Reality Is Merely A Matter Of Perception (1/?)
Title: Reality Is Merely A Matter Of Perception (1/?)
Author: lesserbirds
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Sam/Kurt, Will Schuester, Sue Sylvester, pretty much everyone at one point or another
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17
Warnings: Language, violence, eventual smut
Disclaimer: Don’t own Glee. Don’t own the Matrix.
Summary: Sam Evans was expecting this to be a bad year. He wasn’t expecting someone telling him that everything he knew didn’t exist. Glee/Matrix crossover.
Author notes: Yes, the HP verse is continuing. I just needed to get this out there even though I have no idea how many parts it will have yet. Special thanks to exposedwords for being awesome and to everyone on Tumblr for being wonderfully welcoming. Enjoy! <3
He raced down the steps, leaping two and three at a time and rushed left into the kitchen. The sunlight streamed through the open windows, the breezed played with the sea-blue curtains his mother loved so much and even the birds chirped cheerfully from outside.
The woman stood with her back to the kitchen door, long golden hair falling over her shoulders and humming softly. He grinned before sneaking under her arm to grab a piece of toast from the table.
“Good morning, Sam!” she laughed and ruffled his hair.
“Hey mom.” He kissed her cheek before grabbing his bag. “Need to run, I’m already late!”
Sam grinned at her laughter and ran out the door but took care to close it gently. Outside he kept a steady jog that allowed him to eat while glancing at his wristwatch every few minutes. His gaze lingered on everything. Mrs. Pommel giving her husband a goodbye kiss, the little bit of green returning to the trees by the corner café, the dog digging through the trash, the cat coming from around the corner.
The teenager frowned and slowed down until his feet stopped completely. The cat continued down the street. He prayed that it wouldn’t be like the other times, that it wouldn’t-
The exact same cat came again from around the exact same corner.
The McKinley student took a deep breath.
Calm down, Sam. It’s just a trick of the light. You’re not seeing things, you’re not insane.
He opened his eyes and started jogging again, resolutely shoving the incident to the back of his mind.
“Sam, are you feeling alright?”
He blinked before looking sideways at his ex-girlfriend. His ears vaguely registered his English teacher’s voice in the background but seemed unable to focus on it.
His eyes looked behind her to Puck’s pencil scratching his notebook, to some other girl he didn’t knew mutilating her rubber, to the cracked paint on the wall.
“Sam.”
They painted the classrooms last month. The paint shouldn’t be peeling already, right?
“Sam!”
His focus shifted entirely to that. He could see the thinness of the paint layer, the downturn twist where it separated from the wall. There were little mounds where it hadn’t been well distributed and stretches where it had been barely well enough to hold together. It had cracked about Saturday. It had been incredibly humid day even for this time of the year. One of those thin patches had been the first to break, stressed due to-
THUD!
“SAM!”
The blond footballer jumped in his seat.
Quinn Fabray was staring at him with the most concerned expression he had ever seen her display. She had risen from the chair at some point and the loud noise was her hands slamming on top of the desk.
“Sam. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” He replied, trying for a one shoulder shrug.
I’m just going insane.
She did not look convinced. “Miss Falmouth? I think Sam needs to go see the nurse.”
The middle aged woman came around and peeked at him before nodding. “You are looking a little pale Sam. Maybe you should go?”
He didn’t know what he could say - not without sounding completely insane and not in a cool way - so he merely nodded and gathered his things.
“Do you need someone to go with you?”
“No, Miss Falmouth. I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep well today.”
The redheaded adult nodded and he turned to leave, avoiding his fellow glee clubbers’ eyes. His feet stopped just short of the door and his gaze returned to that wall.
The paint was perfect. There was no crack and no peeling.
Two hours. The old nurse had barely looked at him before ordering him to lay in one of the beds and rest. He had been twisting and turning since then. His eyes were closed and he was obnoxiously ignoring that little voice in his head telling him it was only because he was afraid it would happen again.
Nothing’s gonna happen again. Nothing happened. You’re just tired, Sam.
Yeah. Tired. You’ve been tired for the last three months, have you?
Shut u-
“Sam?”
His eyebrows furrowed and his head turned to the source of the voice.
“Mr. Schue?”
“Yeah.” There was a dip in the bed and the Spanish teacher sounded much closer now. “I heard you felt bad in English. Are you feeling better?”
“I guess.” A shrug. Sam had never been a good liar. His best bet was being vague and let people provide their own conclusions. The glee club director was silent for a while.
“Haven’t been sleeping well?”
“Not for the past few days.”
Not for the past few months.
“You know, that usually happens when we have something on our minds.”
Sam didn’t answer. What was he going to say? Well, I do have something on my mind Mr. Schuester. I think all the comic books and sci-fi movies and conspiracy theories chatrooms have finally made me go insane because I’m seeing things that can’t possibly be real. That would go well. They’d throw his ass in an asylum.
“Here.” His ears picked up the click of a pen and shortly after the adult pressed a bit of paper into his right hand. “It’s my number. If you ever feel the need to talk to me about anything, please do.” There was a pat on his shoulder. “Get better soon, Sam.” A creak, some footsteps and then the soft click of the door closing.
His left eye opened slightly and looked at the note. There was the number and a smiley face next to it.
Don’t be stupid, Sam.
It crumpled in his fist.
Sam dropped to the chair and stared mindlessly at the cluster of items on top of his bed. There were those Young Avengers comic books he was re-reading, that Spanish essay he had to finish for next week, the Star Wars OST CDs and a bunch of printed papers that covered his Avatar bedding almost entirely.
The sound of the computer loading snapped him out of his thoughts and he twirled the chair around. The pointer sailed across the screen to the armored smiley immediately but then it stopped. Hesitating.
Sam, this is why you started having… problems. You should leave. You should leave right now.
He double-clicked it. The dark blue chat window came up as usual. The right side bar displayed the people already in there. He frowned.
2H2 still hasn’t come back.
The virtual window shook. Sam blinked and moved his hands to the keyboard. He watched it, answering when someone asked him a question but otherwise not really participating. The flow of conversation moved from one theory to another easily enough and the jock lost track of time between following the chat and researching the current topics.
“Sam! Dinner!”
His eyes found the clock standing above his bedroom door. 8:05 p.m.
“Coming mom!” He typed a quick goodbye and moved to close the window. His gaze returned one last time to the text area.
2H2 has signed on.
He froze. Everyone in the chat stopped typing.
2H2: I found it. I found the Matrix, I know what it is.
The football player’s hands moved almost of their own accord.
Helios: Waht is it!
2H2: You’ll see. They came for me. They’re coming for you too, Sam. Don’t worry we’ll get you first.
2H2 has signed out.
His eyes widened. He could distantly feel his hands begin to shake.
They’re coming for you too, Sam. Don’t worry we’ll get you first.
They’re coming for you too, Sam. Don’t worry.
They’re coming for you too, Sam.
They’re coming for you.
Sam, stop freaking out. This is a conspiracy theories chatroom. This is just trolling. You don’t even know who they are. No, there are no they. You’re perfectly safe.
As safe as a hallucinating teenage hacker can be, you mean?
Shut up. I’m okay. I’m safe.
Uh hu. You keep telling yourself that.
“Honey, did you hear me?”
His head snapped to the door. It was just his mom standing there. He breathed out slowly.
“Are you alright?” She asked with a slight frown.
“I’m fine mom.” He hoped his grin wasn’t as shaky as he felt.
His legs kept a steady pace as he chewed his toast slowly. He was running late again.
Maybe you shouldn’t have spent all night re-watching Star Trek instead of sleeping.
Hey, a guy needs to have priorities.
… of course. I’m sure you being too freaked out to sleep had nothing to do with it. All this paranoia is terrible for your complexion, you know.
When did his conscience begin to sound like Kurt? He shook his head and stopped when he came across yesterday’s dog digging through the trash again.
Sam approached him slowly and crouched down, offering the rest of the toast.
“Hey, buddy. Want it?”
The stray animal looked at him wearily before hesitantly picking it with its teeth.
The blond grinned honestly for what felt like the first time in forever. He straightened up, adjusted his bag and turned around to continue on. His eyes focused on Mrs. Pommel. There was no car in the driveway so her husband had already left. She was tending to the flowers near the door, watering some and moving a few pots around. There was nothing unusual about it.
Her image twisted and turned and in the next second there a man standing there.
That man turned around, dressed in an impeccable suit, jumped and landed on Mrs. Pommel’s roof. He jumped from rooftop to rooftop, disappearing from the teen’s sight.
Sam leaned against the nearest tree and breathed deeply.
“Sam this is the third time you stepped on me.”
The blond rubbed the back of his hand over his stinging eyes. “Sorry.”
Kurt looked behind to see the others boys still practicing and then nodded towards the chairs. “Do you want to rest for a bit?”
Sam nodded and they both sat down. The countertenor narrowed his eyes and tilted his head slightly to the right.
“You’ve been out of it for the last few days.”
“… if I tell you everything’s okay will you believe me?”
The brunet pressed his lips into a thin line and that was answer enough.
“Look, I know I’m not much of a friend of yours as Finn but you can talk to me if you want to.” He leaned closer. “The whole club is concerned about you, Sam. Quinn said you didn’t feel well yesterday and Finn didn’t see you in History today.”
And Sam could totally imagine the glee club having a secret meeting to discuss his well-being and what they would do about it, which was both heartwarming and annoying.
“I slept in.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” Kurt sighed and leaned back. Somewhere to the right came a crash but neither of them took their eyes off each other. It was probably Finn tripping over Mike anyway, if Puck’s laughter was anything to go by. “You should probably go home. The only thing we’ll accomplish today is making sure Finn doesn’t kill anyone.”
“HEY!”
“You did just almost murder Mike making that turn, Finn.” The male diva pointed out with a raised eyebrow.
“Dude, how did you know that? You’re not even looking!”
Sam rubbed a hand over his face and stood up before nodding and sending the other boy the most honest grin he could.
“Thanks, Kurt.”
The halls were empty. He stifled a yawn and reached for the vibrating phone in his pocket. There was one new text message.
DON'T GO OUTSIDE. THEY'RE HERE. WAIT FOR US.
The jock stared. Us? Is this Kurt? No, his name would have showed up and he doesn't capslock everything. Finn? And who're they? Suddenly panic shot through him. He looked at the phone, then at the door to the outside, then at the phone again. Oh God. He recognized the number from somewhere but it wasn't on his contact list. It's a joke, it has to be a joke. But he didn't know anyone who would pull off something like- Puck. The blond's shoulder shagged for a few seconds and then tense again, in anger this time.
There were a few cars still outside. He recognized Kurt's, Puck's and Mr. Schue's but there was a black, very official one near the end of the parking lot that his eyes focused on immediately. Forcing his gaze away he stomped down the stairs, incredibly pissed off. Someone grabbed his shoulder just when his feet reached the end.
"Mr. Evans." Sam slowly turned his head. It wasn't the same man he had seen today but he carried himself the same way, had the same suit and the same sunglasses. His stomach clenched. "You need to come with us."
Author: lesserbirds
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Sam/Kurt, Will Schuester, Sue Sylvester, pretty much everyone at one point or another
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17
Warnings: Language, violence, eventual smut
Disclaimer: Don’t own Glee. Don’t own the Matrix.
Summary: Sam Evans was expecting this to be a bad year. He wasn’t expecting someone telling him that everything he knew didn’t exist. Glee/Matrix crossover.
Author notes: Yes, the HP verse is continuing. I just needed to get this out there even though I have no idea how many parts it will have yet. Special thanks to exposedwords for being awesome and to everyone on Tumblr for being wonderfully welcoming. Enjoy! <3
He raced down the steps, leaping two and three at a time and rushed left into the kitchen. The sunlight streamed through the open windows, the breezed played with the sea-blue curtains his mother loved so much and even the birds chirped cheerfully from outside.
The woman stood with her back to the kitchen door, long golden hair falling over her shoulders and humming softly. He grinned before sneaking under her arm to grab a piece of toast from the table.
“Good morning, Sam!” she laughed and ruffled his hair.
“Hey mom.” He kissed her cheek before grabbing his bag. “Need to run, I’m already late!”
Sam grinned at her laughter and ran out the door but took care to close it gently. Outside he kept a steady jog that allowed him to eat while glancing at his wristwatch every few minutes. His gaze lingered on everything. Mrs. Pommel giving her husband a goodbye kiss, the little bit of green returning to the trees by the corner café, the dog digging through the trash, the cat coming from around the corner.
The teenager frowned and slowed down until his feet stopped completely. The cat continued down the street. He prayed that it wouldn’t be like the other times, that it wouldn’t-
The exact same cat came again from around the exact same corner.
The McKinley student took a deep breath.
Calm down, Sam. It’s just a trick of the light. You’re not seeing things, you’re not insane.
He opened his eyes and started jogging again, resolutely shoving the incident to the back of his mind.
“Sam, are you feeling alright?”
He blinked before looking sideways at his ex-girlfriend. His ears vaguely registered his English teacher’s voice in the background but seemed unable to focus on it.
His eyes looked behind her to Puck’s pencil scratching his notebook, to some other girl he didn’t knew mutilating her rubber, to the cracked paint on the wall.
“Sam.”
They painted the classrooms last month. The paint shouldn’t be peeling already, right?
“Sam!”
His focus shifted entirely to that. He could see the thinness of the paint layer, the downturn twist where it separated from the wall. There were little mounds where it hadn’t been well distributed and stretches where it had been barely well enough to hold together. It had cracked about Saturday. It had been incredibly humid day even for this time of the year. One of those thin patches had been the first to break, stressed due to-
THUD!
“SAM!”
The blond footballer jumped in his seat.
Quinn Fabray was staring at him with the most concerned expression he had ever seen her display. She had risen from the chair at some point and the loud noise was her hands slamming on top of the desk.
“Sam. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” He replied, trying for a one shoulder shrug.
I’m just going insane.
She did not look convinced. “Miss Falmouth? I think Sam needs to go see the nurse.”
The middle aged woman came around and peeked at him before nodding. “You are looking a little pale Sam. Maybe you should go?”
He didn’t know what he could say - not without sounding completely insane and not in a cool way - so he merely nodded and gathered his things.
“Do you need someone to go with you?”
“No, Miss Falmouth. I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep well today.”
The redheaded adult nodded and he turned to leave, avoiding his fellow glee clubbers’ eyes. His feet stopped just short of the door and his gaze returned to that wall.
The paint was perfect. There was no crack and no peeling.
Two hours. The old nurse had barely looked at him before ordering him to lay in one of the beds and rest. He had been twisting and turning since then. His eyes were closed and he was obnoxiously ignoring that little voice in his head telling him it was only because he was afraid it would happen again.
Nothing’s gonna happen again. Nothing happened. You’re just tired, Sam.
Yeah. Tired. You’ve been tired for the last three months, have you?
Shut u-
“Sam?”
His eyebrows furrowed and his head turned to the source of the voice.
“Mr. Schue?”
“Yeah.” There was a dip in the bed and the Spanish teacher sounded much closer now. “I heard you felt bad in English. Are you feeling better?”
“I guess.” A shrug. Sam had never been a good liar. His best bet was being vague and let people provide their own conclusions. The glee club director was silent for a while.
“Haven’t been sleeping well?”
“Not for the past few days.”
Not for the past few months.
“You know, that usually happens when we have something on our minds.”
Sam didn’t answer. What was he going to say? Well, I do have something on my mind Mr. Schuester. I think all the comic books and sci-fi movies and conspiracy theories chatrooms have finally made me go insane because I’m seeing things that can’t possibly be real. That would go well. They’d throw his ass in an asylum.
“Here.” His ears picked up the click of a pen and shortly after the adult pressed a bit of paper into his right hand. “It’s my number. If you ever feel the need to talk to me about anything, please do.” There was a pat on his shoulder. “Get better soon, Sam.” A creak, some footsteps and then the soft click of the door closing.
His left eye opened slightly and looked at the note. There was the number and a smiley face next to it.
Don’t be stupid, Sam.
It crumpled in his fist.
Sam dropped to the chair and stared mindlessly at the cluster of items on top of his bed. There were those Young Avengers comic books he was re-reading, that Spanish essay he had to finish for next week, the Star Wars OST CDs and a bunch of printed papers that covered his Avatar bedding almost entirely.
The sound of the computer loading snapped him out of his thoughts and he twirled the chair around. The pointer sailed across the screen to the armored smiley immediately but then it stopped. Hesitating.
Sam, this is why you started having… problems. You should leave. You should leave right now.
He double-clicked it. The dark blue chat window came up as usual. The right side bar displayed the people already in there. He frowned.
2H2 still hasn’t come back.
The virtual window shook. Sam blinked and moved his hands to the keyboard. He watched it, answering when someone asked him a question but otherwise not really participating. The flow of conversation moved from one theory to another easily enough and the jock lost track of time between following the chat and researching the current topics.
“Sam! Dinner!”
His eyes found the clock standing above his bedroom door. 8:05 p.m.
“Coming mom!” He typed a quick goodbye and moved to close the window. His gaze returned one last time to the text area.
2H2 has signed on.
He froze. Everyone in the chat stopped typing.
2H2: I found it. I found the Matrix, I know what it is.
The football player’s hands moved almost of their own accord.
Helios: Waht is it!
2H2: You’ll see. They came for me. They’re coming for you too, Sam. Don’t worry we’ll get you first.
2H2 has signed out.
His eyes widened. He could distantly feel his hands begin to shake.
They’re coming for you too, Sam. Don’t worry we’ll get you first.
They’re coming for you too, Sam. Don’t worry.
They’re coming for you too, Sam.
They’re coming for you.
Sam, stop freaking out. This is a conspiracy theories chatroom. This is just trolling. You don’t even know who they are. No, there are no they. You’re perfectly safe.
As safe as a hallucinating teenage hacker can be, you mean?
Shut up. I’m okay. I’m safe.
Uh hu. You keep telling yourself that.
“Honey, did you hear me?”
His head snapped to the door. It was just his mom standing there. He breathed out slowly.
“Are you alright?” She asked with a slight frown.
“I’m fine mom.” He hoped his grin wasn’t as shaky as he felt.
His legs kept a steady pace as he chewed his toast slowly. He was running late again.
Maybe you shouldn’t have spent all night re-watching Star Trek instead of sleeping.
Hey, a guy needs to have priorities.
… of course. I’m sure you being too freaked out to sleep had nothing to do with it. All this paranoia is terrible for your complexion, you know.
When did his conscience begin to sound like Kurt? He shook his head and stopped when he came across yesterday’s dog digging through the trash again.
Sam approached him slowly and crouched down, offering the rest of the toast.
“Hey, buddy. Want it?”
The stray animal looked at him wearily before hesitantly picking it with its teeth.
The blond grinned honestly for what felt like the first time in forever. He straightened up, adjusted his bag and turned around to continue on. His eyes focused on Mrs. Pommel. There was no car in the driveway so her husband had already left. She was tending to the flowers near the door, watering some and moving a few pots around. There was nothing unusual about it.
Her image twisted and turned and in the next second there a man standing there.
That man turned around, dressed in an impeccable suit, jumped and landed on Mrs. Pommel’s roof. He jumped from rooftop to rooftop, disappearing from the teen’s sight.
Sam leaned against the nearest tree and breathed deeply.
“Sam this is the third time you stepped on me.”
The blond rubbed the back of his hand over his stinging eyes. “Sorry.”
Kurt looked behind to see the others boys still practicing and then nodded towards the chairs. “Do you want to rest for a bit?”
Sam nodded and they both sat down. The countertenor narrowed his eyes and tilted his head slightly to the right.
“You’ve been out of it for the last few days.”
“… if I tell you everything’s okay will you believe me?”
The brunet pressed his lips into a thin line and that was answer enough.
“Look, I know I’m not much of a friend of yours as Finn but you can talk to me if you want to.” He leaned closer. “The whole club is concerned about you, Sam. Quinn said you didn’t feel well yesterday and Finn didn’t see you in History today.”
And Sam could totally imagine the glee club having a secret meeting to discuss his well-being and what they would do about it, which was both heartwarming and annoying.
“I slept in.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” Kurt sighed and leaned back. Somewhere to the right came a crash but neither of them took their eyes off each other. It was probably Finn tripping over Mike anyway, if Puck’s laughter was anything to go by. “You should probably go home. The only thing we’ll accomplish today is making sure Finn doesn’t kill anyone.”
“HEY!”
“You did just almost murder Mike making that turn, Finn.” The male diva pointed out with a raised eyebrow.
“Dude, how did you know that? You’re not even looking!”
Sam rubbed a hand over his face and stood up before nodding and sending the other boy the most honest grin he could.
“Thanks, Kurt.”
The halls were empty. He stifled a yawn and reached for the vibrating phone in his pocket. There was one new text message.
DON'T GO OUTSIDE. THEY'RE HERE. WAIT FOR US.
The jock stared. Us? Is this Kurt? No, his name would have showed up and he doesn't capslock everything. Finn? And who're they? Suddenly panic shot through him. He looked at the phone, then at the door to the outside, then at the phone again. Oh God. He recognized the number from somewhere but it wasn't on his contact list. It's a joke, it has to be a joke. But he didn't know anyone who would pull off something like- Puck. The blond's shoulder shagged for a few seconds and then tense again, in anger this time.
There were a few cars still outside. He recognized Kurt's, Puck's and Mr. Schue's but there was a black, very official one near the end of the parking lot that his eyes focused on immediately. Forcing his gaze away he stomped down the stairs, incredibly pissed off. Someone grabbed his shoulder just when his feet reached the end.
"Mr. Evans." Sam slowly turned his head. It wasn't the same man he had seen today but he carried himself the same way, had the same suit and the same sunglasses. His stomach clenched. "You need to come with us."