fic: #146 hummel, kurt
title: #146 hummel, kurt
fandom: glee
prompt: poisoning
medium: fic
rating: r
warnings: AU, imprisonment, involuntary medical experiments, drug use, torture, hallucinations.
summary: every day is a different drug and every day he lives the different reactions. participant #146 hummel, kurt experiences them all before the axe falls.
Kurt Hummel was taken to the Clinic when his father died of a heart attack. He knew he would be taken seven years earlier when his mother died in cancer, but not when. When they branded him and locked the wristband around his pale wrist, declaring him #146 Hummel, Kurt, he realized he would probably never leave this place beneath the ground.
Like many others taken to this place, he wishes he had enjoyed the world a little bit more. What he would come to miss the most would be the sun, and he lay sleepless many nights crying over how he had not spent enough hours just sitting in the sun soaking up the warmth.
In the Clinic, Kurt is medicated every day. He is monitored, cared for tenderly and examined every day. The boy knows it is not out of concern for his wellbeing but for the sake of every experimental drug he is exposed to. To keep him calm - because even imprisoned, Kurt has control issues - the doctors provide him with a lesser journal explaining each experiments in simple words to him.
They do not put down the actual names of the drugs coursing through his veins in fear of frightening him and therefore causing him physical harm. A dead boy is not a useful boy. Instead, they put down less intimidating names, like the No Colors drug, which caused Kurt to see in black and white for a day.
There have been so many drugs.
The Happy drug that he enjoyed immensely and kept a smile on his face.
The Pain drug was so horribly potent he couldn’t even move a muscle, barely breathe, barely exist. At night Kurt dreams nightmares about the feeling, and spends the morning trying to forget it.
The No Fear drug that left Kurt believing he was invincible. It became obvious later he was not.
The Nature drug caused him to believe he was a tree firmly rooted to the ground and refused all food, claiming the nutrients of the earth was more than enough. An IV-drip proved to be sufficient.
The Stimulation drug lead proved to be far too potent as Kurt passed out from a single touch on his sex from the oldest member of their group of three, participant #641 Anderson, Blaine. He didn’t mind. Even though it lasted less than five minutes, it was nice to spend time with the one he loved in a room without bodily present supervision.
Today, it is the Imagination drug running along with his blood. Kurt no longer keeps up with what drug he is exposed to, because it doesn’t matter. Nothing changes when he knows, nothing changes when he doesn’t know. Better to enjoy the lucid moments without contemplating the past or the future, better to enjoy the moments he is not lucid but pleasant even so.
So today he sits down next to Blaine in the dining hall after being served his food as his assigned doctor deems him unfit to care for his own wellbeing today. As Kurt looks into the eyes of the man he loves, he sees purple flowers growing out of his irises, threads of every color sliding out of his every so slightly smiling mouth and a halo of sunshine crowning his curly hair. It’s very beautiful.
Blaine doesn’t seem too battered today, and asks softly: ”One to ten?”
The scale is very simple. It’s to let Blaine know just how addled with drugs he is. One means he is completely lucid in every intellectual way. Ten means he is not in this universe for the moment. Kurt has never said ten, but he’s been there countless times. Blaine, on a good day, usually notices.
”Two.” Kurt says and squeezes his hand under the table after twining their fingers together. There may be several centers of his brain that are overstimulated, disturbed or numbed, but his level of lucid is quite good. Even though there are lightbulbs spouting from the table only to float into the lamps hanging from the ceiling. Kurt feels like this is a good day. The hand in his own grounds him, makes him feel like there is reality in what seems to be a grotesque but beautiful nightmare.
”I love you.” Blaine whispers and kisses his cheek, receiving the complimentary shock from his wristband at the loving but not allowed display of affection.
”I love you, too.” Kurt breathes back and picks up the magnetized spoon before filling it with soup glowing brighter than a nuclear reaction. The shorter boy opens his mouth and swallows as Kurt feeds him, like he remembers couples doing in the real world outside. Doctors lining the room frown, but do nothing. A shock to his system might affect the drugs and their potency.
Kurt and his trials are very important, the Clinic cannot be responsible for sending out faulty drugs to hospitals and wealthy investors. So they are careful while abusing him.
They are left alone for a minute or two, before the third and final member of their three man group is deposited in between them on the bench by his doctor. Participant #147 Hudson, Finn is silent as he is lifted into Kurt’s lap, pressing closer as if wanting to crawl into his body and hide. Blaine cards the hand not holding Kurt’s through his short hair, making the five year old shiver and relax very slightly.
Kurt always finds it peculiar that even though the little boy is blind, he still knows who is holding him, who is touching him, without anyone telling him. Of course, the tendrils of smoke seeping from Finn’s pores is also peculiar, so Kurt figures that maybe he doesn’t understand reality at times.
Dinner time is the only time of comfort for any of them.
And it is only one hour every day.
Kurt feels like crying when a doctor comes to take Finn away to prepare him for the night, and Finn cries for real. The tears appear like blue snakes swimming in an ocean, and Kurt regrets telling Blaine he was lucid on level two.
Blaine has trouble letting go of his hand when their separate doctors come also to prepare them for the night. It is because of two reasons. One, he loves Kurt so very much. Two, his hands have been subject to testing the entire day and they will not completely obey his will just yet.
When their fingertips slide against each other and the touch is lost, Kurt feels like he is loosing his ground. There is nothing to tie him to reality when Blaine is not there to hold him down, his familiar grip comforting and necessary. Everything turns slightly darker and the small smile he has is straightened.
As Kurt is shackled down to his bed for sleep he thinks of Blaine lying in the room next to his own. Wishing to be closer, wishing to feel the heat of another body sleeping beside his own, he stares at the wall separating them. Thankfully he becomes less and less lucid, until he is completely unaware of reality. Before his eyes, the wall explodes into a wave of technicolor butterflies larger than life and as they dissipate into nothing Kurt turns over the best he can, just watching the one he loves the most sleeping peacefully.
Had he not been drugged, he would have known he was wistfully staring into a wall. Not because cement and steel cannot turn into exoskeletons, but because he knows Blaine never sleeps peacefully through the night.
May 4th. Kurt wakes up with an IV stuck into the bend of his arm. He instinctively reaches for the lesser journal, wanting to know the drug of the day, but finds he can’t move. Not even a little, not even at all. In a fit of panic he tries to scream but the muscles in his tongue are paralyzed as well. Not that it would matter, because he is not capable of screaming right now. Two small tubes are protruding from his chest, going into his chest and his throat, breathing for him.
Had he been able to read the lesser journal, he would have known what happened to him.
He can’t, though. And he is left lying there the entire day, something that has never happened before. The daily routine is strictly enforced. They are awakened by the Clinic alarm at six o’clock. He would be dressed in navy clothing and taken to the testing quarters, where he would go through the daily examination. At seven o’clock he would be injected and spend eight hours in an empty room experiencing whatever was ordinated. Then doctors would decontaminate him and exercise his body in the gym. After a shower, he would be taken to the best part of his day. He would meet Blaine, who was his love and Finn, who had become his little brother.
Today was not one of these days.
He is left paralyzed on the table for forty-eight hours.
Blaine is so many rooms away, fearing the worst has happened to the only reason to carry on Blaine has, like it has happened to so many others. The dining hall doesn’t notice his distress. Distress is common here.
Kurt wonders if the worst has happened to him. He finds he doesn’t know. Then he flickers out like a candle in a birthday cake.
fandom: glee
prompt: poisoning
medium: fic
rating: r
warnings: AU, imprisonment, involuntary medical experiments, drug use, torture, hallucinations.
summary: every day is a different drug and every day he lives the different reactions. participant #146 hummel, kurt experiences them all before the axe falls.
Kurt Hummel was taken to the Clinic when his father died of a heart attack. He knew he would be taken seven years earlier when his mother died in cancer, but not when. When they branded him and locked the wristband around his pale wrist, declaring him #146 Hummel, Kurt, he realized he would probably never leave this place beneath the ground.
Like many others taken to this place, he wishes he had enjoyed the world a little bit more. What he would come to miss the most would be the sun, and he lay sleepless many nights crying over how he had not spent enough hours just sitting in the sun soaking up the warmth.
In the Clinic, Kurt is medicated every day. He is monitored, cared for tenderly and examined every day. The boy knows it is not out of concern for his wellbeing but for the sake of every experimental drug he is exposed to. To keep him calm - because even imprisoned, Kurt has control issues - the doctors provide him with a lesser journal explaining each experiments in simple words to him.
They do not put down the actual names of the drugs coursing through his veins in fear of frightening him and therefore causing him physical harm. A dead boy is not a useful boy. Instead, they put down less intimidating names, like the No Colors drug, which caused Kurt to see in black and white for a day.
There have been so many drugs.
The Happy drug that he enjoyed immensely and kept a smile on his face.
The Pain drug was so horribly potent he couldn’t even move a muscle, barely breathe, barely exist. At night Kurt dreams nightmares about the feeling, and spends the morning trying to forget it.
The No Fear drug that left Kurt believing he was invincible. It became obvious later he was not.
The Nature drug caused him to believe he was a tree firmly rooted to the ground and refused all food, claiming the nutrients of the earth was more than enough. An IV-drip proved to be sufficient.
The Stimulation drug lead proved to be far too potent as Kurt passed out from a single touch on his sex from the oldest member of their group of three, participant #641 Anderson, Blaine. He didn’t mind. Even though it lasted less than five minutes, it was nice to spend time with the one he loved in a room without bodily present supervision.
Today, it is the Imagination drug running along with his blood. Kurt no longer keeps up with what drug he is exposed to, because it doesn’t matter. Nothing changes when he knows, nothing changes when he doesn’t know. Better to enjoy the lucid moments without contemplating the past or the future, better to enjoy the moments he is not lucid but pleasant even so.
So today he sits down next to Blaine in the dining hall after being served his food as his assigned doctor deems him unfit to care for his own wellbeing today. As Kurt looks into the eyes of the man he loves, he sees purple flowers growing out of his irises, threads of every color sliding out of his every so slightly smiling mouth and a halo of sunshine crowning his curly hair. It’s very beautiful.
Blaine doesn’t seem too battered today, and asks softly: ”One to ten?”
The scale is very simple. It’s to let Blaine know just how addled with drugs he is. One means he is completely lucid in every intellectual way. Ten means he is not in this universe for the moment. Kurt has never said ten, but he’s been there countless times. Blaine, on a good day, usually notices.
”Two.” Kurt says and squeezes his hand under the table after twining their fingers together. There may be several centers of his brain that are overstimulated, disturbed or numbed, but his level of lucid is quite good. Even though there are lightbulbs spouting from the table only to float into the lamps hanging from the ceiling. Kurt feels like this is a good day. The hand in his own grounds him, makes him feel like there is reality in what seems to be a grotesque but beautiful nightmare.
”I love you.” Blaine whispers and kisses his cheek, receiving the complimentary shock from his wristband at the loving but not allowed display of affection.
”I love you, too.” Kurt breathes back and picks up the magnetized spoon before filling it with soup glowing brighter than a nuclear reaction. The shorter boy opens his mouth and swallows as Kurt feeds him, like he remembers couples doing in the real world outside. Doctors lining the room frown, but do nothing. A shock to his system might affect the drugs and their potency.
Kurt and his trials are very important, the Clinic cannot be responsible for sending out faulty drugs to hospitals and wealthy investors. So they are careful while abusing him.
They are left alone for a minute or two, before the third and final member of their three man group is deposited in between them on the bench by his doctor. Participant #147 Hudson, Finn is silent as he is lifted into Kurt’s lap, pressing closer as if wanting to crawl into his body and hide. Blaine cards the hand not holding Kurt’s through his short hair, making the five year old shiver and relax very slightly.
Kurt always finds it peculiar that even though the little boy is blind, he still knows who is holding him, who is touching him, without anyone telling him. Of course, the tendrils of smoke seeping from Finn’s pores is also peculiar, so Kurt figures that maybe he doesn’t understand reality at times.
Dinner time is the only time of comfort for any of them.
And it is only one hour every day.
Kurt feels like crying when a doctor comes to take Finn away to prepare him for the night, and Finn cries for real. The tears appear like blue snakes swimming in an ocean, and Kurt regrets telling Blaine he was lucid on level two.
Blaine has trouble letting go of his hand when their separate doctors come also to prepare them for the night. It is because of two reasons. One, he loves Kurt so very much. Two, his hands have been subject to testing the entire day and they will not completely obey his will just yet.
When their fingertips slide against each other and the touch is lost, Kurt feels like he is loosing his ground. There is nothing to tie him to reality when Blaine is not there to hold him down, his familiar grip comforting and necessary. Everything turns slightly darker and the small smile he has is straightened.
As Kurt is shackled down to his bed for sleep he thinks of Blaine lying in the room next to his own. Wishing to be closer, wishing to feel the heat of another body sleeping beside his own, he stares at the wall separating them. Thankfully he becomes less and less lucid, until he is completely unaware of reality. Before his eyes, the wall explodes into a wave of technicolor butterflies larger than life and as they dissipate into nothing Kurt turns over the best he can, just watching the one he loves the most sleeping peacefully.
Had he not been drugged, he would have known he was wistfully staring into a wall. Not because cement and steel cannot turn into exoskeletons, but because he knows Blaine never sleeps peacefully through the night.
May 4th. Kurt wakes up with an IV stuck into the bend of his arm. He instinctively reaches for the lesser journal, wanting to know the drug of the day, but finds he can’t move. Not even a little, not even at all. In a fit of panic he tries to scream but the muscles in his tongue are paralyzed as well. Not that it would matter, because he is not capable of screaming right now. Two small tubes are protruding from his chest, going into his chest and his throat, breathing for him.
Had he been able to read the lesser journal, he would have known what happened to him.
He can’t, though. And he is left lying there the entire day, something that has never happened before. The daily routine is strictly enforced. They are awakened by the Clinic alarm at six o’clock. He would be dressed in navy clothing and taken to the testing quarters, where he would go through the daily examination. At seven o’clock he would be injected and spend eight hours in an empty room experiencing whatever was ordinated. Then doctors would decontaminate him and exercise his body in the gym. After a shower, he would be taken to the best part of his day. He would meet Blaine, who was his love and Finn, who had become his little brother.
Today was not one of these days.
He is left paralyzed on the table for forty-eight hours.
Blaine is so many rooms away, fearing the worst has happened to the only reason to carry on Blaine has, like it has happened to so many others. The dining hall doesn’t notice his distress. Distress is common here.
Kurt wonders if the worst has happened to him. He finds he doesn’t know. Then he flickers out like a candle in a birthday cake.