(no subject)
Title: No More Yielding Than a Dream (Ch. 2/?)
Author: spookykat
Rating: T/R
Word count: 1, 972 for this chapter
Characters/Pairings: Klaine, other canon season 3 pairings apply.
Summary: Kurt is teetering between two realities.
Warnings: Mild language. Minor season 3 spoilers. Mental disorders are a huge part of this fic, and half of it is set in a a mental institution. Angst abounds.
Chapter 1
“Dad, I want another doctor,” Kurt announced as they led him back to his room. “You do remember how crazy she is, don’t you?”
“She’s the best in her field, kiddo. She also knows you, and she’s already helped you this far. I don’t think it’s such a good idea to change horses midstream, you know? Not when you’ve come so close.”
“But Dad! This is the woman who throws sticks at my friends and I just because she can! She instructed the Cheerios to burn the purple pianos after I planned her sister’s funeral!”
“Kurt, how many times do we have to go through this?” his mother interjected. “Cheerios aren’t cheerleaders. It’s a breakfast cereal.”
“Mom, no…I…Santana, Brittany, Quinn…”
“Since you’ve been here,” Coach Sylvester said, “you’ve somehow reassigned different labels to the other patients here. It’s part of your illness.”
“I’m not sick! There’s nothing wrong with me!”
“Of course there’s nothing wrong with you, Kurt,” his father said. “You’re just a little…confused.”
“I’m not confused!” He was shouting now, and his voice was getting high, which he hated. “My name is Kurt Hummel. I’m 17 years old. The year is 2011. My address is 1620 East Pine Street. My phone number is 555-1013. I’m stuck here in Lima, Ohio until I graduate high school. Obama’s the President unless some Tea Party idiots actually managed to be successful with Impeachment, The Book of Mormon swept the Tony Awards including Best New Show to nobody’s surprise. I’m dating Blaine Anderson, and…”
But his mother just shook her head and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Kurt had forgotten how blue they could be. “We’ve been over this, Kurt,” she said. “Blaine’s the intern that shadows Dr. Sylvester. He’s not really your boyfriend. Dr. Sylvester thinks you’ve built this whole world up in your head as some kind of…coping mechanism.”
“Mom, in that other reality? The one I am supposed to have made up in my head? You died when I was eight. How is that supposed to help me cope?”
His dad must’ve waved over someone to help, because suddenly a pair of hands was on him.
“You just got yourself a time-out,” a familiar voice said behind him. Kurt whipped around to see who it was.
Karofsky. This was going from dream to nightmare fast, because his mom still being alive was wonderful, but Karofsky being in the dream too? He really did need a shrink after all.
“Come on, Kurt, it’s just Dave,” another familiar voice said.
Sam.
Okay, now it was just getting weird.
“What the fuck are you two doing here?”
“Uh, we work here,” Karofsky answered. Sam ribbed him with his elbow. “How many times do I have to tell you don’t reason wi--Ow!”
But Kurt wasn’t listening. He started to back away, but his dad was holding him, managing to keep him grounded to the spot. “Don’t let him touch me, Dad! Don’t let him touch me!”
“Relax, buddy, nobody’s going to hurt you here, okay?” his dad answered.
“Can I get a nurse in here?” Sam hollered.
And in a flash, the nurse arrived. Carole.
Carole was ready with the needle in hand, and none of this was making sense at all.
“Carole, you’ve got to help me! This is insane! I’m not crazy! I’m Kurt Hummel, 17 years old from Lima Ohio, it’s 2011 …” he screamed as he felt the prick of a needle enter his arm. He wanted to fight, but found that he wasn’t able to move his limbs.
And the world went black.
* * *It had been hours.
Blaine’s cell phone battery only had a few minutes of life left, and Blaine himself was running on empty as well. Finn had gone back for the third time to see if there was any news on Kurt, and Blaine could do nothing but wait with the rest of New Directions along with the Trouble Tones (Artie called Mercedes to let her know what had happened), who were all assembled in the waiting room. All except Sugar, who had claimed to have a “hospital-o-phobia.”
The waiting room was bustling and there weren’t many places to sit, but Blaine couldn’t sit still even if he tried. He would still be pacing back and forth if Rachel hadn’t made him stand still and take a few deep breaths. “In through the nose and out through the mouth,” Rachel coaxed. “Blaine, I’m sorry what I said earlier…I swear, after this is all over, Finn and I have discussed it, and we’re letting you guys win.”
“Because yeah, I’m sure Blaine is so worried about the competition right now,” Quinn huffed.
“I knew he wasn’t feeling well. I should’ve backed out of the competition. I should’ve…”
Finn put a hand on his shoulder. “Knowing him, he probably would’ve just sung a duet by himself like he did last year and this would’ve happened anyway.”
Blaine’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the number. His mom’s cell. He let it go to voicemail, but it rang again.
He started to pick it up, but then Mr. Schue tapped him on his shoulder and pointed to the ‘No cell phones please’ sign on the wall.
“Come get me if there’s any news,” he said and then left the room.
“Mom, this really isn’t a good time…I’m kinda…”
There was a pause.
“No mom, listen, I’m at the hospital. Not for me…for Kurt. They don’t know. Look, I’ve gotta…” another pause. “Did you look in all the usual places? You think dad can…? What about Cindy? I really, really need to be here right now. Look, she probably forgot her meds again. She’ll be fine. The doctor said Annie’s made real progress with this medication.” Blaine released a defeated sigh. “I really, really don’t want to leave right now. Kurt…” He sighed again and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He really, really wished he had the ability to slam down his iPhone.
He sent a text to Finn.
“I need to take care of something. Tell me when there’s any news on Kurt. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ll explain later.”
He knew time was of the essence, but he was running on pure adrenaline up until that point and all of a sudden the enormity of everything just came crashing down. He laid his head against the steering wheel and just sobbed so hard his whole body shook for a few seconds. He slammed his hand against the dash in frustration so hard he heard the plastic crack, but he didn’t care. It just wasn’t fair.
After a few minutes, he took a deep breath and collected himself, cursing the current situation.
Blaine’s place was here, with Kurt. He knew that, but his sister…his sister needed him, too.
He glanced up and at that moment, saw a shooting star whiz by, despite the bright lights of the hospital parking-lot, but didn’t pause to make a wish. Wishes weren’t going to help him now.
* * *
The first thing Kurt heard was incessant beeping. Like the machine his father was hooked up to when he had his heart attack. A heart monitor. He must be hooked up to a heart monitor.
But why would there be a heart monitor in a psychiatric hospital? That made no sense at all. Something was in his nose.
He could feel rough, calloused fingers holding his hand.
“Come on, kiddo. Open your eyes,” his father’s voice came from somewhere close by.
This was proving to be easier said than done, and when he did, he could only open them a sliver and shut them again because it was too bright.
“There’s my boy,” his father said. His eyes were watery, but a relieved smile was plastered across his face.
Kurt bolted upright. “Don’t let Karofsky touch me!”
“Woah…settle down, son. Nobody’s gonna hurt you here. You’re in the hospital, Kurt.”
“I know...mental hospital…” Kurt managed to slur.
“No, Kurt,” Carole said, exchanging a worried glance with Burt. “The actual hospital. You fell. You’ve been out for most of the day.”
“Carole tells me she tried to get you to stay home, but you didn’t listen.”
“Big day.”
“You could’ve passed out while driving, Kurt,” Burt fussed. “You could’ve fallen and hit your head harder than you did. As it is, you’ve been out for several hours. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I just...wasn’t all that sick.”
“Says my kid with an oxygen tube up his nose and an IV hooked up to his arm,” Burt said with a wry grin. “Hand me your call-button, I’m lettin’ the nurses know you’re awake.”
Thirty minutes later, a doctor (Not Sue, he noted gratefully; this time, it was shorter, Hispanic man named Dr. Cruz.) was flashing a light in his eyes and asking him if he knew what his name was.
“That’s what charts are for!” Kurt replied.
“Answer the damn questions, Kurt,” Burt grumbled. “He’s trying to help.”
After more questions, and poking and prodding the doctor frowned. “I’m concerned because I’ve ordered every test under the sun I can think of, yet I can’t find any reason why you would’ve lost consciousness for as long as you did. You fell and hit your head, and perhaps it was just an injury from the fall itself, but the CAT-scan we did when you were first brought in didn’t present any anomalies that would provide an explanation. I’d like to keep you here overnight for observation.”
“Why the IV and the heart monitor?”
“The IV is because you were dehydrated when you came in, and the heart monitor is just a precaution to see if that might be a possible cause.”
“I told you to drink your fluids!” Carole scolded, and was going to say something else, but the doctor cleared his throat.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions without your parents present, if you don’t mind?”
“Anything you have to say to my kid, you can say in front of me, Doc,” Burt said.
“It’s just standard procedure, sir. There are certain questions that Kurt might be…more comfortable answering without his parents here.”
“I’m going to go outside and let Finn and everyone else know you’re awake,” Carole said, and left.
“We don’t have any secrets,” Kurt said, training his best glare on the doctor as soon as she was gone.
“You’re not on drugs, are you? None of the happy dust? Wacky weed? Hard stuff?”
“Excuse me?” For a brief moment, Kurt was actually wishing Sue was his doctor again, because of the two of them, at that moment, she appeared to be the saner choice.
“Look, I know what I did when I was your age, and I’m just saying…it would be a viable explanation.”
“What!? No!” Burt gave him a questioning look. “Dad! No! I hate taking Nyquil because of the things it does to my head! Do you really think I’m going to take the harder stuff? You can test me for it if you want, but it’ll come up negative.”
“I ask because there are drugs they don’t have tests for yet. I watch My Strange Addiction, you know.”
“I don’t eat drywall. I don’t drink detergent. I’m not on drugs. I just…” he sighed and sunk back into the pillow in frustration. “I lost my balance doing a routine.”
“Listen, Doc,” Burt said in a low, threatening tone. “I know my kid. He doesn’t do any of that stuff, period. I know I don’t have any fancy degrees or nothin’ like that, but I know when an otherwise healthy seventeen-year-old collapses and loses consciousness for as long as he did, well…it’s for a reason. I don’t care what you have to do. Do your damn job and find out what that reason is.”
“That’s my intention sir,” Dr. Cruz replied hastily.