Fic: The Wisdom of Wildflowers - Epilogue
Title: The Wisdom of Wildflowers
Rating: NC-17 overall
Word Count: 35000, 1900 this part
Characters/Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, Brittany/Santana, rest of New Directions, Burt Hummel
Spoilers: everything through Glease, veers away from canon after that
Warnings: character death
Summary: It's been ten years since Kurt set foot in the halls of William McKinley High School, but the death of a friend has him headed back to Lima and spending time with his old friends. The week brings sorrow, reminiscences, love, and maybe the chance to mend the tears in old relationships.
Epilogue
There is an annoying buzzing sound coming from his bedside table. It carries on for several minutes before Kurt swats at it and it mercifully stops. It's not his alarm, because even in his half-conscious state he realizes that it's Sunday and Blaine turned his alarm off before they had fallen asleep the night before. Blaine stirs beside him, wiping at his sleep encrusted eyes and yawning, his fluffy curls sticking up every which way so adorably that Kurt has to force his eyes to stay open for an extra second just to smile at them.
“Thas your phone,” Blaine grumbles, his slurred voice rough like gravel and thick like molasses.
Kurt groans and rolls over towards the irritating buzzing that has restarted. And Blaine is right. His phone is literally skidding across the wooden top of the table, knocking into his glass of water and the box of condoms they had left there the night before.
“If it's somebody from your work calling I'm going to commit murder,” Blaine says as he rolls over, the last few words muffled in his pillow. Kurt is pretty sure they were those useless fuckers, but he's not one hundred percent.
It makes him chuckle nonetheless, and he retrieves his phone before it can shatter the glass or topple to the floor, yawning hugely through his hello.
“Kurt! About time you picked up, you lazy little queen.”
“Santana. How lovely to hear your endearments at such an early hour on a Sunday morning.”
“Cut your sass, I need you. I'm in fucking labour here.”
Kurt sits bolt upright, no longer the least bit sleepy, his eyes suddenly clear and his heart racing. “Are you sure?” He cringes, ready for her to tell him off, but it had been the first thing to pop into his head.
“Yes I'm fucking sure! Hurts like a sonofabitch. Make sure to remind me to call my mother and tell her I worship the fucking ground that she walks on later, will ya? But for right now, get over here. Rachel is at work and unreachable and Quinn is away for the weekend at some shrink love-in. It's you two pretties or no one. So take your dick out of Blainers' ass and get your fancy pants on and get the hell over here!”
“Yes, right. We'll be right there.” He jumps out of the bed, nearly tumbling over when his feet get entangled in the duvet. Blaine is half sitting now, rubbing a hand through his fluffy curls and eyeing Kurt in confusion.
“Santana,” Kurt says by way of explanation, hands rummaging haphazardly through first his and then Blaine's underwear drawer, throwing boxers and briefs onto the bed. Next come socks, and Blaine stands up and places a gentle hand on Kurt's arm.
“What's going on?”
“The baby's coming.”
Blaine's eyes widen and he starts his own rummaging, tossing a white t-shirt onto the pile on the bed. “No Rachel?”
Kurt shakes his head.
“Quinn?”
“Nope. Just us.”
Kurt struggles into jeans, hopping on one foot, his sock half hanging off while Blaine attempts to pull a shirt over his head while brushing his teeth. It takes them ten minutes all together, and then they're grabbing phones and keys and locking up and sprinting the entire five blocks to the apartment Santana shares with Rachel.
Santana answers the door, holding onto her bulging tummy and immediately barking out orders. She's got a cab waiting out front she says, and slams her bag into Blaine's chest. Kurt giggles at the oof that comes out of him, but not for long. Santana grabs him by the arm, her long, scarlet nails cutting into his flesh as she screams through a contraction. It's over a moment later and Kurt surreptitiously checks for bleeding.
“That was the worst one yet,” she says through her gasps. “Let's get this show on the road.”
Once in the cab, Santana gets a little overwhelmed. She had been keeping it together out of necessity, Kurt supposes, since she'd been alone and needed to get organized, but now that she has someone to hold her up, she's beginning to unravel at the edges.
“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” she pants through another contraction, squeezing Kurt's hand and Blaine's knee, big, fat tears rolling over her cheeks. Once it passes, she sits back against the seat. Blaine peels her hand from around his poor abused kneecap and holds it in his.
“We're nearly there,” he reassures. “It'll be okay.”
“How do you know that? You don't! What if something happens to me?”
“Nothing is gonna happen, Santana. It's going to be fine,” Kurt tells her, but her glare shuts him up before he can say anything more.
“Anything could happen,” she snaps. “Britts was supposed to be fine, too, and she's dead!” She starts sobbing, holding both of their hands to the top of her protruding belly. “I could die in childbirth, or get sick, or get hit by a bus or poisoned by tainted steak... No one knows. I need to ask you guys... Will you be the guardians? Will you look after Brittany's baby if something happens to me?”
Kurt sucks in a breath, his startled eyes finding Blaine's from over the top of Santana's head. Blaine gives him a small smile and nods and Kurt breathes out. “Okay. We can do that. If you're sure you don't want Quinn or Rachel...”
“No. I want you two. Quinn and Rachel are both single and I don't want to mess with their futures by sticking them with my kid. You two aren't going anywhere. Hell, it'd be a free kid so you don't have to pay someone to grow one for you or wait twenty years to get one from the state adoption agency. I hear that can be helloh, shit... Not again...”
Kurt winces as she twists his wrist, her fingernails cutting into the tender flesh of his palm. Santana starts to breathe deeply in and out and Kurt finds himself getting lightheaded, only to realize when Blaine reaches across to taps his cheek that he's been doing it along with her.
The cab driver looks relieved when he drops them at the emergency doors of the hospital, glad that it hadn't been necessary to aide in the delivery of the baby, Kurt supposes. You hear so many stories like that, most likely horror stories to drivers with pregnant passengers.
There is a nurse there with a wheelchair, but Santana waves her away. She is walking in of her own accord, she informs them. Kurt and Blaine shrug their shoulders and give the lady a smile and walk closely at Santana's side the entire way to the maternity ward.
The delivery is bloody and scream filled (mostly Kurt and Blaine's as Santana decimates each of their hands in turn), but after several gruelling hours, he comes out, bright red and shrieking.
“Damn, look at the sack on that kid,” is the first thing Santana says, leaning back, panting against the hospital bed, sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip. She looks a little shell shocked.
“The genitalia are always swollen at birth,” the doctor explains with a laugh. “They'll go down to normal size soon.”
“Huh. Too bad. Any kid of mine's gonna need a good set of cajones.”
They wipe him off and wrap him in a blanket, resting him on Santana's chest. He immediately turns his head to the side, searching blindly for food. “Do you think he looks like her?” Santana asks quietly, running her fingers delicately over his face and tiny hands. “I want him to look like her.”
“It's too soon to tell. But his hair looks light,” Blaine says. He pulls up the blanket and wipes a bit of the blood from the baby's hair. It does look blond. And quite possibly curly.
“Yeah. Suppose I should wait 'til his head's back to normal shape first.” She bends her own head down and presses her lips to his forehead and whispers, “sorry you had to go through so much to get here, kid. Hopefully it won't cause a lifelong phobia of enclosed spaces or vaginas.”
Blaine laughs and Santana grins up at him. “Guess that explains you two, huh?”
Kurt smiles distractedly as they banter back and forth, cooing over the tiny boy. But he can't make himself join in. All he can do is stare, transfixed, at the way he has his intricate little fingers wrapped around his mother's and how he knows just by instinct to look for food amongst the soft folds of her chest.
The nurse takes him away again as the doctor checks on Santana. “I'm going to call him Charlie,” she says, her eyes never leaving the nurse and her new son. “Britt would have liked that name, I think.”
“It's beautiful,” Blaine tells her. “And I think you're right.”
Kurt follows Blaine out of the delivery room when the nurse gets Santana up to help her into the shower. He paces along the wall in front of the chairs. He's already sent all of the texts he can send and made all the phone calls there are to make. He has so much energy now, when such a short while ago he had been exhausted.
“Hey,” Blaine whispers, standing in front of him and placing hands on his shoulders, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “Is something wrong? You've hardly said a peep.”
“I want one,” Kurt blurts out. “Like, right now. Please? Let's get married.”
Blaine's eyes widen and his hands slacken their hold on Kurt's shoulders and oh. Too soon. Or maybe Blaine doesn't want that at all. Kurt begins to pull away slowly, Blaine's hands sliding fully from his arms before he shakes his head, coming back to himself.
“Um... well, we're going to need to get a licence and your dad and Carole at the very least. And probably Finn and Cooper, maybe my parents. If we do it while Quinn is out of town she will kill us, and we should probably call Rachel... You know what? On second thought, not Cooper. Ever since he played a Justice of the Peace on that soap opera he thinks he can really marry people...”
“You want - You want to marry me?”
“Of course I do. Since I was sixteen.”
Kurt blinks back tears as Blaine takes him into his arms. “Did you think...?”
“You looked like you were panicking.”
“I wasn't.”
“Looked like it.”
“I wasn't panicking; I was planning. Promise.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Blaine presses his lips to Kurt's, his mouth still stretched into a wide smile. “That baby is pretty damn cute,” he says against Kurt's cheek.
“Looked like a cross between a monkey and a hairless cat Rachel once tried to get me to buy at a pet store,” Kurt says with a breathless laugh. “Yeah. He was beautiful.”
“So you want one, huh?”
“Yeah. I really, really do.”
“Me too.”
“Your sperm,” they both say in unison and then break up laughing.
“Sperm cocktail it is,” Kurt says, and Blaine kisses the side of his neck.
previous
Rating: NC-17 overall
Word Count: 35000, 1900 this part
Characters/Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, Brittany/Santana, rest of New Directions, Burt Hummel
Spoilers: everything through Glease, veers away from canon after that
Warnings: character death
Summary: It's been ten years since Kurt set foot in the halls of William McKinley High School, but the death of a friend has him headed back to Lima and spending time with his old friends. The week brings sorrow, reminiscences, love, and maybe the chance to mend the tears in old relationships.
Epilogue
There is an annoying buzzing sound coming from his bedside table. It carries on for several minutes before Kurt swats at it and it mercifully stops. It's not his alarm, because even in his half-conscious state he realizes that it's Sunday and Blaine turned his alarm off before they had fallen asleep the night before. Blaine stirs beside him, wiping at his sleep encrusted eyes and yawning, his fluffy curls sticking up every which way so adorably that Kurt has to force his eyes to stay open for an extra second just to smile at them.
“Thas your phone,” Blaine grumbles, his slurred voice rough like gravel and thick like molasses.
Kurt groans and rolls over towards the irritating buzzing that has restarted. And Blaine is right. His phone is literally skidding across the wooden top of the table, knocking into his glass of water and the box of condoms they had left there the night before.
“If it's somebody from your work calling I'm going to commit murder,” Blaine says as he rolls over, the last few words muffled in his pillow. Kurt is pretty sure they were those useless fuckers, but he's not one hundred percent.
It makes him chuckle nonetheless, and he retrieves his phone before it can shatter the glass or topple to the floor, yawning hugely through his hello.
“Kurt! About time you picked up, you lazy little queen.”
“Santana. How lovely to hear your endearments at such an early hour on a Sunday morning.”
“Cut your sass, I need you. I'm in fucking labour here.”
Kurt sits bolt upright, no longer the least bit sleepy, his eyes suddenly clear and his heart racing. “Are you sure?” He cringes, ready for her to tell him off, but it had been the first thing to pop into his head.
“Yes I'm fucking sure! Hurts like a sonofabitch. Make sure to remind me to call my mother and tell her I worship the fucking ground that she walks on later, will ya? But for right now, get over here. Rachel is at work and unreachable and Quinn is away for the weekend at some shrink love-in. It's you two pretties or no one. So take your dick out of Blainers' ass and get your fancy pants on and get the hell over here!”
“Yes, right. We'll be right there.” He jumps out of the bed, nearly tumbling over when his feet get entangled in the duvet. Blaine is half sitting now, rubbing a hand through his fluffy curls and eyeing Kurt in confusion.
“Santana,” Kurt says by way of explanation, hands rummaging haphazardly through first his and then Blaine's underwear drawer, throwing boxers and briefs onto the bed. Next come socks, and Blaine stands up and places a gentle hand on Kurt's arm.
“What's going on?”
“The baby's coming.”
Blaine's eyes widen and he starts his own rummaging, tossing a white t-shirt onto the pile on the bed. “No Rachel?”
Kurt shakes his head.
“Quinn?”
“Nope. Just us.”
Kurt struggles into jeans, hopping on one foot, his sock half hanging off while Blaine attempts to pull a shirt over his head while brushing his teeth. It takes them ten minutes all together, and then they're grabbing phones and keys and locking up and sprinting the entire five blocks to the apartment Santana shares with Rachel.
Santana answers the door, holding onto her bulging tummy and immediately barking out orders. She's got a cab waiting out front she says, and slams her bag into Blaine's chest. Kurt giggles at the oof that comes out of him, but not for long. Santana grabs him by the arm, her long, scarlet nails cutting into his flesh as she screams through a contraction. It's over a moment later and Kurt surreptitiously checks for bleeding.
“That was the worst one yet,” she says through her gasps. “Let's get this show on the road.”
Once in the cab, Santana gets a little overwhelmed. She had been keeping it together out of necessity, Kurt supposes, since she'd been alone and needed to get organized, but now that she has someone to hold her up, she's beginning to unravel at the edges.
“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” she pants through another contraction, squeezing Kurt's hand and Blaine's knee, big, fat tears rolling over her cheeks. Once it passes, she sits back against the seat. Blaine peels her hand from around his poor abused kneecap and holds it in his.
“We're nearly there,” he reassures. “It'll be okay.”
“How do you know that? You don't! What if something happens to me?”
“Nothing is gonna happen, Santana. It's going to be fine,” Kurt tells her, but her glare shuts him up before he can say anything more.
“Anything could happen,” she snaps. “Britts was supposed to be fine, too, and she's dead!” She starts sobbing, holding both of their hands to the top of her protruding belly. “I could die in childbirth, or get sick, or get hit by a bus or poisoned by tainted steak... No one knows. I need to ask you guys... Will you be the guardians? Will you look after Brittany's baby if something happens to me?”
Kurt sucks in a breath, his startled eyes finding Blaine's from over the top of Santana's head. Blaine gives him a small smile and nods and Kurt breathes out. “Okay. We can do that. If you're sure you don't want Quinn or Rachel...”
“No. I want you two. Quinn and Rachel are both single and I don't want to mess with their futures by sticking them with my kid. You two aren't going anywhere. Hell, it'd be a free kid so you don't have to pay someone to grow one for you or wait twenty years to get one from the state adoption agency. I hear that can be helloh, shit... Not again...”
Kurt winces as she twists his wrist, her fingernails cutting into the tender flesh of his palm. Santana starts to breathe deeply in and out and Kurt finds himself getting lightheaded, only to realize when Blaine reaches across to taps his cheek that he's been doing it along with her.
The cab driver looks relieved when he drops them at the emergency doors of the hospital, glad that it hadn't been necessary to aide in the delivery of the baby, Kurt supposes. You hear so many stories like that, most likely horror stories to drivers with pregnant passengers.
There is a nurse there with a wheelchair, but Santana waves her away. She is walking in of her own accord, she informs them. Kurt and Blaine shrug their shoulders and give the lady a smile and walk closely at Santana's side the entire way to the maternity ward.
The delivery is bloody and scream filled (mostly Kurt and Blaine's as Santana decimates each of their hands in turn), but after several gruelling hours, he comes out, bright red and shrieking.
“Damn, look at the sack on that kid,” is the first thing Santana says, leaning back, panting against the hospital bed, sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip. She looks a little shell shocked.
“The genitalia are always swollen at birth,” the doctor explains with a laugh. “They'll go down to normal size soon.”
“Huh. Too bad. Any kid of mine's gonna need a good set of cajones.”
They wipe him off and wrap him in a blanket, resting him on Santana's chest. He immediately turns his head to the side, searching blindly for food. “Do you think he looks like her?” Santana asks quietly, running her fingers delicately over his face and tiny hands. “I want him to look like her.”
“It's too soon to tell. But his hair looks light,” Blaine says. He pulls up the blanket and wipes a bit of the blood from the baby's hair. It does look blond. And quite possibly curly.
“Yeah. Suppose I should wait 'til his head's back to normal shape first.” She bends her own head down and presses her lips to his forehead and whispers, “sorry you had to go through so much to get here, kid. Hopefully it won't cause a lifelong phobia of enclosed spaces or vaginas.”
Blaine laughs and Santana grins up at him. “Guess that explains you two, huh?”
Kurt smiles distractedly as they banter back and forth, cooing over the tiny boy. But he can't make himself join in. All he can do is stare, transfixed, at the way he has his intricate little fingers wrapped around his mother's and how he knows just by instinct to look for food amongst the soft folds of her chest.
The nurse takes him away again as the doctor checks on Santana. “I'm going to call him Charlie,” she says, her eyes never leaving the nurse and her new son. “Britt would have liked that name, I think.”
“It's beautiful,” Blaine tells her. “And I think you're right.”
Kurt follows Blaine out of the delivery room when the nurse gets Santana up to help her into the shower. He paces along the wall in front of the chairs. He's already sent all of the texts he can send and made all the phone calls there are to make. He has so much energy now, when such a short while ago he had been exhausted.
“Hey,” Blaine whispers, standing in front of him and placing hands on his shoulders, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “Is something wrong? You've hardly said a peep.”
“I want one,” Kurt blurts out. “Like, right now. Please? Let's get married.”
Blaine's eyes widen and his hands slacken their hold on Kurt's shoulders and oh. Too soon. Or maybe Blaine doesn't want that at all. Kurt begins to pull away slowly, Blaine's hands sliding fully from his arms before he shakes his head, coming back to himself.
“Um... well, we're going to need to get a licence and your dad and Carole at the very least. And probably Finn and Cooper, maybe my parents. If we do it while Quinn is out of town she will kill us, and we should probably call Rachel... You know what? On second thought, not Cooper. Ever since he played a Justice of the Peace on that soap opera he thinks he can really marry people...”
“You want - You want to marry me?”
“Of course I do. Since I was sixteen.”
Kurt blinks back tears as Blaine takes him into his arms. “Did you think...?”
“You looked like you were panicking.”
“I wasn't.”
“Looked like it.”
“I wasn't panicking; I was planning. Promise.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Blaine presses his lips to Kurt's, his mouth still stretched into a wide smile. “That baby is pretty damn cute,” he says against Kurt's cheek.
“Looked like a cross between a monkey and a hairless cat Rachel once tried to get me to buy at a pet store,” Kurt says with a breathless laugh. “Yeah. He was beautiful.”
“So you want one, huh?”
“Yeah. I really, really do.”
“Me too.”
“Your sperm,” they both say in unison and then break up laughing.
“Sperm cocktail it is,” Kurt says, and Blaine kisses the side of his neck.
previous