,” Principal Figgins’ voice simpered.
“You will not use my son as a tool to fundraise for your pathetic high school!” Burt thundered back, his face turning read as he pushed his cap back on his head. The sight of his flushed features roused Kurt from the ever increasing delirium of the disembodied voices and feelings around him.
“Dad! Your heart!”
Burt said something in reply but Kurt was beginning to have trouble hearing the people around him over the voices in his head. He shut his eyes and pressed his fingers against his temples, desperately trying to get the voices to shut up. He breathed slowly through his nose, seized by the idea, however irrational, that his headache was coming from the lack of air and the pressure around him. He knew intellectually that he wasn’t actually suffocating, but the strength of the sensation was alarming in the way it was short circuiting his grasp on reality.
Kurt knew without opening his eyes that the adults present were crowding around him, he could literally feel them crushing in around him. He tried to speak, to beg them to back away before they killed him, but all that emerged from his mouth was a strangled moan. He could hear an argument start over his head and he desperately wished everyone would just go away so he could think.
A sharp accented voice cut through the babble and someone pushed through the crowd surrounding Kurt, coming to stand protectively between him and the press of bodies. Gentle hands cupped his face, loosening his fingers from where they were digging into his temples.
As soon as the hands touched him, every inch of his body relaxed and a sense of instinctual recognition flowed over him. The stranger’s thumbs brushed over his cheekbones in an echo of the touch of Apollo earlier that day. The touch helped immensely, but Kurt still felt disoriented inside his own mind, like being in a dream he wasn’t sure how to wake up from.
Then a soft sound joined the touch, like an extra lifeline or a light in a dark tunnel, telling him ‘this way’. It was someone signing under their breath, quiet but no less musical for its low volume. It took Kurt a moment to recognize Katy Perry’s Teenage Dream. The voice kept singing, the sound like a trail of breadcrumbs through Kurt’s chaotic mind.
Suddenly there was utter relief as the voices died away as if someone had muted them, leaving Kurt in an insulated bubble where he could think and breathe normally again. He opened his eyes to find a pair of whiskey gold hazel eyes staring at him in concern. The eyes crinkled around the edges as their owner smiled self-consciously, perhaps at the intimacy of their position.
“Hey, welcome back,” the stranger said, dropping his hands to Kurt’s shoulders. “You went really deep there-for a minute I was afraid I wasn’t going to get you back.”
Kurt was feeling recovered enough to arch his brow at the guy in a manner that clearly said explain yourself now, please. Now that he could focus, Kurt was surprised by how young the man was-his own age, more boy than man, really. Dark thick hair was gelled back ruthlessly, crowning a face that would do anyone Golden Age leading man proud. The boy managed to make a poly-blend uniform look, if not fashionable, at least presentable and even a bit appealing.
The boy drew away, allowing Kurt to see that everyone in the room was staring at them. He felt his treacherously fair skin flush immediately. The strange boy seemed composed in a way that made Kurt vaguely jealous, as if he was used to people staring.
A petite Latina woman in a stunning Diane von Furstenberg print wrap dress stepped forward, clearly impatient. Kurt registered the Oracle marks on her face and realized this was Vitoria Medeiros, the South American Oracle.
“Excellent. You two have bonded well already, that was quite well done, Guardian Anderson. Oracle Hummel, I am Oracle Vitoria Medeiros and I will be your principle guide during your training period. The young man in front of you is Blaine Anderson, your Guardian. I will explain these things further at a later, more discrete moment. It is enough now for you to know that you and Mr. Anderson will be depending on each other for quite some time to come. Do try to get along.”
The large man behind her said something in Spanish, causing her to glance at her watch. “Si, Juan, gracias. We must be going now, or we will miss our flight plan’s take off window. Oracle Hummel, Guardian Anderson, Mr. Hummel, we must move quickly now, yes? We must be on a plane to Delphi tonight for your predecessor Oracle Freeman’s funeral. Vamanos!” With a snap of her beautifully manicured fingers, Oracle Medeiros clearly communicated that she had an agenda and hanging out in McKinley Senior High School was not on it.
Given Burt’s lack of argument to the ‘flying to Delphi imminently’ plan, Kurt surmised some discussion must have gone on while his Guardian was helping him filter out the psychic cacophony that had been drowning him. Kurt was beginning to wonder if he’d ever have any say in anything ever again.
“Wait! I can’t go to Delphi tonight! I don’t even have a passport!” It sounded inane even as Kurt said it, but for Olympus’ sake, you can’t just decide to go to Greece and leave an hour later! And why wasn’t his father objecting more to this woman summarily dictating that they were leaving the country tonight?
Burt seemed to sense his son’s disquiet, and came over to rub his shoulder reassuringly. “I know this is a lot to take in, Kurt, but I’m going with you. They’re not separating us; however that doesn’t change the fact that you are an Oracle now and there are responsibilities that go with that. I’ll always be there for you, but there are things the Temple and your Guardian can give you that I can’t, things that you need now. There are some things I need to tell you, too, but that’ll have to wait for a bit.”
Medeiros was respectful enough to let Burt finish before remarking in a highly amused tone, “This is true. Also, you will not be needing a passport. Do you think your President Obama must show his passport when arriving in foreign countries? Of course not, he just arrives. So too do Oracles, and they are always happy to see us.” Her Guardian snorted in amusement, his eyes indulgent as he watched his Oracle command the room.
Following the Oracle from the room, taking a guilty pleasure in her utter disdain for Principle Figgins’ attempts to get her attention, Kurt leaned over to his Guardian.
“Is she always like this?”
The shorter boy looked amused. “Well, I’ve only known her for about two hours, but yes. She is always like this,” he replied. “By the way, I’m Blaine. It’s nice to meet you.” Blaine smiled at Kurt, and the newest Oracle cursed himself as he felt his stomach flip.
Taking Blaine’s offered hand tentatively, he smiled back. “I’m Kurt. It’s nice to meet you as well, although I wish it was under different circumstances.”
As they followed the senior Oracle/Guardian pair down the halls of McKinley, with students crowded in classroom doors taking photos and videos on their phones, the teachers not even making a token effort at restraining them, Blaine sighed and gave Kurt a wry look.
“You could say that again.”
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Blaine had known that he would ‘bond’ to his Oracle, but he’d expected something more complex-more ritualistic-than just walking up to him and ‘Oh, there you are.’ That was what had happened, however.
By the time he, Medeiros, and Cortez had arrived at the high school and located the new Oracle, it had been more than an hour since his Calling and he was already in serious distress. They’d been held up at the door of the school for a bit before they were finally allowed in. During this time, Blaine began feeling extremely uneasy with the delay. He hadn’t even realized he was shifting from foot to foot with impatience until Guardian Cortez put a restraining on his shoulder.
“I know, little brother, we are getting you to him soon. He has his father and will be alright until you arrive.”
Although unnerved that the older man seemed to have a better idea of what was going on in his head than Blaine himself did, he settled under the reassuring touch.
Soon enough they arrived at what appeared to be a music room, where a small crowd of people huddled tightly around a figure slumped in a chair. A blonde woman in a tracksuit was loudly ordering everyone to back off, but no one seemed to be listening. A pained moan could barely be heard over the babble of voices, except to Blaine, who felt the distressing sound shoot straight through his body.
Blaine was moving before he even realized it, pushing through the crowd even as Medeiros erupted into Spanish expletives behind him. A judicious use of elbows got him to the center of the huddle, where the boy he’d seen on the news was sitting, digging his fingers into his temple.
Instinct took over. Blaine cupped his Oracle’s face, sensing the chaos in the boy’s mind. It wasn’t quite telepathy, more like an inner knowledge of what could effect an Oracle to cause this response. He loosened the digging fingers, brushing his thumbs over the softly glowing laurel marks. He could tell his touch alone was providing relief, but somehow he also knew that the Oracle was still caught inside his own mind. Blaine began humming, and then singing a song he’d been practicing with the Warblers under his breath.
It seemed to work. Blaine could sense the pale boy rousing to consciousness, slowly approaching through the tangled dark of an Oracle’s mind. He understood better now that his role was as much anchor as protector, keeping his Oracle from getting lost in a mind suddenly larger, darker, and more complex than any human is built to deal with.
Blue eyes fluttered open and like a joint snapping into alignment, it happened. They were bonded. It was an amazing feeling.
‘Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you forever.’
Several hours later Blaine had helped Kurt sort through his wardrobe for clothes appropriate for a Grecian autumn and then packed a bag at his own home significantly more quickly, despite Kurt’s color commentary. The pair hadn’t been more than a few feet apart since bonding. Medeiros had assured them that once they’d settled with each other and developed their bond, they’d be able spend more time apart and at greater distances without ill effect.
They stepped out of the limo on the tarmac of a private airfield outside of Columbus. Burt emerged from the depths of the limo behind them. Blaine’s parents were out of the country already, so he had no one to accompany him. Kurt had squeezed his hand when he’d admitted this, assuring him that Burt would be overbearing enough for both of them given the opportunity. Burt, alarmingly, hadn’t disagreed.
Blaine could hear the shouts of the press outside the fence, cameras flashing frantically in the purple twilight. Cortez, backed up by Medeiros, had expressly forbade them from speaking to the press yet, telling them that the Temple’s PR firm would handle all that until they were more adjusted to their positions.
A Lear Jet sat waiting for them, Chariot One emblazoned across it in gold writing. Burt sucked in his breath behind them, pushing his cap back in amazement.
“This is your plane?” The man asked, turning toward Medeiros.
Medeiros found this amusing, like so many things they did and said around her. “No, I sent my plane back to Santiago, we did not need two. This plane arrived from Washington DC this afternoon. It is Kurt and Blaine’s plane. While they are still underage it will be stationed here to be at their disposal.”
She did not pause as she said this, waltzing past the stunned boys as if she hadn’t just given them a private plane. Kurt broke out of his amazement first, grabbing the handle of his suitcase and trooping after her grimly.
“She’s having way too much fun with this,” Blaine heard him grumble and had to agree.
Burt broke out of his stupor, catching up with the boys. “Kurt-this plane-” He broke off, trying to frame what he was going to say.
Kurt had no trouble translating. “There’s going to be rules, I bet.”
Burt nodded frantically. “YES! Yes, rules. So many rules.”
Blaine smiled at the warmth of the interaction. “No joy rides in the Lear Jet?” He asked, joining in the banter.
“There will be no anything in the Lear Jet without my express permission until you’re both eighteen… or thirty. We’ll see,” Burt glowered at both of them as they boarded the jet.
The interior of the jet was sumptuous; there was no other word for it. Blaine had flown before, always first class, but it was nothing like this. A smartly uniformed flight attendant greeted them, dipping her head respectfully to Kurt and Blaine. The boys stopped at a pair of seats, hesitating awkwardly for a moment. It took a second, but Blaine figured out what Kurt wanted that he was hesitating to ask for.
“You’ve never flown before?”
At Kurt’s mute, embarrassed nod, he smiled reassuringly. “Take the window. I’ve seen it before. There won’t be much to see at night, but we’ll probably see the sun rise over the ocean later.” Kurt’s glowing smile made Blaine feel strange, like he’d given him something so much more significant than the window seat.
The pair settled in for takeoff. Kurt’s hand found his as they lifted off, tightening frantically even as the Oracle craned his neck to see out the window. Blaine squeezed back reassuringly, watching the other boy with a strange, tight warm feeling in his chest as they climbed into the night, winging towards Greece and their future.
After they’d reached cruising altitude and eaten one of the better meals Blaine had ever had, Medeiros and Cortez moved to sit across from them.
“So, you have many questions, I am sure. Allow us to give you some background first and then you can ask any questions that remain. In this way, we will not leave anything out.” Medeiros waited for them to agree, then settled back in her chair.
“First, Kurt, I will offer you the same apology that was offered to me after I was called. The reason is this: we knew you would be the next Oracle from the moment you were born.”
Kurt half stood from his chair, his face red with outrage, but the older Oracle silenced him with a gesture.
“Remember, I have been where you are. I know the pain and shock you are feeling and I would have spared you it if I could. However, it was for your own safety that we did not contact you earlier, that we let you be surprised. What I am about to tell you is something no one outside of the Temple knows. We have always kept the identity of potential Oracles from the public, historically we told the parents but no one else. However, about eighty years ago a spy managed to infiltrate the Temple and gain access to those names. They were a sect of Zeus worshippers who had perverted the tenets of their God and grown out of control. Mr. Hummel knows what I am talking about, I think. Hummel is, after all, a German name.”
Burt nodded, soberly. “My grandfather told me about it, about why they fled Germany before the Second World War.”
Blaine sucked in his breath, understanding. “The Nazis. They killed your potential Oracles. That’s why the Temple of Apollo was the first Olympian Sect to oppose the Third Reich.”
Medeiros nodded in approval. “Indeed, Mr. Anderson. In one single night in 1933 they wiped out an entire generation of potential oracles, in Europe, Africa, and Asia. While the Temple was still reeling from that blow, they managed to poison two of the current Oracles, in Europe and Asia. With the Oracles dead and no one positioned to replace them, the Temple became blind to anything happening in Europe or Asia. It was fifteen years before a new generation of Oracles was born and old enough to assume rudimentary duties over those areas. In the intervening time, Germany and Japan rampaged across those continents, stopped only by a brutal horrific war that should have been prevented.”
Twisting his cap in his hands, Burt spoke quietly. “I owe you an apology, too, Kurt. The reason why I wasn’t surprised you were the Oracle is because you aren’t the first in the Hummel family. My Grandfather’s younger brother was murdered by the Nazis in 1933, and the family fled to America the next day. He was the potential Oracle and it was the Temple of Apollo that got the rest of them out so fast. They wanted to preserve the line in case we ever produced another Oracle. They were right, ‘cause here you are.” The man looked distressed but he plowed on, staring earnestly into his son’s eyes.
“I swear Kurt, I never thought this would actually happen. I knew there was a chance but I thought the Temple would have contacted us when you were born, like they did your great-great-grandparents. I guess I just buried my head in the sand and ignored the signs. I wish I’d prepared you better for this, Kurt. I really do.”
Blaine held his breath, gripping Kurt’s hand so tightly it must have hurt, though the other boy showed no sign of feeling it. Kurt closed his eyes for a long moment, his features blank and eerily pale. Finally, the hand in his squeezed back and Kurt opened his eyes.
“It’s okay, dad. I don’t think I would have believed you even if you’d told me. I was in denial today right up until Apollo appeared and grabbed my face, even after Brittany told me what would happen.”
Blaine and Burt let out simultaneous sighs of relief that Kurt wasn’t more upset by this revelation. Medeiros nodded approvingly at the scene, as though she’d engineered it all.
“Excellent! To carry on, since that terrible time we Oracles reveal the names of our successors only to each other and our Guardians. We tell no one else, not priest or acolyte, no one. The only other person who knows is a temporary guard placed undercover to keep an eye on potentials. This person is not a Temple member, it is a member of an underground sect formed during World War II. The agent alone receives an order with only a name, and they never hear from us again.”
Kurt’s head snapped up, comprehension dawning in his eyes. “Coach Sylvester.”
Burt sputtered, “That crazy cheerleading coach who made you drink water and sand shakes two meals a day?”
Blaine’s eyes widened even as Kurt and Medeiros nodded. “She told Mercedes and I last year that her parents were famous Nazi hunters-and she’s always looked out for me, in her unique way.”
Medeiros looked extremely pleased. “You two are very sharp. This will make my job so much easier, which I like. I do not intend to spend the entire winter in Ohio if I can avoid it.”
“Sue Sylvester was indeed tasked with your wellbeing until your Calling, although I cannot comment on her methods. She received no instruction from us. This is why you were never told of your future, Kurt. I am sorry it had to be that way, but you can see why we can’t afford to take chances,” Cortez added, looking compassionately at the young Oracle. “You, Blaine, were not foretold. We took an educated guess that it was probably you, given your proximity to Kurt, but Vitoria did not have a vision confirming you as his Guardian until halfway through the flight this morning. It is often this way, I was not even Chosen by Apollo until the day Vitoria was Called. Mine was very late. No one knows why it is this way with Guardians, but it is a lifelong commitment, so it must be a careful choice on Apollo’s part. This, at least, is what I think.”
It was the longest speech Blaine had ever heard out of Cortez. He could see Kurt turned to look at him from the corner of his eye.
“This is a good pairing, it will work out. Not like the European pair, French and English. Bicker, bicker, bicker, like tiny children all day long. You two will work beautifully,” Medeiros smiled at them both.
Cortez snorted. “This is a prediction from the Oracle?”
Sniffing in disdain, Medieros replied, “This is a prediction from a woman. Women always know.”
Blaine turned back to Kurt with a smile, to find the boy turned away from him, staring out the window with a strange sad look in his eyes. Wanting to see that smile again, he leaned close and asked the question that had been on his mind for the last few minutes.
“Hey, did you really drink water and sand shakes?”
It worked, Kurt turning back to him with life in his eyes again. “Oh my Gods, my hips looked fantastic then! So much better in skinny jeans.”