Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You're always doing this!“ The shrill laughter of a blonde boy with keen eyes has left him wondering whether or not he was ever going to become that mesmerizingly charming. He's always wanted to feel special, stand out, be extraordinary. The blonde boy embodied perfection.

"I think I'm gonna pursue arts,” said the raven-haired boy with his arms behind his head, laying in tall grass, staring off into blue nothingness of sky.

"You still have time to decide,” uttered the blonde boy, laying next to him, copying his gestures.

"We're best friends – you're supposed to be supportive of my decisions." The raven-haired boy sounded almost defensive, yet looking into the shiny navy buttons that were his friend's eyes, his objections started thawing faster than February snow.

The blonde boy didn't say anything. His gaze was fixated on the gorgeous face of his friend, so innocent and soft – he forgot what he wanted to say – so he remained silent. Silence followed them around for the rest of that hot August afternoon.

...

”This is so stupid.”

Artie was trying to stuff his backpack into his locker while actively ignoring Brittany's cheerleader portrait displayed on the side of it. The senior year has been in full swing for over a week, yet Tina was still MIA, Joe and Sugar both refused to come back to glee club, Blaine was in denial about the summer breakup with Kurt, and Artie himself did not know what to do with his life or where to go from here.

"Hey stranger,” Unique greeted him cheerfully, Artie could tell that her uplifting spirits had something to do with a new shiny weave.

"What's up, girl?”

Unique would not be caught dead, blushing over such a minimalistic salutation from a boy in a wheelchair. Still, the mere acknowledgment of how she felt inside from a straight guy, nerd or not, caused her muscles to relax, her guard went down, her inhibitions melted.

"What's up? What's up with you? You've been silent and acting all Jeffrey Dahmer-y ever since we came back. As an advocate for healthy lifestyle choices, I must ask what kind of a pity party smoothies you're cooking up for yourself in that head of yours!”

”Well, I am a senior,” Artie started cautiously while closing up his locker and wheeling in the direction of a calculus class, and I guess the nostalgia of it all is catching up with me.”

As they were walking down the hallway, they couldn't help but notice Blaine's small frame walking in the distance towards them.

He was wearing his signature colorful bowtie and a khaki pair of jeans, which Artie was sure Kurt had picked for him at some point in time.

“Guys, I ran into Mr. Shue on the way to school – he said he would be late for the glee club meeting, but we're supposed to start without him."

”Us and what army? Where the hell is everybody?" Unique raised a sharp point. With half of the glee club gone, there was no way to start up anything.

”I think I just found one of our missing members.”

Artie pointed behind an unspecified spot behind Blaine with an open mouth, which made Blaine turn around in curiosity.

Tina was strutting down the hallways of McKinley, but she didn't look like Tina at all.

Not their Tina, anyway.

"Oh, what the hell?” Unique held up her right hand almost in a defense-like gesture.

Tina didn't make just the glee clubber's jaw drop, McKinley's kids were turning heads to see who the new girl is.

Tina's black silky hair was gone, replaced by the shiny beach blond waves that were cascading down her back. Her makeup was toned up five thousand notches, highlighting her features and cheekbones that were poking out of her face.

She has always been slender; now, she was skinny. She no longer wore a dress from the sixties; she was wearing a teal blazer with high-waisted jeans that fit her body like a glove and accentuated her figure.

But the most significant of changes …

She walked right past them and did not say a word.

"I think Tina might have jumped into Paris Hilton´s body,” Artie commented after ten seconds of stunned silence. It occurred to Blaine that the changes that had struck McKinley might be too much for anyone to handle.

Long after the school hours and the extracurricular activities came to an end,

Blaine decided to drive home instead of going with his friends for an afternoon war council discussion at Lima Bean.

For him, there was nothing to discuss. Everything has changed so abruptly and so drastically that no amount of salt-rubbing exercises into their fresh wounds would bring around a cyclone that would wipe out this Kansas reality and send them back to their Oz reality.

He was well-accustomed to changing environments and changing of friends. He has switched schools twice now, and each transfer made him somehow deader inside.

No friend would truly stick around for him. That was kind of the point of this whole ordeal called life.

"Hey." He greeted his mum, kissed her on the cheek, and slumped down on the bar stool wearily.

Madelaine, raven-haired beauty in her late forties, was stirring a mix of exotic vegetables on the stove.

"Hey baby, you hungry? I'm making a Japanese stew for your father."

Blaine did not condone the last couple of months full of raw vegetables, stewed vegetables. God knows what other plants that his mother insisted his dad would eat. Still, he could appreciate the amount of love and care she put into making sure her husband would succeed in lowering his cholesterol.

"I think dad might go crazy if you serve him one more plate of some cuckoo vegetables on it,” Blaine said wittily.

”And I think that your dad will thank me next week when the cardiologist has confirmed the levels of sugar and fat in his blood have gone down.”

”Touché.”

It did not go over her head that something was going on with Blaine. His normally chipper demeanor has morphed into a festival of moping, and he was no longer humming along to songs on the radio unless there was a Sinead O'Connor song on.

”You okay?”

Blaine nodded, taking a sip of water from the water bottle he had brought home from school.

"How's Kurt?"

"Yeah, good, you know. Busy. He's busy," he said too hastily. "How are you at home so soon?" The sudden change of subject did not escape her, however, pushing him into confessing his feelings was not an option. She played along.

"I took an afternoon off. I wanted us to have a nice family dinner tonight."

Madelaine smiled, the curves of wrinkled around her well-aged eyes only accentuated her exotic beauty.

Blaine appreciated her more with each day passing. It was as if she had a radar that positively predicted the future, so she always knew how to act in advance of things happening in real life.

"I know your dad has been aloof lately. After what happened, he's not feeling like himself anymore, but I'm sure it'll change."

Blaine wasn't so sure, but despite his instincts, he offered his mother a confident smile. It stretched for far too long; his cheek muscles were almost burning from the amount of fake it produced.

”I need to call Cooper," he announced. It was nearly five in the afternoon in the Midwest, which meant Cooper was about to have an afternoon break on the west coast.

Blaine's weekly calls with his brother were a rare highlight of his week, which only testified to what his life reduced itself into.

His mother, on the other end, was beaming with pride that her sons, so far apart by age gap and geographical circumstances, were finally keeping in touch and getting along.

Blaine disappeared behind the doors of his bedroom, seeking privacy and silence. Cooper's nature popped with eccentricities of all shapes and sizes, but he was also brutally honest. The only person in the whole wide world who didn't treat him like a porcelain doll.

Well, maybe not the only one. But that person could no longer be in his life.

"Baby-bro!"

"Cooper," Blaine smirked, an image of his brother's Hollywood Colgate smile vividly plastered in his mind, "how is LA?"

"Shining, shimmering, splendid," Cooper countered, quoting one of Blaine's favorite musicals. “How are you? How are things with Kurt? You guys still broken up?”

Cooper's remark sent shivers down his spine, the wound still open and bleeding out. Kurt was still in his system. No matter how much and how often he let all his bodily fluids pour from him, Kurt stayed in his veins, stubbornly.

”Sadly, yes.”

"Pf," Cooper uttered, although Blaine wasn't sure what kind of noise his brother meant to produce. It sounded like an otter rubbing its hands together in a sad attempt to build a dam.

”Are you disapproving of us staying apart or approving of our breakup and disapproving of me sulking over it?”

"You're not sulking, Blaine, you're hurting."

There it was. Cooper's master class on being unapologetically honest put to practice. On those rare occasions that he called him by his first name, Cooper indeed produced some of the most valuable insights.

"And I know how closed off you can get when you're hurting. Remember when you got that beating? You didn't speak for three weeks. Not a word."

Blaine shifted uncomfortably on his bed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand that wasn't clutching the phone. Of course, he fucking remembered. He still had scars from stitches on his ribcage.

"I don't want to talk about Kurt,” Blaine said quietly, hoping Cooper would catch on and not force him to elaborate.

“Well, okay then. What do you wanna talk about? I have only five minutes, then I have to be back on set. Maurine is extremely touchy-feely today, I might have to get a restraining order.”

Blaine genuinely laughed at Cooper's pitiful attempts to keep his makeup artist's advances at arm's length. He suddenly remembered why these talks were so precious to him.

“Things at McKinley are weird. People have changed.”

”Figuratively or literally? Has anyone changed gender in that glee club of misfits that you love so much?”

Cooper was teasing, the tonality of his voice so obviously high-pitched, Blaine couldn't help but chuckle at the rude comment.

"No, you idiot. It's just … We are a group of people who don't have much in common, and now the glue that held it all together graduated, we are sort of lost." Blaine wasn't sure who the glue of the glee club was. Perhaps there was a delicate balance to keeping the glee club together. It needed Kurt's shrillness, Rachel's ambition, Finn's heart. The only thing he knew was that everyone was gone.

"Baby bro, if you care about the glee club the way I know you do, maybe you should step up as an acting glue officer, and patch things up with people.”

The problem was, Blaine didn't even begin to know how to fix himself, let alone set an entire posse of glee kids scattering in various directions over their artistic and personal differences.

Every waking day was like a hydra starring him down, and persistently crushing him with its nine heads and counting. School, college, glee club, Kurt ….

Before Kurt, there was pure music. There was the safety that is Dalton, and sense of accomplishment, and reverence in being loved.

After Kurt, an emptiness settled in his life, loomed over his daily chores. He could no longer hear the powerful ringing in his ears whenever he listened to a melody, identifying the notes spot on every single time.

The joy that used to pump the air with swinging tunes had vanished.

”You need to get your mind off of whatever has got you in the funk, Blainey.”

Cooper's voice, unusually buttery for a conversation so lighthearted, encouraged Blaine to get out of his head.

He smiled, realizing Cooper can't see the sheer content that stretched across his porcelain-likee face. "You know, maybe you should have been a therapist. You're pretty good at psychoanalysis."

With Cooper silent on the other side, Blaine knew he smiled back.

He couldn't catch a fucking break.

He was sure he must have rolled his eyes a million times over the past five hours, yet this day, much like every single day of his miserable existence, just kept on giving.

"Sebastian, this case is critical to me, and I would greatly appreciate if you could stay at the dormitories over the weekend."

He considered talking back. He considered smashing his phone across the polished, refined halls of Dalton Academy, embarrassing himself in front of his peers. The last thing he needed was for these people to witness a temper tantrum after the shit-show he had cooked up at McKinley High the previous year. He may have gotten off without a scratch on his academic record, but the stain on his previously stellar reputation could not be erased. The Warblers have lost respect for him for hurting their icon.

"I can't have you lurking around the house when my work needs undivided attention at the moment. I'm sure you understand, son."

Of course, he understood. He understood that his father wasn't capable of human emotion. A soulless creature that wasted this Earth's precious oxygen with each breath that he took.

“Yes, father.“

He didn't think twice before he hung up on his daddy dearest, the inside of his cheek soar from biting into it too hard.

"Sebastian, you coming?" Nick's hand on his shoulder plucked him out of a dreamland where he no longer answered to his father's whims. Nick's worried expression suggested that Sebastian must have looked out of it.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there, you go ahead."

Nick nodded, not pushing against Sebastian's wishes.

Nick, a picture-perfect cheap rip-off of Blaine Anderson with less talent, less charm, and less everything that made Blaine what he was, annoyed the hell out of Sebastian only until the slushie incident.

For all the integrity that Sebastian had thought was nowhere near the vicinity of Nick's intellectual capacity, he came through for him when The Warblers had cast him aside.

Unexpectedly, Nicholas Duval stood his ground and insisted they let Sebastian not only stay in their ranks, but to continue serving as captain. Sebastian started appreciating Nick's blind adoration for his persona. He managed to strike up a deal that somewhat consisted of Nick being there for him, and Sebastian sort of returning the friendship without compromising his too cold for friends demeanor.

Sebastian didn't need his fellowship, he needed someone to back him up with The Warblers. Now, more than ever before.

”Nice of you to join us, Smythe.”

The senior study hall that served exclusively for The Warblers' practice sessions in the afternoon hadn't changed at all since last year. The commons sparkled like thousand suns; the wooden parquets smelled vaguely of a vanilla polish, the leather couches framing the open space, dignifying it.

However, one object quite stood up. A new addition. A new captain that had replaced Sebastian.

”Anytime, Clarington.”

Hunter Clarington. A major douchebag with a hairdo of a Cirque de Solei performer. Sebastian wished he could say that Clarington was dumb as a doornail; unfortunately, his wits nearly surpassed Sebastian's, and his ruthlessness stretched out far beyond the realms of what Sebastian considered fair game.

And that's saying something.

Clarington's cunning smirk never left his face for the entirety of practice, mocking the fact that he dethroned Sebastian.

Clarington wasn't after him per se; he was after merit, social standing, and applause. Sebastian only happened to pave the way for his climb to the top by being reckless. Or so Sebastian thought.

”Smythe.”

The room had cleared out slowly, the Warblers all going about the rest of their day.

Clarington approached Sebastian with the prudence of a predator approaching its lunch. Sebastian hovered over the threshold, half out of the room already, his spirit already in the Lima Bean, where he was supposed to meet Nick for an evening study session.

”How can I be of service?”

"Don't get smart with me, Sebastian. It doesn't fit your crooked personality,” Hunter uttered, keeping his shoulders back to appear taller. A corner of Sebastian's mouth twisted up in an amused grin, watching Clarington desperately trying to measure up against him. Both physically and mentally. It gave him a sense of delicious satisfaction; he can still install envy in others.

”I know all about your ways. I think that it would benefit us both if we were to become partners rather than enemies.”

”I function better alone,” Sebastian said, preparing to leave.

"I think you're a winner. And you want to win this year, don't you? Or you'd rather have Hummel's friends carry home the national’s trophy again?”

At the mention of that name, Sebastian shuddered immediately. Clarington noticed the twitch in his opponent's eye. He knew instantly that he had pierced the fortress that was Sebastian's seemingly unbothered facade.

There were very few things that could penetrate Sebastian's armor. He worked on hardening his exterior and interior. His father held the highest position on the ladder of Sebastian's unforgiving nature. Hummel was up there with him. Clarington knew that, of course, always doing proper research on his enemies. It was a calculated move to say "Hummel's friends" rather than just call them "New Directions."

Clarington took one step closer to confirm the upper hand.

”Tell me what you know about this Blaine Anderson that everyone is creaming their pants for.”

Sebastian hoped, in vain, that this conversation would omit to mention Blaine altogether. He still couldn't even so much as think about Blaine without making himself feel like disposable garbage.

He tensed, vividly, and the spark in Clarington's eyes gave away how proud of himself he indeed was for holding Sebastian by his balls.

”He attends McKinley now.”

Hunter folded his arms on his puffed up chest, scanning Sebastian's every mannerism; From casually smoothing a few stranded chestnut hairs, down to tapping his foot on the floor.

Sebastian stretched his neck forward as to implicate annoyance with the blond nag smirking in his face like a demented suricate.

"There's a story, isn't there?" It was meant to be a question, but Sebastian's reluctance to subject himself to this pointless interrogation only reassured Clarington that he's in the right to ask if he wanted to learn the dynamic of The Warblers and their biggest rivals, The New Directions.

”I love a good story,” Hunter chuckled devilishly, ”always makes the victory so much more rewarding.”

“Why don't you ask your little spies if you're so eager to know?"

Hunter laughed obnoxiously, the sneer in his dishonest tonality only making Sebastian's suspiciousness about him grow like grass after rain.

”Who? Duval? Or Sterling? Those are your lackeys. And the rest is shitless scared to tell me what the hell is going on around here, or too far up my ass to be honest with me. I need facts. Harsh truths.”

He paused, carrying his speech like a victorious warrior. His pretentiousness knew no limit. Sebastian felt like smacking him across his stupid face with his own overpriced polished shoes.

"I need to know," he lowered his voice, trying to sound dangerous, almost, "why is everyone getting off over a guy who isn't even here, and why every time I try and connect the dots, your name comes up, and everyone goes dead silent."

Sebastian swallowed his pride, insults, unreasonable judgments, and succumbed to the fact that Clarington currently held a superior position over him. If everything that they said about him was right, then he's more than capable of ruining The New Directions without breaking a sweat.

Maybe he promised he would stay away, but he certainly wasn't going to stop Clarington from his executing his plan. He didn't care enough to interfere. He certainly wasn't going to get caught in the crossfire, either.

”What do you wanna know about Blaine?”

Clarington narrowed his eyes, tiny wrinkles forming around the chilling glare in his eyes made him so much more intimidating.

”Everything.”

”And then?”

Clarington's whisper was chillingly quiet. ”I have a job for you, Smythe.”

Chapter Text

The Lima Bean's unusual hubbub tended to quiet down towards the evening hours. On this particular evening, Blaine just wanted to find a corner where he could talk to his friends without all the commotion. His mind always worked better in silence.

Remarkably, Sam didn't try and force him to talk. They observed the café, Sam revered in babbling about Star Wars while comparing the likeness of every girl that walked through the door to Princess Leia.

The undeniable heaviness of the situation settled on his shoulders. It was always the simplistic moments when his mind wasn't occupied with music or schoolwork when he would realize how truly lost he was. Without Kurt, there was no one he would put his energy into. There were plans put into motions, promises, and premises, ardor, and affection.

And it seemed that no one noticed. No one apart from Cooper, who was thousands of miles away. It spoke volumes about the people who he surrounded himself with. Everyone at McKinley was so wrapped up in their drama. No one bothered to ask how he felt.

Peripherally, he was watching Nick fiddle with his pencil for about thirty minutes, having a nervous tick over what seemed to be a math problem, based on the calculator on his desk. The amount of time Nick checked his phone and the wristwatch that Blaine himself had given him for his birthday two years ago, stampeded nervousness into Blaine, too.

Nick was waiting for someone, and that someone was late as hell.

"… and he's so into it, I read him the polygamous fanfiction every …"

Blaine realized how rude it was to let Sam yam about Star Wars and not even nod in agreement. But he was too preoccupied with the scene unfolding before him.

Through the Lima Bean glass door with finger-stains on it, rushed in a disheveled tall boy in Dalton blazer. He scanned the room quickly before he noticed Nick sitting at a table alone, practically jumping out of his skin.

He pushed aside a few of the loose strands of his chestnut hair from his forehead, more so because he was aware how attractive the move made him look rather than how the hair annoyed him. Like a modern-day royalty.

”Where have you been?!” Nick threw his arms in the air, positively annoyed.

Blaine was ogling Sebastian, watched him sit down opposite Nick, not sparing a glance his way.

Part of him wanted to walk over to their table and restore what little they used to share, just because Sam was here, and although he wasn't a telltale, he would most certainly tell Kurt. And that raging, small part of him that he kept buried inside, wanted to come outside and play the second he spotted Sebastian.

He squeezed his coffee cup tighter; he gnashed his teeth harshly. At the same time, the faded movie of his failed relationships played out in front of his eyes.

You still have time to decide.

No. He wasn't going to mull over and sulk. There was no place here for broken dreams and victim mentality. He was stronger than that.

Sam snapped his fingers right in front of his eyes, pulling him out of the dreamland.

”Are you even listening to me?”

"Yeah, yeah," he assured Sam. However, the back and forth glances between him and the Warbler table only assured Sam about the fact that Blaine is not mentally present.

Then, Sam looked over to where the show of Blaine's interests was happening, and he deducted absolutely the worst, and entirely off conclusion about it.

"Oh, our dear friend, who almost blinded you last year."

Blaine finally turned towards Sam, body, and head. "That's not what this is about."

"No? So you haven't been completely aloof since the minute we came here and spotted your Warbler friend? And now, this one joins him."

Sam didn't have a prejudiced body in his bone, but the way he said this one so

begrudgingly, like Sebastian was some kind of a disease that needed to be wiped out, made Blaine realized how much of a hollow pit Sebastian's bad decisions left between the Warblers and the New Directions.

"It just brings back memories. Maybe we should go," Blaine said. Evacuation seemed like the most likely move at the moment.

”I mean, do you wanna say hi? Weren't you friends with …?"

"Nick," Blaine supplemented reassuringly, just to erase any doubt from Sam's (and his own) mind about the relations he and Sebastian … didn't have.

"… Nick, before it … all happened?"

Blaine wasn't sure what ´all´ was Sam referring to. ´All´ could be qualified as, ´before he transferred to McKinley for Kurt,´ ´before he met Kurt,´ ´before he started making horrible decisions for the sake of Kurt,´ or ´before he cut ties with Dalton for Kurt,´ or ´before Sebastian almost blinded him and it all went to shit.´

A miserable buffet of options to choose from.

Sam's on the edge glare was pushing him to choose faster than he'd prefer.

Fortunately, Sebastian made that call for him first.

”Blaine.”

A simple greeting, without particular emotion attached to it. Blaine almost couldn't tear his eyes away from an undefined spot behind Sam, feeling the awkwardness already building up around the perimeter.

"Well, I'm gonna go," Sam said briefly, already up on his feet. Blaine flashed him a terrifying look that was supposed to translate as "don't leave me here alone."

Sam didn´t get the memo at all, determined not to interact with Sebastian at all.

When Blaine's eyes finally met Sebastian's irises, viably green emeralds full of mischief that Blaine immediately recognized, the tension in his bones eased off.

”Hi.” Blaine kicked himself mentally for being so obviously dumb-struck to not greet him properly. After all, they shook hands last year. Blaine forgave him when he saw the genuine regret on his face that day right here in Lima Bean. Even though their friendship lacked closure, Blaine couldn´t reconnect with him. Kurt would have flipped over backwards.

It was either Kurt's love or Sebastian's friendship. At the time, it was a no-brainer.

"May I sit down?" It was a question, but Sebastian didn't really wait for an answer. The image of Nick, visibly calmer behind him, popped into Blaine's view.

"Aren't you neglecting Nick a little bit?"

"He'll be occupied with derivative equations for the next twenty minutes. Jeff held me up on the way here,” Sebastian explained, glanced behind himself with an amused expression.

Blaine noticed how unrecognizable he looked. Maybe that's why he was so struck by seeing him. Not so much nervous, baffled more likely.

Blaine was pretty sure he was the only one who noticed the subtle changes that made all the difference.

Everything about him remained just as Blaine remembered it. The polished look, the handsome appearance, all his features were intact, the personality that exuded confidence untouched.

And yet, Sebastian´s boyish cheekiness was undeniably gone. A hollowed-out emptiness reflected in his eyes, a sparkly excitement for all things coming, gone. The twitch in his nicely marbled lips no longer revealed how witty and intelligent he was, the vivacity of his charming smile, vanished. Sebastian lost what little innocence he once had.

His physique had changed exceptionally, too. Even though his body took a more positive turn than his soul.

His shoulders were broader, his chest puffier, his hair a bit longer, much more Disney-prince-y, and his skin still sun-kissed, probably a remainder from summer nights at whatever fantastic destination he had spent his summer at.

”How have you been?”

The last time they saw each other, they parted ways amicably, Blaine politely offering a handshake to straighten out the last of his resentment. The gesture served as a parting gift for him more than for Sebastian.

"I've been better," Blaine uttered, immediately regretting the amount of honesty he put into his statement.

Who the hell says that?

”I can tell. You look like hell, Killer.”

"Always a gentleman," Blaine remarked, crossing his legs. Sebastian's sight fell on Blaine's knees, acknowledging Blaine's defensiveness expressed by such a seemingly innocent mannerism.

Sebastian took a deep breath, hands in his lap, avoiding Blaine's gaze. The tension and the awkward silence almost made him get up and leave without saying goodbye. Except …

"I haven't seen you much around. I take it you're no longer a connoisseur of a decent cup of coffee?" Blaine was reaching. The distant memory of their conversations, always flowing, lighthearted, borderline dirty with Sebastian's flippant remarks and innuendoes, flooded his senses. He cursed himself for wanting it back. The pain of getting through the day by day operations and chats without having one meaningful dialogue with anyone stunk in the wake of Sebastian's presence.

"I don't think this is what you'd call a cup of decent coffee," Sebastian pointed out, clattering his empty coffee cup on the table.

A smile stretched across Blaine's face. It struck him how genuine it felt to smile without agenda to persuade people that he was okay.

Sebastian's pretentiousness charmed its way into Blaine's skin without making him feel less than. While anyone around perceived Sebastian as a giant walking-talking humble brag, Blaine appreciated how worldly and unapologetic he was about his exquisite taste in life choices.

So blatantly arrogant, so irresistibly himself.

”This is awkward, obviously, so I'm just gonna ask to clear the air." Brutal honesty was the best policy, or so Sebastian thought.

"Am I supposed to pretend as if a word hasn't reached Dalton about your breakup with Ankle-boot, or are you gonna address it eventually?”

Blaine raised his eyebrows, although the meddling in his affairs shouldn't be a surprise anymore. Small town, small pot.

"I wasn't aware of my role as a gay rep of this town. Otherwise, I don't see why I should address anything regarding my relationships."

If he weren't already sitting down, Sebastian would surely flip over. He'd laugh if he didn't know it was gonna make Blaine even more upset.

"I don't think I've ever heard a single insult come out of your mouth," Sebastian said, a pleasant surprise plastered on his face out in the open.

Blaine, on the other hand, wasn't enjoying this interaction so far. Sebastian's confidence, attractive as it might be, only drove a further wedge between them, as Blaine was trying to hide how utterly shattered his own had been.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. He let his shoulders relax, figuring out that Lima Bean wasn't a forbidden forest, he a helpless fox, and Sebastian, a famished wolf.

"No need to apologize, breakups are a bitch. Or so I've heard," Sebastian casually leaned forward, the already tight fabric of his navy blazer sinking into his flesh even further, nicely outlining his muscles.

Blaine wished he hadn't noticed.

”I thought it was just an act,” Blaine admitted coyly.

”What?”

”Your no relationship policy.”

"No, still alive and well. I've never lied to you. About anything," Sebastian added. His words held a special meaning behind it, or so Blaine felt.

Sebastian swiftly shook off the weight that this conversation was starting to gain.

”We have a new captain. The Warblers, I mean.”

Blaine furrowed his eyebrows, an adorable line appearing in the middle of his forehead. Sebastian wished he hadn't noticed.

”I thought you were the captain of The Warblers.”

"Oh, haven't you heard? I fucked up spectacularly.” Blaine didn´t connect the dots right away. His first thought was that he couldn´t imagine what other major fuckups Sebastian carried under his belt.

“Last year, there was this kid … I don't remember his name, you have to forgive me, he was a forgettable goofball," Sebastian shook his head, pretending to fish in his memory. Blaine slowly felt the tension leaving his body altogether, as Sebastian singlehandedly managed to transform this Awkwardville into a pleasant evening for the second time around.

"So, as I was saying, a total hillbilly he was. Still, I was jealous, wanted to ruin his then-boyfriend's outfit."

Sebastian was looking down, unable to meet Blaine's eyes as the live horror action movie that Blaine had lived through settled in. Blaine tilted his head, encouraging him to go on. He hadn't even realized how much he needed whatever it was that Sebastian was doing at the moment. It resembled an apology.

'I'm sorry' just didn't cut it for him, he simply let it go for Kurt's sake. Sebastian's name had been forbidden ever since.

”I put him in hospital,” Sebastian continued, now looking directly at Blaine, “and I apologized, but it was eating me alive ever since. This hillbilly and I, you see, we used to be friends before it all went down.”

Blaine nodded, offering an olive branch.

Fine, he´d play. Whatever this game was.

“And you're not anymore?"

A pause, a breather, a silence speaking volumes had taken over both of them. Blaine expected Sebastian to elaborate with excited anticipation. But Sebastian looked like someone was trying to reach inside his mouth and pull out his teeth without anesthesia.

"I want us to be. If he's still down."

”Sebastian …”

"I know, Blaine. I get it. I left you alone because I didn't wanna meddle with your affairs with Hummel. But now - - -“

"Now what? Now that we broke up, you thought you could get back in the game?"

Blaine went from plausibly annoyed to angry in five seconds. Sebastian was expecting this reaction, so he backed off, started to tread carefully.

”No, I wanted to see if we could salvage our friendship. I know what you think of me.”

”You seem to know everything,” Blaine retorted coldly. ”What does any of this have to do with The Warblers getting a new captain?”

Sebastian swallowed, preparing for an impact.

”I handed over the tape. With my confession,” he stuttered through it.

Blaine's confusion seemed both unsettling and hilarious at the same time.

”What tape?”

Sebastian tilted his head. “The tape, Blaine. Your friend, La Mejicana, she recorded my confession about throwing the slushie at you. Hummel then gave me the tape back. I handed it over to the headmaster after The Warbler's loss at regionals. I guess you could say I got … demoted."

"This is your big plan? Well, how childishly boring of you. Here I was, thinking you were the great menace. It turns out you're just a DC comic book villain."

"I'm not afraid to up my game anytime, Smythe. Let's just start with divide and conquer first, though."

Chapter Text

Kitty Wilde wasn´t a particularly nice person. She´s had her fair share of heartbreak and disappointments, enough to know that if you stick your foot into an ant colony, the little shits will bite you back. She associated love with a nest of poisonous snakes, and much like it, she avoided it like she avoided lepers.

Good thing that McKinley High swarmed with losers and no-good numskulls. She didn´t have to guard her heart at all, because there was no fat chance in hell she´d let any of those morons touch her, anyway. Or any other moron, for that matter.

Ever since Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez graduated and went off to live out their moronic glee club fantasies, the spot for the hottest bitch in school opened up.

To her satisfaction, she didn´t have to compete with anyone for the number one spot on the McKinley High food-chain popularity platform. Brittany was undoubtedly beautiful and quite a talented dancer, but she was a grade-A idiot who ate dinner for breakfast. No match for Kitty´s glaring intelligence.

As she tightened her ponytail, admiring her finely defined features and female endowments that somehow had blossomed over the summer, she was ready to start another week of cheerleading excellence.

”Mom, I´m going!”

"Okay, bug, have fun, and don´t be late for dinner!" Her mother called out from the bathroom upstairs. Kitty bounced off of her right foot that she lazily pranced around on the last step of the stairs, and headed out.

She didn´t linger on the fact that her family jiggled around on two crossbars, stuck between low middle class and poor. She knew that once she´d get out of this stinking, worthless one pony town, she´d become a famous dancer and buy her mother a house.

The house suddenly came into a different view when she no longer had it in the view. In a matter of nanoseconds, something crashed into her and wrestled her into the ground. Something metallic and substantial.

Her head spun around faster than a nuclear reactor spun energy waves.

"Oh, my God! Oh my God, are you okay?! I´m so sorry; I´m so sorry, are you okay?!"

At first, she thought God was calling her to heaven. But again, God didn´t have such an annoying pitchy voice, for sure. She wanted to voice her arguments and start spitting insults at whoever just ran her down with a bike like a completely blind idiot. But she couldn´t move. The bike was still on top of her, crushing her lungs.

And the bumbling idiot was taking forever to get it off of her.

”Oh my God, I´m so very sorry!”

She wiggled, kicking the scrap metal off of her with the help of the idiot.

He dropped to his knees, helping her slowly up into a seating position. She was coughing uncontrollably, the shock still vividly present.

”Did you break an arm? A leg? Does anything hurt?”

”Oh my God, will you just shut up for a second? I can´t hear my thoughts!”

He exhaled loud and heavy as if the insults she threw at him somehow liberated him.

"Stop touching me," she spit out hatefully when she shook off the initial shock, and a sizeable manly hand on her right elbow supporting her came into view. She immediately pulled away.

”I´m sorry,” he said, still shaking but no longer in a panic mode.

”You said that already.”

”Yeah, well, I´m probably gonna say it one more time, at least. Are you okay?”

She looked up to inspect the idiot more carefully. A tall guy, not older than seventeen with narrow lips and black hair slicked with gel.

Kitty studied his expression, the worry in his crystal blue eyes, and eased off of the hatred she felt when he knocked her down. He was freaking out.

”I´m fine. Just watch where you´re going next time,” she reprimanded him. He just nodded, though she was pretty sure he had a case to state. She was he kept his stupid mouth shut; she wasn´t in the mood to argue with anyone at the moment.

"You´re bleeding." He slouched down to point out that a stream of crimson blood poured slowly down Kitty´s right calf.

He pulled out a handkerchief from a jacket pocket of a very expensive looking blazer and applied pressure.

"It´s fine; you don´t have to do that, handkerchief-man." She even jerked her leg a bit so he would give it up.

"Handkerchief-man?" He looked up momentarily, both amused and confused.

"I´ve had better days when it comes to nicknames. You´ll have to forgive me, some idiot in a seven-hundred dollar suit on a bicycle just rammed into me like a barracuda. Seriously, what are you even doing riding a bike to school when you´re wearing a suit with golden buttons?!”

He laughed while still pampering the wound on Kitty´s knee that stubbornly kept bleeding out.

”It´s a uniform. I go to a private school.”

”Great, a prep boy and an environmentalist. What a catch,” she rolled her eyes, stuffing her hands into pockets on her Cheerios hoodie.

”No, I just think it´s important to protect the mother- nature.”

”Okay, Bjorn Lomborg, I need to go now.”

The idiot rose, instinctively looking for his messenger bag that laid on the ground next to a bike. Its chain was off and shattered. He was already late for the first period.

Kitty didn´t care to say goodbye. She gave him a last frowny look before she walked off the driveway and headed for her car parked out front her house.

She managed to catch the red cabriolet Porsche passing by and virulently stopping when it spotted the idiot. A blonde guy with a chiseled jaw sat in the front seat, flexing a macho pose, urging the idiot to get in. In contrast, the idiot´s eyes lingered on Kitty´s limping frame. They watched her get into her car until the very last minute.

"Well, that´s a fascinating story, for sure. Just don´t forget to change your blazer before the audition. I don´t want the Warblers to see your ragged self prance around like a common hobo in that ruined jacket.”

”I told you, it was an accident, Hunter. But thanks for the ride, anyway.”

”Yeah, don´t get used to it, Wes.”

Clarington nudged the guy in the ribs, sending him off to his first period.

He adjusted his leather bag on his sore shoulder, (from playing polo the entire weekend) when he spotted Smythe from afar, hanging around the senior commons, talking to his most trusted sycophant, Duval.

He sneered instinctively in silence. His military senses started blinking red the moment he had laid eyes on that arrogant jerk, Sebastian. It was evident that people around here had a somewhat love-hate relationship with him. Still, no one so much as even dared to question his talent.

The Warblers were sheep. A flock of easily- manipulated birdies with a Katy Perry obsession. Converting them to a Clarington faith had never presented itself as a challenge to him.

Even Duval, the most loyal of them all, was hiding an ambition that could only be satisfied by Hunter´s ruthlessness. He didn´t wanna end up being a loser in his senior year of high school.

But Sebastian was different. He didn´t know loyalty, and he already considered himself a winner in every possible way. Such a thing as a plastic trophy covered in glitter didn´t pose as a game-changer.

Controlling a man who was loyal only to himself – well, that was more like it. An unadulterated, delicious appeal with a speck of good ol´ scheming on top of it.

"No need to be afraid, Nicholas. I´m new here, and I´ve been given a job that is very important to me. It´s only natural I want to know every detail that could help me get it done. The task that the headmaster has bestowed upon me that is."

Nick shuffled uncomfortably in a grandiose armchair that Hunter had insisted he sat down in, even though that spot was already occupied by his creepy Persian cat with crazy eyes.

So now he was squeezing his ass cheeks so that he wouldn´t (God forbid!) sit on it and get off on the wrong foot with the new Warbler captain.

”Ehm … I saw you talking to Sebastian earlier. What more could I possibly tell you?”

Hunter got up from his desk, the cat immediately jumping off of the seating, following Hunter around as he was approaching Nick in an eerie fashion.

Nick twiddled nervously.

”Is there anything you think I should know of?”

Nick bit his lip, raising a finger questioningly. ”Is that a trick question?”

Clarington laughed, sitting down on an arm of a couch, making himself look as casually as possible.

Something told Nick this conversation was not that of casual nature. Clarington was a vulture, waiting to unleash his claws and sinking them into the Warblers.

”No, Nicholas. It´s not.”

Nick gulped down an acid that built up in the back of his throat from watching Clarington instructing his cat to sit down and calm down in between the conversation just by a series of weird throaty hisses.

"Well, Sebastian´s a friend. At least I think he is … He tutors me every Friday after school. Calculus. And Biology, too. He´s brilliant. Wants to be a doctor.”

”I know. And right now, he´s on his way to Lima Bean, thinking you´re already there, waiting for him. No worries, he´ll be late.”

Nick didn´t wanna know what Clarington had done to make Sebastian late for their evening tutor session so that he could have this little chat with him.

”So he´s smart, a good friend … Go on, evaluate on that,” Clarington was imitating a camera roll with his finger, which reminded Nick of the old days when Blaine used to do that anytime Nick would get lost in a story.

"Well, I don´t know about a good friend. I think he uses me to help him buy into the good graces of the Warblers again. His reputation took a dive last year around here."

Clarington folded his arms on his chest, nodding, propelling Nick to talk more.

”The slushie incident.”

”Yeah. I still can´t forgive myself for that. And neither can Sebastian," Nick lowered his eyes, looking for an indefinite spot to look at, so that he wouldn´t have to face the judgment in someone else's eyes. He was doing it for so long he had forgotten who he was talking to. This was Hunter Clarington. A militia—trained head. He knew no shame.

”What part did you play in it?”

Nick looked downright sick. His cheeks were turning red; he was fiddling with the piping on his blazer so fiercely, Clarington thought he was gonna rip it off.

”S-Sebastian … He …”

Clarington sniffed out a perfect moment to extend his fake compassion to win Duval´s trust.

So he walked over to him, placed a hand on his shoulder caringly, until Nick finally looked up after a few moments of bliss silence, and was so moved by the gesture, by the fact that Hunter didn´t perceive him as a monster, that he felt compelled to say it out loud. After all, it was Sebastian who took all the blame and never outed any of them.

Although it was his idea originally, they all gave full endorsement. And yet …

”He was the one who came up with the idea to throw a rock salt slushie in Kurt´s face. He keeps saying it was to ruin one of Kurt´s extravagant outfits, but we all knew he wanted revenge. He was … angry. Like a rabid animal, pacing back and forth in this very room on that day. Blaine ended all communication with him one Tuesday morning last year. There had been an encounter at Lima Bean with the New Directions a day before. Sebastian bragged about the Michael Jackson set-list we were gonna do for regionals, naming Blaine as the one who told him about the New Directions´ original idea to do Michael. Blaine got a lot of shit from the New Directions, and Kurt, for simply having been in touch with him. So Blaine called him the following morning, and just … cut him off. He knew that Kurt had made him do it. Or at least he thought so. I had never seen him so upset before. He usually let it slide, everything right down his back, with a snide come back, like it´s nothing. Not that day, he didn´t. He was beaming with rage. We … we just wanted to help him; he´s a teammate, our captain … It was supposed to be a dumb prank.”

”But it wasn´t,” Clarington clarified, Nick only helplessly confirming with a simple head nod.

”No, it wasn´t. The New Directions challenged us to a Michael sing-off. Sebastian ordered me to … T-to …”

”To get a slushie, and put rock salt in it,” Clarington filled in the blanks once more.

Nick´s eyes were filling with tears, not quite ready to let them spill from his sockets.

”It´s okay, Nicholas. There is no judgment here. You can speak freely.”

No, there was no judgment. Only a brutal, ugly truth.

”So, I did. And the Warblers didn´t know what I had done. Only the humiliation that Sebastian had planned up for Kurt. Then it all went down. We´re singing at a public parking garage halfway to Westerville. A neutral ground. We are singing; they are outstanding, we are too. Then I hand Sebastian the slushie, and he throws it at Kurt. The last second, Blaine jumps in front of him.”

Clarington´s unreadable poker face encouraged Nick to go on, his shirt wet from the tears finally spilling down.

"We put him in hospital, Hunter," he sobbed, "in the fucking hospital! He almost lost his eye! Our former captain, our best friend, the guy who put the Warblers on the map!"

Clarington sat down on an arm of Nick´s chair, repeating the gesture from earlier. At this point, Nick was a sniveling mess, spilling all the snot and all the beans along with it.

”Sebastian kept his usual unimpaired façade,” he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, soothing himself, “even when that Mexican girl challenged him to another sing-off. But I could just tell that he was dying inside. He didn´t show up for school for the entirety of days when Blaine was in surgery. It was horrible. We were losing ourselves, too. But nobody dared to check up on Blaine. He had his new friends, his new family. They were defending him like a lioness defending her cubs, I ´llgive ´em that”

Nick shrugged his shoulder indifferently in an attempt to lighten his guilt and the importance of giving the New Directions any credit in the presence of the Warblers´ new captain.

"We should have. But we didn´t. We were cowards. So we just snuck around, fishing for info about his health condition."

”He recovered?”

”Fully, yes. His father did the surgery himself. One of the finest surgeons in America, I hear. We were lucky. Blaine was lucky. Still, that wasn´t the end of it. The Mexican girl recorded Sebastian confessing what he had done. I had no idea until the New Directions black-and-white blindsided us with a performance and a tape with Sebastian outwardly admitting to almost blinding Blaine on purpose. Kurt gave him the tape back.”

”And?”

”And that was the end of it. Or so we thought. Sebastian had a different plan. I guess, after or loss at regionals, the guilt just ate him up. He handed the tape over to the headmaster, prepared to go down, go to juvie, or jail, I don´t know …”

”Why didn´t he?”

Nick snarled. ”Why do you think? His dad´s a State´s Attorney, and a generous benefactor of Dalton. He smoothed things over with the headmaster. No matter how adamantly Sebastian fought to be sent to juvie, or Paris, or wherever, his father insisted he´d have Sebastian do the community service over the summer and give up the title of the captain.”

Clarington seemed surprised for the first time during their conversation. It didn´t escape Nick in the slightest.

”Wait, Smythe insisted he´d be sent to juvie?”

”He wanted nothing more than to get away as far as the earth equator. His father wouldn´t let him.”

Clarington got up, circled the room a few times while finally settling down behind his majestic mahogany desk, taking his cat into his arms, caressing its head.

Nick managed to tune out the voices in his head, shouting ´traitor´ and ´assaulter´ in the meantime. After all, maybe Hunter, however unforgiving, could be the Warblers´ last chance at redemption.

”Would you say that Sebastian´s behavior has changed since he met Blaine?”

Nick shrugged, seeking further explanation in Clarington´s devious glare.

Where was he going with this?

”Changed? Well … He used to be kind of an arrogant jerk. Now, it seems he´s an arrogant jerk with a conscious.”

Clarington smiled. Something clicked in his plotting little head; Nick could practically hear his wheels spinning.

”Thank you, Nick. You´ve been helpful. You may go.”

The interaction was brief. Clarington kept pointing towards the doors with his eyes until Nick eventually, but very slowly, left.

Clarington picked up his phone from the desk the moment Nick shut the door behind him, letting Cleopatra slip from his lap and land graciously on the floor, twisting her long, fluff tail in the air.

”Clarington. I´m driving, can´t talk right now.” Sebastian´s somewhat tired voice echoed from the speaker.

"Just wanted to say how thankful I am to you for being so honest with me earlier this afternoon." There was a brief pause that Hunter very well expected.

”Are you drunk?”

Hunter chuckled. ”No. As I said, I can appreciate honesty. Also, I´m gonna need you to adjust our first step in the plan.”

”Knew there was a catch. And, just for the record, it´s your plan, not ours.”

”Whatever you need to say to yourself, Sebastian. I´ve decided to try a different approach. More … subtle.”

”Are you serious? I don´t have time for you to live out your Despicable me fantasies right now. You told me to recruit Blaine Anderson.”

”They´re a family, Sebastian. You somehow omitted the fact that the McKinley losers love him.”

”What´s your point?”

”Next time you see Blaine, you´re gonna unleash some harsh truths first.”

A loud sigh came out of Clarington´s speaker.

”How much would you bet that the New Directions forgot to tell Blaine about the existence of that tape?”

”Clarington, where are you going with this?”

”You know where I´m going with this, Sebastian, don´t play dumb. I know how pissed off you still are. God above and Satan below both know how much you hate them. Otherwise, you wouldn´t have agreed to do business with me."

A long pause. Another sigh.

"So, you wanna turn him against them?”

“Correct. And there´s only one way to do it. If I know anything about the goody two shoe types, they´re dead on honesty.”

”Does this make you a goody two shoes, too?”

”No, it makes me a fucking genius. You know what to do, Sebastian.”

"This is your plan? Well, how childishly boring of you. Here I was, thinking you were the great menace. It turns out, you´re just a DC comic book villain."

”I´m not afraid to up my game anytime, Smythe. Let´s just start with divide and conquer first, though.”

Sebastian hung up without saying goodbye. Clarington put his feet up on the desk, basking in the Friday glory of his future accomplishments.

”Oh, Smythe, you bastard. I just found your weak spot.”

”Clarington.”

”Smythe.”

”You two greet each other like you´re in some sort of Bond movie,” Nick retorted, switching between awkwardly dancing in the same spot and looking behind his shoulder as if though he was expecting a blow to strike anytime.

Neither Sebastian nor Hunter found Nick´s embarrassing sense of humor endearing. They just ignored him into oblivion, not sparing him a second glance, until he voluntarily walked away.

"You don´t have the first period, what are you doing here so early?" Sebastian asked, Dalton blazer open. He looked a little ragged like he spent an entire weekend fighting wild raccoons.

”I knew you´d be here. You spend Monday mornings curled up in the library, reading about cardiology.”

Sebastian wasn´t surprised by the fact that Clarington knew so much about him. He knew about the interviews that had taken place when he arrived at Dalton.

”That´s a little creepy,” Sebastian said off-puttingly.

Clarington waited for the majestic Dalton hall to clear out, to be engulfed in triumphant echoes of every little movement that caused the building to practically sing in response.

”I need to talk to you. Would you like to join me in the senior commons?”

Sebastian wasn´t feeling too cooperative. The bags under his eyes, the scruffy look, and the hair all over the place, it was very un-Sebastian of him.

Still, he never had a problem with taking orders, not that he liked it. And right now, giving Clarington what he wanted, was more comfortable than opposing him.

He stuck out his hand to let Clarington pass first in a gentlemanly fashion.

Once they sat down on a couch, Sebastian supporting his head so he wouldn´t lull off into dreamland during their conversation, and Hunter crossing his legs, putting both literal and figurative distance between them, observing Sebastian´s mood.

”I take it you had a rough weekend? “

"What do you want, Hunter?" Sebastian asked, impatient and agitated by Clarington´s pretend to care.

”Fine, let´s skip the pleasantries. God knows I was trying to be civil,” Hunter retorted.

”You ran into Blaine in Lima Bean last Friday. Something happened.”

Hunter could swear he heard the slick sound of Sebastian´s teeth chewing on the inside of his cheek.

”Since you´re so well informed, why bother asking at all? Nick can tell you exactly what happened. He was eavesdropping the whole time while pretending to study math equations.”

Clarington let his bag slide on the floor beside his feet. "Actually, I didn´t ask. Nicholas called me the following day, a sunny Saturday morning. I was in the middle of roasting Yemeni coffee for my breakfast when a call came out of nowhere. It seems like he´s an excellent friend to you, Smythe. All twisting his Dalton panties up over your well-being.” Hunter´s snarky commentary didn´t go unnoticed by Sebastian´s mood radar. And right now, it was blinking red.

”You mean Blaine´s well-being. Nick needs me, and I need him. We both know he´s your soldier.”

”Fair enough,” Hunter snarled. ”So is it true? Did Anderson storm out of the café, a true believer that his friends are a bunch of traitors?”

Sebastian was looking out the tall, French window, watching a lacrosse practice taking place from afar on a Dalton playground. Ever since he met Blaine, his life was nothing but a long, embarrassing walk of failures and misery. He lost the Warblers, his lacrosse team, and now he was an errand boy to a guy with horse teeth.

”We still don´t know whether they knew or not.”

”Sebastian, a seed of doubt is all we need. Besides, we know for sure that Kurt hadn´t consulted him before he handed over the tape. Your job is to show him what he´s been missing. A little nudge in the right direction, and he´ll be back before you manage to say ´show choir showdown.´"

Hunter could feel it. He could always smell weakness and hesitation from a mile away. And that´s precisely what´s been happening to Sebastian.

Now, it seems he´s an arrogant jerk with a conscious.

Hunter cleared his throat, trying to bring back Sebastian from whatever realm his spirit just escaped to.

”No one will get hurt, Sebastian. Not this time,” Hunter promised. Sebastian´s attention snapped immediately, fixing his eyes on a guy in front of him, the new anointed king of bullshitters. Takes one to no one, after all.

Someone will definitely get hurt. He just hoped that this time, the dart would end up in the eye of the right person.

Chapter Text

“I wish I had never met you, Blaine.”

”Yeah. I feel the exact same way.”

It was somewhat laughable to think that a girl like Kitty would ever fall for damaged goods such as Artie. Although he never saw himself as a victim, people tended to spoon-feed him. Literally. He could manage, but no one thought as much.

Until the glee club came along, those friends that offered help only when he asked for it. No one had ever given him such respect, and for a crippled kid, that's all he truly needed from the world. An ounce of respect.

There was another person who did not give him any respect, although in an entirely different, attractive way.

At some point, Artie was sure that if someone cut out Kitty's tongue, she'd find a way to fart her insults at people.

”Out of my way, Wheels.”

This morning, her mood swings fluctuated between bad and worse. Titanic bad and Titanic 2 worse. The crammed hall of McKinley didn't give her much of choice but to elbow her way through. Artie was watching her extra-short Cheerio skirt bounce around like a yo-yo, and disappear in one of the classes in the west wing.

Her last period was physics with Mrs. Huttington.

Artie knew. Because Artie studied her schedule and learned it by heart so he could follow her around like a good little stalker, gaining the courage to ask her out later.

He dated a Cheerio once before, hell, he lost his virginity to one. That particular cheerio was, however, currently doleful over her girlfriend cheerleading for the Kentucky University.

Glee club has begun its metamorphosis, and he witnessed many of the glee club members struggling to find their new identity after their significant others graduated and moved onto another era of music in their lives. It's like they all participated in a secret ritual, where they performed a blood oath, interblending their DNA together. Now, part of the code was missing.

Tina had obviously gone through a mental breakdown during the summer break, stopped speaking to the glee club altogether, and started hanging with the Too Young To Be Bitter Club gals, an angry group of female protesters against … whatever it was that they were protesting against. Sam had a clandestine depression going on about his vibe over Mercedes leaving (although he hid it well with stories about Star Wars fanfiction), and Finn decided to pull radio silence on him. The only person who was excited about having been given an option to be in the glee club with no terrorism policy was Unique. Her friendship soothed Artie's growing anxiety about the glee club falling apart.

And Blaine … Well, that was another story altogether. Sometimes, Artie wondered whether Blaine was still Blaine. To him, it seemed that someone abducted the real Blaine over the summer, and put an android version with glitches in his place. Most of the days, he caught him buried in sheet music, even during classes, or staring into space, looking for salvation that never came.

Today was not one of those days. Although aloof and distant, Blaine always said hi to him on the way to class, kept things clean, polite, civil.

This Monday, Blaine never even acknowledged his presence. He avoided eye contact with glee kids as if they were carrying Ebola. When Brittany complimented him on a yellow-dotted bowtie, he barely noticed Brittany sitting next to him in geometry.

Artie, therefore, rightfully expected that he would be cranky during the glee club, given that he shows up at all.

As he was rolling into the choir room, with Sam and Brittany walking in front of him, dangerously leaning into each other's personal space, he was shaking his head, predicting yet another pointless relationship serving as a temporary Band-Aid. A Band-Aid that is going to end up sorrowfully soaked in an ugly breakup. Soon, it would be hard to remember who could tolerate who in this choir room.

He overheard Sugar inviting Joe for a "back to school" party, although the school year began three weeks ago. But hey, Sugar's parties are just as opulent as they are unnecessary. And equally entertaining.

”Hey guys, good to see you all.”

William Schuester entered one pair of glasses serving as a weird headband, and another one he used for reading content from what looked like a binder for sheet music.

"What do you mean all? Tina left us, and Blaine isn't here yet. He probably left, too, because even after winning a national championship, you guys are still a sorry mess of mentally challenged individuals."

Unique crossed her legs, averting her eyes from Sugar's nonsense.

"Sorry, Asperger's."

"Tina is going through a bit of a rough time right now. Miss Pillsbury has spoken with her, and she and I will continue doing just that, until she feels like she can come back to us." Mr. Shue's words rang through the choir room like a save-bell they had all been waiting for, but Artie had learned over the years, how much of an annoying tendency of his it was, to slap a positive pep-talk over a matter that deserved a more in-depth conversation.

”Blaine!” Sugar clapped excitedly like a happy-go-lucky seal that stumbled upon a fatty fish.

Blaine walked over to his chair in the front, slouched down, looking like someone threatened his family over him not being in this room, so he involuntarily showed up to save them from harm.

Even Mr. Shue, usually clueless about this stuff, noticed, too. He finally took the headband glasses off of his head, folding them carefully in his palms.

”Everything okay, Blaine? You look a little pale.”

Artie watched him thoroughly, through all the layers of Blaine's impenetrable wall that guarded his heart. Artie knew that look on a personal level. He had been plenty angry at the world.

Blaine nodded in response, even though he probably wanted to scream his lungs out.

"Okay then, let's get to work, guys."

”You wanna tell me what this is about?”

Artie looked up at Blaine's confusion, mirrored in his hazelnut irises. It was apparent that his messenger bag was stuffed with heavy sheet music, and he wanted to go home instead of stopping by the Lima Bean.

But Artie insisted. The weather was still relatively pleasant, the September air filled with sweet-smelled remnants of river birch leaves.

Artie pushed through the familiar glass doors of their cafe with Blaine behind him, holding the upper part for Artie's wheels to swimmingly pass through.

When his eye fell upon a small, blond snowflake of perfection in a cheerleading outfit, he decided to come clean to Blaine about his helpless crush. After all, if he knew Blaine at all, he would probably take free coffee as an act of condescension to throw him a pity party. He had a better chance of Blaine opening up to him by sharing something personal first.

”Well, two reasons. For one, I felt like we both could use a cup of coffee. Two, see that girl over there?”

Blaine rose on his tiptoes to get a better glimpse of a girl that Artie was pointing out with his head. A couple of people queueing in line were blocking his view, but he could still see a first-class blond ponytail and a fair-faced profile of a girl pouring cinnamon into her coffee by the fill-up bar.

”The Cheerio uniform?”

"Yes, that one," Artie confirmed, pulling his glasses higher o his nose with his index finger. "Kitty Wilde, a sophomore. It's her ritual to get a cinnamon-laced white mocha every Monday and Thursday after practice."

One corner of Blaine's mouth almost twitched, like he meant to smile like he wanted to, but something snatched his hope away, and he changed his mind.

”You want me to play chaperon for you?”

”Not at all. I want you to participate in my exercise in endless gazing,” Artie said jokingly, turning his wheels to face the front of the line.

There were at least ten people ahead of them, and Artie wanted to make each second count, before Blaine's inevitable decision to abort the mission and leave this place to dodge interrogation.

"Listen, Blaine, I didn't invite you for coffee just so you could commiserate with me over not dating Kitty."

"Yeah, I figured," Blaine said calmly, hands in his pockets. Being in a wheelchair had its perks. Like being on the same height level as Blaine's hands, now nervously crumpling the inside fabric of his navy-blue jeans.

”I mean well, you know. I worry about you.”

Blaine shrugged. "I'm fine:"

Artie folded his hand in his lap serenely. Directing a musical last year has taught him plenty of self-control.

”I got paralyzed when I was eight.”

”Jesus, Artie …”

"No, it's fine, just listen to me." Artie took a breath. It still evoked pain, talking about it, even if it was for a good cause of helping a friend.

”It was a car accident. And I thought I would never learn how to be happy again. I was angry at the world, at God, at my parents, at innocent bystanders in Burger King. And when I see you walking around like a ghost every day, a state of mind, which today has entered a new phase, commonly known as fury, I see myself.”

Artie tried to keep his voice down to sustain an element of privacy. After having moved a few inches ahead in the line, and Blaine still being unresponsive, yet very much mentally present, he decided to go on the offense, to go even further.

"It's the kind of fury that pops up only when you feel like something is unjustly being taken away from you. And you can't do anything about it."

Blaine fidgeted uncomfortably, pulling back his shoulders in an attempt to shake off the nauseating feeling of being pulled out of his comfort zone.

"I know the feeling. And I would be a terrible friend not to notice, or to keep letting you drown."

"One cappuccino and one medium drip, please." Blaine withdrew money from his pocket, now rolled in an ugly, narrow pipe-like mess, steeped in Blaine's palm sweat.

Artie snatched the money away in an instant, throwing the cashier his own plus a generous tip. A cute brunette offered an uplifting wink.

"I'm not going to sit you down and make you talk," Artie said, stuffing Blaine's money back from where Blaine initially pulled it from, "but I am here if you want to."

They stepped aside, waiting by the end of the bar for their order. Blaine remained silent, but at least he was looking Artie directly in the eyes now, trying to find the right words.

"I want to," he admitted shyly. "But I'm afraid. I'm afraid that if I start talking, I will never stop."

"I'll stop you once Kitty walks by our table because I will not be listening by then."

Blaine took their orders, looking behind Artie to find Kitty standing in the same spot, chatting with one of her cheerleading girlfriends.

When they finally sat down by the window table, Artie detected that Blaine's tense demeanor slightly conceded into the back. He decided now was the time to stop talking and start listening. The intimate way in which Blaine was cradling his coffee, it indicated he was on the verge of finally speaking up.

”It was a rough summer. My dad … My dad had a heart attack. His blood vessels are severely clogged.”

He stumbled over each syllable, uneasily getting to the finish line of the sentence. Artie figured it must have been the first time he told anybody about this.

"I'm really sorry. When did this happen?"

”Beginning of July,” Blaine took a sip, the heat of the medium drip burning his throat. At least he had an excuse for the tears wanting to break out of their confinement.

"He's on a paid leave now. My mom is really optimistic about this whole thing, but I just - - -"

"Have a feeling that they're trying to protect you by lying to your face."

Blaine gripped his cup tighter, as Artie's words sank into his ear canals.

Artie looked around, perhaps to check if Kitty was still there, (she was) or maybe seeking a cue on the right thing to say from the noisy chitchat around them. He even had both mom and dad very much present in his life.

Dealing with possibly losing a parent when you're eighteen and a mess, was stocked in an entirely different box of tragedies from that of a personal one.

For one, he knew from experience that not being able to walk didn't make him incomplete. He could find himself again, learn how to love himself. A wholesome, well-rounded human being, once again.

But when you lose someone you love, you're not able to reconnect with that part of yourself anymore, for they take it with them.

How do you instruct anyone to live a half-ass life with a part of your soul missing? How do you give advice on that?

Artie inspected Blaine's slouched posture, wished to get up, and help him sit up straight. Literally, and figuratively. He concluded that he could give advice at least in one area of Blaine's life.

Breakups were kind of his forte.

”And Kurt?”

Blaine's senses came alive at the mention of Kurt's name. The first love is always magnificent.

"He was there for me," Blaine said proudly. He didn't know why he felt the need to defend Kurt. It was only two days ago, right here, when he realized how much he sacrificed for Kurt. Still, the natural instinct of protecting his great love couldn't be fought by a thousand rational counter-arguments in his mind.

"He wanted to stay here in Lima, wanted to help me get through it. At first, I was really selfish," Blaine laughed, in a way that ridiculed and debased his then-feelings, "I didn't protest, I didn't want him to go."

"But then your dad started feeling better, so you sent him to New York with a blessing and a pat on the back, and Kurt being Kurt, didn't really fight you on that one."

Only a cry of a hungry infant and his mother's plea to stop, sitting at a nearby table, cut through the all-knowing silence that fell between them. Blaine looked like someone just slapped him across the face.

”How did you know?”

"I know Kurt. And I know you," Artie replied, rightfully proud of his deduction skills. He sighed, putting two and two together. "So that's why he didn't say a proper goodbye to any of us. He felt too guilty to show his face. He thought you'd told us about your dad."

"He shouldn't have to change his entire life for my sake. It's not fair."

”You mean like you did?”

There it was again. A truth bomb that sliced Blaine's defense in half.

”That was different.”

Artie retreated, exchanging knowing looks with Blaine.

It was way worse.

"I'm gonna ask you something, Artie. I sincerely hope you'll tell me the truth."

”Shoot.”

"Did you know about the tape? The one where Sebastian's admitting to almost blinding me?"

Artie's odd gander, along with a lip bite, gave Blaine a clue he needed.

I was the only one who didn't know.

”We thought it was your idea,” Artie confessed.

"No. It really wasn't."

Chapter Text

Perhaps it was foolish to think that Clarington would be satisfied with a half-ass job done. Sebastian could tell he would be greeted soon with yet another ridiculous order.

He kept himself busy. But regardless, in quiet little moments in between work, he would think on whether revenge or satisfaction as he'd like to call it, would be as rewarding as Clarington had been painting it.

And he did paint a marvelously delicious picture of victory. Over the New Directions.

Over Kurt.

This was a matter of hurt pride. He could give two shits about some stupid show choir competition. If only there was a way to show Hummel that Sebastian was going to be the one to have the last word. The final triumph.

So what if he had to stoop to some lowlife scheming and silly plans of a guy with a hairdo of a 1950's villain?

He gave his word not to bully or assault anybody. He would let Clarington do it instead while walking away with the first prize, his morality shield squeaky clean.

So he agreed. He got into Clarington's convertible after the Warblers' practice, leaving his car at the dormitories. He had no intention of going back home to Columbus anytime soon anyway.

It couldn't hurt to have coffee with Clarington and his latest project, currently sitting in the back seat of the car, reading about desertification on his tablet. Sebastian saw these two arrive together in the morning, then talk briefly. Clarington probably knew that the sophomore was talented and gave him tips on how to smash a Warbler audition.

No doubt the kid was unbelievably talented, but also annoyingly uptight, and what's more, self-righteousness was dripping off of him ploddingly, like droplets off of a broken faucet.

A perfect Warbler, really.

The Warbler, who was currently lost in his environmentalist guff, blasting music through his headphones.

Sebastian looked over his shoulder leisurely, thinking back on the fantastic audition the boy had given just half an hour ago with a Guns' n' Roses song.

”You were really good today.”

Clarington pulled him out of the land of contemplation with yet another fake compliment. It sounded genuine.

Almost.

”The way you handled auditions, I mean. I could see why the Warblers would follow you. Even with your bad judgment.”

Sebastian looked away, watching gravel and grass passing them by the side of the road. He was still beaten down after a rough weekend. He didn't feel like being pulled into yet another argument with Clarington.

But the blonde Mickey Stuart insisted.

"You're talented, Sebastian. Truly. But you don't need music the way our friend in the backseat needs it, do you?”

"Not everything needs psychoanalysis, Clarington. We could just have coffee, initiate the kid into the Warblers, and, I don't know, pretend we don't know each other in public.”

Anytime he grinned so menacingly the way he did just now, Sebastian would get an urge to glue a packaging tape onto his face.

"I can tell you're barely tolerating me."

"You're right. I can't stand you," Sebastian said, gnawing at his fingernails, still facing the road rather than Clarington's condescending simper. Sebastian could see peripherally that Hunter was dissecting him. Internally and externally. It's like he had a chip inside his brain, computing and analyzing data with each and every look, collecting more and more information with every lingering look, every back-handed question, every seemingly innocent compliment.

"You weren't out drinking on the weekend, Sebastian, were you? Your pupils are dilated, but you're not flushed, you have no tremors, and your uniform is all rumpled, which means it's the same uniform you were wearing on Friday.”

”Good job, Inspector Gadget. Should I clock in with you every day after school, too?”

Clarington was maneuvering in the parking lot of the Lima Bean café. Sebastian's back-answer came just in time for him to hit the brake so sharply, had it not been for his seatbelt, Sebastian would have flown straight through the windshield and onto the concrete pavement like a rag doll.

”What the fuck, Clarington?!”

The young Warbler in the backseat folded his headphones into his jacket pocket, watching the two seniors in front of him giving each other a death glare.

"Wes, you go ahead and order yourself something good. We'll be right there," Clarington said calmly, vehemently holding eye contact with Sebastian.

Wes, after evaluating the situation, decided to remove himself from the fire and walked over to the packed Lima Bean.

Clarington waited until the kid was inside and out of their sight.

"I don't think you understand what's going on here, Smythe. I've heard and seen enough to tell that you're treating everything like a big joke, but this ends now."

Sebastian was fuming with rage and had he not had a record, he would drag Clarington by his ill-fitted collar out of this stupid car and perforate his eardrums.

"I want to win. And you, unfortunately, are the most powerful guy at Dalton with a jail commander for a dad. I'd very much like to just punch you in your arrogant face and kick you out of the Warblers because you're spoiled, undisciplined, and out of control."

Clarington grabbed a steering wheel, gripping the leather cover, mastering his vile instincts.

The brief moment when he almost lost control, almost unleashed his rage fully, didn't escape Sebastian.

"But what can I do. I need you. I need your status at the school, I need your talent, and I need to use that weird thing you've got going on with Blaine."

Sebastian unbuttoned his blazer, the tightness making it hard to breathe. At least, that's what he told himself. Anytime anyone so much as mentioned Blaine's name, he felt like throwing up.

"We're not on good terms, how many times do I have to tell you this? You'd have a better chance of letting Nick persuade him. They're friends."

”Were you born this dumb, or have you been working on it deliberately?”

Sebastian had been called many things, but never “dumb”. The perplexed expression on his face told Hunter that he found another one of his weaknesses to take advantage of – a hurt pride.

”I need two things to win a national championship – Blaine, and a synchronized team. You are the essential ingredient to making both of those things work, unfortunately. I can't have my star player looking like a guy who just had a quickie behind a dumpster. So make sure to get enough sleep, adhere to the exercising regiment, and stop fucking around."

Sebastian was about to protest. Throw another demeaning nickname at Clarington, maybe.

But however untoward his methods, however sickly logic he applied, that fucking nuisance was right.

And as they were sitting in silence, both looking for their own reasons to get out of the car and go on, Sebastian's motivation came into plain view. Almost like a sign from above.

Blaine was sitting by the window table with that kid in the wheelchair. He could barely see him, the sun was hitting the glass niche so perfectly, only a bare silhouette emerged from behind the transparent enamel of the café.

He seemed to be in a good mood, smiling sheepishly, describing something passionately to his friend.

That was the moment Sebastian decided to start fighting again. No more half-ass jobs. It was time to reconnect with his old self.

”Fine. I will not question you anymore, Hunter,” Sebastian said sturdily. “But I have one condition.”

Sebastian turned his body towards Clarington, his eyes blazing with new-found confidence. "Blaine can never know about any of this.”

Sebastian could tell Clarington was itching to give away exactly what “this” meant to him.

Wes was hesitant about joining the Warblers. Their reputation wasn't exactly squeaky clean, and ever since he transferred to Dalton, he heard nothing but whispers and gossip about McKinley High. For all the varnished esteem that Dalton was famous for, they sure had a knack for sticking their noses into other people's business. And their new and constant sensation was a rivaling show choir team from McKinley.

He also heard plenty about the Lima Bean café, the ultimate crossover of two universes– the rich prep boys' world and a public school's outcasts.

He was looking around while waiting for his coffee, he caught a glimpse of a few Dalton blazers, as well as cheerleading uniforms, probably from the rival school.

The café was swarming with youngsters. But Wes hardly recognized any of them.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is. The handkerchief-man.”

She appeared behind him, like a ghost. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she was about five foot two, and he actually had to look down to notice her standing there with a cocked hip and puffed up chest.

But he recognized her all right.

”I told you that nickname was lame and unoriginal,” he retorted, pretending to be offended.

”No, cutting down a girl with your bike 'cause you're lonely and wanna meet people is lame and unoriginal.”

Wes spent most of his childhood caring more about trees than girls, but even with his poor game, he could tell she was flirting with him. And for the first time in sixteen years, he was interested, too.

”I owe you coffee for that little mishap. Wanna join in?"

Wes's attention was already pinpointed on yet another pair of blazers appearing on the threshold of Lima Bean.

”Maybe another time,” she said, the playful demeanor she addressed him with gone as soon as she laid eyes on the two guys in Dalton jackets coming towards them. She was quick to twirl in her provocative little skirt, and be on her way.

Wes grabbed her gently by her elbow before she had a chance to gallop away.

"What's your name?"

She wiggled out of his grasp, took a step back cautiously.

”Katherine Wilde,” she swallowed half the consonants as if she was ashamed of how the name rolled off of her tongue, “but people call me Kitty.”

He offered a polite smile. They already had something in common.

"I'm Skylar Wesley. People call me Wes."

”Today must be my lucky day.” Clarington adjusted the piping on his blazer when casually walking into Lima Bean. He ogled Kitty and Skylar standing close to each other, chirruping like love-struck nightingales.

While Hunter monitored the scene unveiling by the sugar stand, Sebastian, trailing closely behind, couldn't tear his eyes away from the table by the window.

"I'd say," he said to himself.

”Looks like Wes found himself a new girlfriend.” Clarington pointed out.

Sebastian was barely listening, hoping that Clarington hadn't registered his awe-struck staring at Blaine and call him pathetic on top of dumb.

Some blonde girl wearing McKinley's cheerleading uniform strutted past them, giving Clarington a bizarre look. However, he barely acknowledged her, observing Wes currently high-fiving a complete stranger standing next to him.

”What exactly is your plan with this kid? Why are you so interested in him?" Sebastian asked, genuinely curious. Maybe he wasn't a holy image of virtue, but he knew how dark his days would become once he'd decide to sail on a ship called "No Inhibitions." And Clarington had an exceptional talent of manipulating one to sign up for that said ship as a captain.

Clarington didn't bother answering straightly. He hoped to dismiss Sebastian's

question with a lazy shrug and Sebastian didn't bother to pursue this investigation any further since Blaine just happened to say goodbye to his friend in a wheelchair.

Sebastian's heart jumped, expecting him to stop by and say hello. He even skimmed through a million different scenarios of how the conversation was going to go in a matter of fleeting nanoseconds.

But no such luck. Although Blaine definitely saw both of them hovering by the main entrance, he didn't even flinch and walked right out.

Sebastian's breath hitched somewhere in his throat.

Clarington turned his full attention on Blaine's receding figure, nearing the end of the parking lot out front.

”What are you staring at, Smythe? Go after him.”

Sebastian's eyes went wide. "You want me to go and beg?"

”I want you to go make yourself useful.”

Time to swallow the hurt pride.

Chapter Text

He couldn't move his limbs. He vaguely remembered the smell of saline and peroxide so prevalent in hospital settings from way back when he was a kid, high on nitrous oxide, and sore from having had his tonsils removed.

But there had never been so much excruciating pain before. He tried to at least change his position, his back aching from having lied on it for days on end, but it was no use. The moment he so much as stretched a muscle, his ribcage went up in flames. A jerky sound of something being ripped apart.

He felt like Doctor Frankenstein's first experiment in a long series of failures. His latest creature brought back from the dead, sow together clumsily.

There were bright lights and soothing voices. Maybe it was his parents? Their presence wouldn't make sense, though. Why would they care that their son almost got himself killed when they explicitly warned him about all the implications of his stubborn decisions?

Still, when he opened his eyes, vision blurry and dim, he saw his mother sitting by his bedside, holding three fingers on his right hand that stuck out of the cast.

”Hey, baby.”

He was baby, all right—a really dumb one.

As much as he wanted to express this to his mother and apologize, his vocal cords had probably been shuttered because he could hardly whisper a single consonant. A liquid band-aid on his lower lip gave away that the bastards had likely split his mouth in two.

”He'll be okay."

A low baritone coming from the other side of the room suggested his father was present, too. He was probably there to indent another notch in his book of 'All the times I was right about Blaine being a disappointment.

"I'm not so sure, Christopher." His mother squeezed his three functional fingers together, his hand a sad imitation of a pop-up book that no longer gelled. The feeling of helplessness sunk even more profound than the stitches on his torso.

”Can you speak, my love?”

If he couldn't before, the concern and the lack of belief that he could, made it even more impossible.

At first, he had parted his lips slightly, but no sound came out. The fear of rupturing the stitches won the first round over his desire to ask the million-dollar question.

His mother understood the struggle and offered comfort by caressing his hair like when he was little and scared of the monsters under his bed.

'There is no monster strong enough to overpower my love for you,' she used to say.

But the monsters were never after her, or her love. This fight was his burden. And he felt like he just lost it.

"He's strong, he will heal," Christopher said sternly. It was the first time Blaine had ever heard his father say something encouraging about his second-born.

He knew he would heal eventually. If he was still alive, then there had to be a reason for it. One existential crisis is all it takes for a man to revalue his entire life.

So he tried to speak again. And again, his mother muttering empty words pumped with endless optimism.

Until finally, a broken, cracked murmur of a series of words came out.

"W-where's he?"

She knew who he meant. His father knew who he

said.

That's why his father walked silently out of the ICU the minute he asked. His mother positioned herself on his bed more comfortably, bracing herself to give him what undoubtedly must have been terrible news.

"Honey, we don't know where he is. Your brother found you. You were alone."

He took a deep breath, inhaled more of those irritant disinfectants and unwanted pity.

His chest ached unbearably. At that moment, he was sure that the devastating pain would stay with him forever.

It was Operation Getaway 101. Sebastian appeared in Lima Bean with some guy Blaine had never seen before. Before he knew it, Artie was calling his dad to come to get him (probably because he was bummed out to see his cheerleader crush flirting with some other guy wearing a Dalton blazer). Blaine found himself literally speed-walking, leaving only a trail of smoky cowardice behind him.

He wasn't running from Sebastian per se, more like running from an obligation to hear the inevitable “told you so” rant.

This sudden heartfelt on one with Artie may have helped him understand Sebastian's motivation. Still, it left him utterly confused about what the hell Kurt thought when he decided not to tell him about the tape. Oh, the cataclysmic realization that he didn't honestly know the person he loved so devotedly, hit him instantly.

Maybe this realization was nothing new. Maybe Artie was right, and he was lying to himself, prolonging the inevitable.

Maybe, if the breakup hadn't been so amicable, so spontaneous, so - - -

”Blaine! Wait up!”

He really didn't wanna turn around. He wanted to cross the parking lot, cut through Lincoln Park, and walk home. It would take him only twenty minutes. Precious minutes he intended to spend controverting reality and fantasy of what truly happened in the past few months.

But no such luck.

He heard the light tread of Sebastian's feet, closing in on him just when he was about to circumvent a black Toyota and step onto the curb lining the park.

He really, really, didn't wanna stop and turn around.

"If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you're avoiding me.“

He did turn around.

"Then it's a good thing you think you know me better. Otherwise, you would have been terribly disappointed.”

Blaine had noticed that something was off with Sebastian last Friday. The piercing numbness that radiated off him, the fake confidence, was even more prevailing. The relationship they had, if what they had could be called a relationship, depended mainly on Sebastian acting uncomfortably cocky. Now he was just uncomfortable.

”Listen, I meant what I said on Friday. I wanna make amends. And if I went too far by telling you the truth …”

The brown strap of Blaine's messenger bag suddenly started suffocating him. Not even a slight adjustment helped relieved the tension building up in his chest. It must have been the bag, for sure.

”I didn’t mean to cause you any more issues with your team of misfits. The conversation sort of built up to it, and I couldn't lie about it. I certainly don’t owe them anything.”

Sebastian didn’t budge. Just like the buckle on Blaine’s bag. He tried to swallow through discomfort, discreetly pulling on the tache to relieve the pressure that was numbing his ability to listen to whatever Sebastian was saying.

He was slowly starting to realize it might not be the tightened strap that was causing him a sudden shortage of breath.

“You don’t owe me anything either, Sebastian.”

Sebastian wanted to protest, but if he learned anything during the past weekend from hell, Blaine's erratic behavior suggested something was very wrong.

He watched Blaine's shaking fingers tear apart the buckle on the strap in a split second, sending his bag and all his sheet music reeling to the ground.

Blaine dropped to his knees in a frenzy, scraping for the scattered paper all around him.

Sebastian copied him, trying to salvage what was left of the sheet music, now flying away in all directions. Blaine was trembling, desperately trying to grasp that last ounce of air leaving his lungs.

”Hey.” Sebastian grabbed onto Blaine's shoulders firmly, steadying him in place.

Blaine's complexion was as pale as cement, terror in his eyes only confirmed what Sebastian had thought.

"W-what's wrong with me?" Blaine stuttered. He inspected his trembling hands, Sebastian's grip bringing him slight comfort.

"Look at me, Blaine, look at me," Sebastian ordered sternly. The squat he was currently positioned in didn't offer much leverage to take a good look at Blaine's state.

A tremor in hands, terror in eyes, breathing difficulties.

”Are you feeling chest pain? Having chills?”

Blaine, as much as he wanted to cooperate, couldn't get a word out of his mouth. Utterly devoid of saliva, his throat closing in, preventing him from taking a breath, he blankly stared at his hands, helplessly observing his sweaty palms, while the trees lining up the sidewalk were falling down on him. Sebastian's voice appeared more blurry with each syllable spoken.

”Stand up," came another order out of Sebastian's mouth. He gathered all his strength to get Blaine on his feet, moved him a few inches, and pinned his back against the street light like a ragdoll.

”Focus on me.”

As soon as his back hit the street light, the chills started to die down slowly, his breathing evening out.

”Count to ten with me,” Sebastian said, his grip progressively tightening up.

Blaine centered his blurry vision, looking for stability in Sebastian's unwavering instructions.

His heart was pounding, ready to burst out of his chest. The cluelessness as to what was happening to him frightened him. The subtle awareness that passerby might witness his breakdown added to the mess even more.

One, two, three …

Sebastian's steady grip held him in place, loosening leisurely with each increasing number.

Four, five, six …

"You're fine, stay calm."

Blaine was sure he wasn't fine. If he wasn't in a state of shock, trying to breathe through what he started to understand was a panic attack, he could cry. Sebastian's weak attempt to persuade him he's fine sent him down the memory lane of all the excruciating reasons he wasn't fine at all.

Seven, eight, nine …

"Ten," Sebastian whispered, imitating Blaine's exaggerating inhales along with him.

Blaine slowly came to his senses, highly alert, scanning the surroundings for any potential witnesses who were enjoying the show.

People were laughing distantly in the park, reminding him that he was still on Earth, standing soundly on the ground, not in a dimension where everything was spinning and reeling like a carousel.

Sebastian let go of him after a minute or so, taking a step back.

"An extreme exhaustion is going to kick in soon, you're gonna have to lie down for at least an hour,” Sebastian informed him.

Blaine's mind did mental gymnastics, trying to figure out how to unglue himself from the lamppost before Sebastian removes him by force yet again.

"Come with me." Sebastian handily collects Blaine's belongings from the ground and guides him towards the Lincoln Park birch alley.

Blaine was almost sure that this was going to be the moment he would later pinpoint as the rebirth of his life.

Hunter didn't have to live at the dormitories. His father made sure he would always receive a satisfactory check smelling like old money by the end of each month to cover rent for a penthouse apartment on Shawnee Road near a high profile golf club. He never felt guilty about taking the money, notably when he could support someone he loved.

Someone who would consistently put up a fight every time a new donation arrived in her mailbox.

The look she gave him in Lima Bean earlier that day, only suggested she was railing herself up for another juicy fight.

Oh, how he loved their fights, the last reminder of their teenage innocence. Everything else in their lives reeked of adulthood, and adulthood equaled responsibility.

When he knocked on her door, the September sun was setting down on the small town of Lima, snatching away the protective blanket of daylight delights. At night, they didn't have to be extra careful to avoid public exposure.

He could stand there forever, he knew that she could be petty about unscheduled arrivals.

”Katherine! Open the damn door!” he yelled. The Golden Retriever from a neighboring garden started barking upon hearing his voice. He flashed the beast a scorching look. He was never a dog person.

An old white door barely hanging in its hinges flew open, revealing a five foot two beast of a completely different kind.

The unconscious need to appear put together attacked his nerve endings, so he ruffled his hair automatically to calm them down.

"Have you lost the last remaining brain cell in that demented blonde head of yours? You can't be yelling here like a madman, what if mom was home?”

”I know she isn't," he reassured her.

She put up the defenses immediately, folding her arms on her chest. She never liked to be outsmarted.

”How do you know that? Are you stalking us?”

”No, not you, but someone who has access to the Lima General Hospital shifts

schedule.”

"You're a fiend," she said, opening the door wider, inviting him in.

Hunter passed the threshold, throwing his bag on the carpeted floor. If he wasn't used to seeing these pathetic choices of style so much, he'd scorn at the ugly beige monstrosity once again. Being poor must have sucked for her, he couldn't even imagine.

”What do you want? We were supposed to meet last Friday, you ditched me.”

Hunter's ego was doing joyful hoops when he heard the underlying implication behind the statement. She still very much needed him, despite acting like a big ass grown-up. At heart, she was still a just child who craved attention.

”I was putting our plan in motion on Friday. I saw an opportunity, and I took it.”

"I think you're moving too fast, Hunter. As much as I would love to see Sebastian Smythe's stuffed corpse decorating my wall, we need to be careful. He's not dense.”

”And you think I am?” Hunter pricked his chest with an index finger, defending his pride.

"Of course not," she backed down, "I'm saying, he doesn't trust you. If you push him too much, he's gonna sniff your stinking socks and trace them back to me.”

He walked over to a small kitchen, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket on the countertop. Kitty watched his confident body language claiming the territory, despising his superiority complex she tried to cure for so many years.

"You don't trust me either, clearly," he stated, "otherwise you wouldn't question me."

"Just because I'm the younger sibling, doesn't mean you can order me around, Hunter," she reprimanded him, reaching for the apple the second he was about to take a bite, and snatching it away like a petty little thief. "We've been through this, you're not my boss. This is our plan. You don't make moves without consulting me first. We both know I'm smarter than you."

”That you are,” he admitted to appease her rising moods, “but I'm the one moving the pawns, little sister. I'm the one taking care of you and mom. So don't you ever forget your place."

He took the broached apple back from her and took a large bite.

It wasn't supposed to sound like a menacing threat, merely a show of power. Hunter's narcissistic tendencies no longer surprised her, but judging by the look on her face, he knew he went a bit too far.

"I'll handle Sebastian," he said confidently.

She nodded, the defeat evident in the way she stretched her arms across the kitchen island.

"How's daddy?" she asked bluntly. Hunter swallowed the entire piece he had bitten off, unchewed, trying to numb the emotional pain by causing him physical distress. It always hurt less than the emotional stuff.

”Still unbearable to deal with.”

”You came to deliver a check in person?”

"I came to talk to you, Katherine. I'm still your brother, although daddy would testify otherwise."

She huffed at him. Hunter knew it sent her spiraling anytime he used her full name. It must have been the use of her birth name because nothing about their father ever pissed her off. It's like she grew numb to the incredible cruelty, with which Michael Clarington treated his younger daughter and ex-wife.

"You have the ball in your court, Hunter. You have our father's support - - -"

”As long as I do his bidding,” he felt compelled to add. Kitty never realized how much Hunter admired her strength to stand up for herself, knowing she would be trading wealth for integrity. Contrary to his desires, Kitty always valued her freedom more than money. She would not be controlled by Michael Clarington for the sake of promenading her little ass in Prada.

Looking into the mirror and not being prudent to spit on your reflection is what mattered to Kitty. Being able to live with herself.

Hunter couldn't say the same for himself. Integrity, morality - it was a strange concept to him, juvenile and naïve. It never prevented him from admiring these qualities in Kitty and Kitty only.

”Is taking revenge on Sebastian Smythe his bidding, too?”

"No, that's a family effort. Probably the only thing we will ever agree on. Sebastian needs to pay for what he did.”

Kitty circumvented the kitchen island, approaching Hunter cautiously. His entire posture screamed spasm and stress. She could see a creased skin underneath his eyes, probably a remnant of a weak attempt to cover up the prominent dark circles by makeup.

"If he catches up to you, it's over. His douchebag of a father will raise hell, and we will all end up in juvie, or worse, in jail.”

”Are you losing your nerve already, sis?” Hunter raised an eyebrow, amusing grin splintered all over the sharply cut face bones. Kitty snarled, smacking Hunter's arm to reprimand him like a child. He ogled the rumpled sleeve, pretending to be offended.

”We have one chance at this. Don't fuck it up with petty shortcuts."

"Oh, they are shortcuts. But they're not petty," Hunter boasted. Anytime he learned valuable information that was of significant consequence to him, usually, leverage to use against his adversaries, he'd puff his chest out like a retarded peacock. Kitty hated how absolutely over the top villainy ridiculous he looked.

”He will be the one ending up in juvie, Katherine. Blood for blood.”

Kitty nodded approvingly. She realized she could never be the confidant he longed for, but she wanted the rightful place at the table, which belonged to her by birthright.

”What did you learn then?” She led him to the round dining table in the corner of the kitchen, both of them sitting down opposite each other. Kitty made sure they would see eye to eye. Literally and figuratively.

"Remember when we thought that Sebastian was a slimy piece of shit who didn't care about anyone?"

Kitty was hit by a flashback, a gnarly, ugly flashback of a younger version of Sebastian's condescending face, descending upon their family, leaving only a trail of wreck and tears behind.

"You're telling me he has a soul, after all, Hunter?"

"Hardly. But there is one soul he somewhat cares about. Or, rather, has a weakness for."

Kitty enticingly raised one of her eyebrows, waiting eagerly to hear the news. Hunter took his time, kneading his fingers together, the anticipation to see Kitty's reaction dripping from his eyes.

”Blaine Anderson.”

"The goody-two-shoes puppy?" Kitty laughed. "You gotta be kidding me,” she chuckled.

"No," Hunter shook his head, amusedly, "I'm not. It seems they have quite a turbulent history. If it goes according to my plan, not only will we destroy Sebastian Smythe, I'm gonna lead the Warblers to a national championship."

Kitty reached for his hand and squeezed it tight, giving full support.

Hunter bowed his eyesight down to their joined hands, the momentary hole in his heart mended for a few seconds the touch lasted.

“Now, sis, this is the part where you come in.”

Kitty tilted her head curiously, the thrill of finally being included, consumed her.

"I'm gonna need you to join the glee club.”

Chapter Text

If he was to take anything from this horrifying experience, it was the knowledge that physical pain surpasses an emotional one by far. There was no analgesic to allay the judgmental voices in his head or to alleviate the devastation after having been abandoned.

His family quickly fell into disarray. They were all used to Cooper, always causing trouble, getting into petty fights, needing money to stay in Los Angeles just a day longer. But not him. Not the picture-perfect child made to excel in intellectual conversations, destined to get into Yale or some other pretentious Ivy League cult, he had no interest in joining.

So his mom, ever-loving, and all-knowing mom who always knew what to do, idly stood by when Blaine stopped talking and barely ate

Cooper had quit his job at the shady auto-shop in LA, sacrificing a critical audition, prolonging his visit, and helping his little brother recover. Blaine suspected Cooper had been more affected by the sight of him beaten up on the ground like a stray dog, more than he led on. Maybe he felt pity, perhaps he just genuinely wanted to help, to assuage his guilt of ignoring Blaine's existence for years.

Allegedly, after he learned from dad that "your brother needs professional help," he decided it's time to step in and tell dear old dad that "Blaine doesn't need a shrink, he needs you to stop treating him like he does.”

The minute Blaine got discharged from the hospital, the change in the family dynamic was so apparent, it made him hiss in pain even more so than the bruises on his body. He was used to Cooper being MIA, sporadically interacting with his father, and his mom providing an emotional shield. Staying silent made more sense than talking about something, none of them would understand. Like he needed another reminder of how his naivety almost got him killed.

After three weeks of pity looks, physical therapy, and Cooper fighting Christopher Anderson day in and day out, Cooper made a decision. It was time to talk to Blaine earnestly.

Blaine knew he would have to start speaking eventually, return to school, and integrate himself back into society. But Cooper was the last person on Earth he wanted to talk to.

So when Cooper laid himself down on Blaine's bed with a dramatic thump one Saturday afternoon, Blaine was pretty sure he couldn't avoid the debate anymore.

”Hey, little brother.”

As usual, Blaine was confined to his bed, mindlessly reading whatever book his mom would bring over when Cooper swarmed in with his toxic optimism leading the way. Cooper's smile annoyed Blaine even more than listening to his quarrels with dad. His teeth shone brighter than the Aurora Borealis. Blaine used to crack up at the thought of Cooper landing a job on television, only to make the equipment burst out into flames the minute he walks in with his Colgate teeth.

He pretended he hadn't seen Cooper claim half the bed with his spindly legs.

"So, I need you to start cooperating, before our neurotic father sends you to an insane asylum where you'll be getting douche showers every day."

No response. Cooper bit into his lip harshly. He didn't do well with kids, that's why he vowed to stay a bachelor forever. But seeing his brother almost beaten to death served as a much-needed wake-up call. It was time for him to start paying attention.

Besides, teenagers were moody by nature, every movie ever said so. It couldn't have been worse than working as an auto mechanic and attending auditions greasy-handed.

”Blainey, I'm not messing around. Start talking, or I'll make you," Cooper said, ripping the book from Blaine's hands.

Blaine didn't even flinch.

Cooper threw the book behind his head. His brother's lethargy seriously distracted him from the task he had set out to accomplish.

"I know it's been hard for you to talk. Doctor Lichter told me they had impaired your vocal cords."

Blaine hid his hands under the blanket so that Cooper could not see him digging his fingernails into his palms.

"But that was weeks ago, squirt! I'm sure you're all healed up now, ready to sing, even!"

Even Cooper, with his poor assessment skills, could tell he hit the sore spot. Blaine's shoulders slouched down, he avoided eye contact altogether, completely shutting his brother out. Cooper's bull in a china shop-like interpersonal skills didn't help at all. He realized he would have to earn his younger brother's trust first. And that could only come with time and patience. Right now, neither of those overflew from his cup.

At least he learned something from this one-sided conversation with himself. Blaine, regardless of the fact he was currently serving a silent martyrdom mission in Depressville, had never been good at hiding his feelings.

“Cooper.” Madelaine knocked on the door that had been left ajar, protruding her head shyly.

”I want to talk to you,” she said.

Cooper nodded, leaving unsatisfied, failing his agenda. When his mother closed the door on Blaine's bedroom, leading him downstairs, a new plan started formulating in his head. He never managed to accomplish anything. He never finished what he started. Damn him, if he wasn't gonna see this through, helping his brother heal fully.

"I think your father's right. He needs to start seeing a therapist.”

"Yeah, since he's not talking to his family, he'll sure as heel open up to a complete stranger chewing on a pencil,” Cooper retorted, rubbing his chin furiously. His mother was his only ally in the family, now she was turning on him, too.

"You can't possibly know what's good for him, you hadn't been home in forever."

"Oh, and you guys do?!" Cooper whisper-shouted. Typically, it never bothered him that Blaine could hear every conversation happening downstairs, after all, he was only defending Blaine's interests. But actively proclaiming that neither of their parents knew what they were doing while raising Blaine - that would be like crossing a dangerous line of disrespect he didn't deem fair.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Madelaine asked, putting her hands on her hips in what Blaine used to refer to as 'mom's ultimate power pose.'

”It means you haven't been paying attention," he explained with a much calmer demeanor. A few wrinkles appeared around his mother's eyes, a sign of apparent confusion.

"What's the thing he loves most in this world?" Cooper asked rhetorically, excited about finally being able to see inside Blaine's head. Madelaine shrugged, calling to remembrance all of Blaine's interests. There was football astronomy …

”Music, mom.”

”You think this is about music?”

"He's afraid that he'll never be able to sing again."

Cooper was beaming with confidence. Even more so, because he knew exactly what to do next.

He raised his index finger, like a wistful teacher explaining the Big Bang theory to his students.

"First, we're gonna get him out of that god-forsaken school, get him to attend a place where he could rediscover his passion for music.”

Madelaine sighed, picture of her husband losing it over yet another child pursuing arts, splintered in her brain. But she knew that Blaine needed to heal, internally and externally. Nothing else mattered. She could deal with Christopher's objections later.

She started to wonder when her older son got so phenomenally good at reading people. Blaine wasn't exactly an open book.

”Well, transfers mid-school year are incredibly unpopular with high-profile schools. Maybe I could get in touch with my old friend, Donovan Smythe.”

A mix of amused confusion and genuine disgust appeared on Cooper's face.

"Your douchebag ex-boyfriend?" Cooper grinned. "What does he have to do with any of this?”

Madelaine rolled her eyes, not a hint of amusement in her voice.

"He's not a douchebag, and he's not my ex-boyfriend," she clarified, enunciating every syllable, just to make sure Cooper wouldn't form any incorrect opinions in his head. But the cheeky way the right corner of his mouth twitched, she knew it was too late for that.

”We had a brief fling in high school, then his father decided his son was too good to be slumming it with public school kids, and he made him transfer to Dalton Academy.”

”You mean too good to be slumming it with a Filipino immigrant?” Cooper corrected, now full-on pissed off. All he remembered of Donovan Smythe, was an incident at some douchey rich people party when he was eighteen. His father dragged his ass over to Smythe Residence in Columbus against his will. The Smythe's were celebrating some ancient family tradition, where all they did was congratulating one another on how powerful they are. It was like a pissing contest on which one of the money clan worshipers could better out-douche their behavior towards the less fortunate.

Christopher Anderson just completed a world-class surgery on a patient suffering from a rare Retinitis Pigmentosa condition. He successfully improved the patient's vision by thirty-five percent. It was a miracle that landed him an honorary page in every acclaimed medical journal and Ivy League prospects on the planet, as the face to aspire to when pursuing a career in medicine.

Naturally, from humble beginnings, Christopher Anderson decided to accept an invitation to a party from his old high school rival, to flaunt his perfect wife and his two classic children.

Cooper had not once thought back on that evening over the years. Still, now, when his mom mentioned the name of the Royal Asshole of Ohio, he was immediately transported back to that shish kebob of a party.

Everything had been going swimmingly, and even though Cooper could smell the tension oozing from both his father and Donovan Smythe, both men kept things civil.

Donovan even let a three-year-old - and very much bored out of his mind – Blaine, play the giant, molten-iron piano in the lobby.

The shit-storm began to unravel when Donovan's daddy appeared on the spiral staircase of their palatial mansion. He immediately noticed an old acquaintance and trust fund jerk of a son talking on the stairs, engaging in what looked like a passionate conversation. All hell broke loose.

The old man didn’t give two shits about embarrassing his son and ruining their precious party. It was more important to him to insult the hell out of Madelaine. He pointed out her modest upbringing with a single mother who had fled the Philippines, running for dear life from an abusive husband.

It was Christopher, who came to her rescue and defended her honor. No matter how fierce or intelligent, poor Madelaine was left speechless with her jaw on the floor, while Cornelius Smythe was spitting venom at her.

The douchebag Donovan Smythe was obediently watching his father tore Madelaine to pieces.

No matter how much of a neurotic workaholic Christopher Anderson was, his loyalty and decency were the qualities Cooper had always admired the most.

  ”Water under the bridge,” Madelaine said, pulling him back to reality.

Cooper blinked twice in an attempt to repel the humiliating memory.

”You could say he owes me.” She flaunted her wit, smirking knowingly at her elder son. ”He will get Blaine into that school.”

Cooper nodded, still hesitant about associating Blaine with that family of human rascals. Well, desperate times, desperate measures.

”One more thing, mom,” Cooper stopped her before she managed to pull out the phone in preparation to give the King Douche a surprise call.

”We need to find that damn Ekker kid.”

Madelaine took a step closer, intimidating Cooper with her death stare.

"Don't you dare, Cooper," she warned him, turning from an elegant lady to a warrior princess in a span of nanoseconds.

”You bring that devil spawn anywhere near your brother, I will kick your ass from here to Oregon.”

Cooper held his hands up like a defenseless child.

"Mom, I agree. But don't you think it's weird that they go to that dance together, yet Elliott disappears from the face of the Earth, and Blaine's the one who gets his ass kicked?”

"I don't give a damn, do you hear me? Elliott Ekker will never so much as lay an eye on Blaine ever again, and if you know what's good for you, you'll let this go, is that clear?”

Cooper assumed it was for the best not to kick the hornets’ nest. At least for now.

Blaine was seriously starting to get worried. The number of times he woke up someplace random in the last couple of years, (usually a hospital scene) was disconcerting, to say the least.

This time, however, his back didn't have to endure the rigidity of a surgical table reeking of sanitizer.

The contemporary apartment he found himself in, reeked of money and minimalism. He could feel the leather texture on his fingertips, the softness of plump pillows on his neck.

”Welcome back, Killer.”

He turned his head to the left to see Sebastian sitting next to him on a low square coffee table, holding a glass of water.

”You look like hell. Here, drink this,” Sebastian said, handing Blaine the water. He tried to sit up, forcing his body to stretch as slowly as possible.

Sebastian examined his every movement, every twitch in his eye. Blaine started to feel weirdly scrutinized. The memory of Sebastian walking him to this apartment from Lincoln Park came alive in an instant.

”What the hell happened to me?”

Sebastian connected his hands in an orderly fashion, pretending as if Blaine´s episode was a completely foreign concept to him.

”You tell me. You had a pretty hardcore panic attack, was there something that may have caused it?”

Besides several family traumas, life-threatening injuries, and two shitty breakups in the last couple of years?

"No, I don't think so," Blaine lied. He tried to convince himself that he didn't know why he freaked out, so it would be much easier to pretend in front of Sebastian. More than anything, it scared him, and he didn't need to know or understand it. It would never happen again. He could hide his feelings, this was only a momentary relapse. He hated being vulnerable, and he hated that it happened near a person with empathy for padded underwear.

”Where am I?” Blaine asked, finally taking a sip of the water, secretly admiring the sharp architecture and lucid space.

”In my apartment. In case your memory's a little blurry, no, I didn't make you come with me,” Sebastian elucidated further, anticipating a storm of opposing arguments from Blaine, "you went voluntarily. I figured you'd be exhausted. I laid you down on the couch, and you passed out in three minutes."

Blaine's memory was a little blurry, but he did remember Sebastian suggesting to lay down.

"How exactly did you know what to do or what to expect?" Blaine asked, trying to put two and two together. Thinking back on it, Sebastian acted swiftly, he didn't even blink or hesitate to identify and pacify the problem.

"I volunteer at the Lima General Hospital on the weekends. Plenty of people come to the emergency room with the same symptoms you experienced, thinking they have a heart attack. And plenty of times, it turned out to be a panic attack. I went with my gut."

Blaine shook his head, both confused and surprised. "I'm sorry, you what and … what? You volunteer in a hospital? On the weekends?”

Sebastian took the glass from Blaine's hands, and he put it safely behind his back. Blaine was returning the favor of the scrutiny from earlier, watching Sebastian be slightly offended by Blaine's wide-eyed reaction. He hid it well, though.

”What? You thought a monster like me could never make a good doctor?”

”I never knew you wanted to be one,” Blaine said contritely, feeling guilty about his uncalled response.

“You never asked.“

One of the things Blaine couldn't stand was the way Sebastian could literally take the wind from his sails. No matter the subject, Sebastian's wit, and observation would always surpass his highest expectations. Never a dull moment with him.

"So all of this," Blaine circled his hand around its own orbit, "is just you preparing for the real deal, once you're a doctor?"

"Nothing unreal about panic attacks, Blaine. I would have done the same for anyone else. Medical help is very robotic, precise."

"Oh, my bad. I thought you were just being nice, but I guess that would have been too boring of a reason to help," Blaine said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Sebastian watched his lips move a little longer than he planned, losing focus. He compensated with a mean response, his favorite defense mechanism, when accidentally showing vulnerability.

”Yeah, being nice sucks.”

Blaine laughed out loud, the genuine giggle being so infectious, it made Sebastian join him.

“I thought doctors were supposed to be nice.”

”I don't have to be nice, I'm hot," Sebastian stated matter-of-factly.

Blaine didn't want to admit to himself that his internal processes agreed with Sebastian's self-congratulatory proclamation.

He changed the subject to avoid prolonging the lingering tension, the drawn-out looks, the complete one-eighty turn of the atmosphere from serious to playful.

Being comfortable around Sebastian was a feeling Blaine didn't want to allow himself to feel. The voices of his friends and Kurt in his head were too loud for that.

He looked at his watch instead. ”Oh god, it's late, my parents are gonna kill me.”

Sebastian stood up simultaneously with Blaine. ”Wait, I'll give you a ride."

”We walked here,” Blaine reminded.

”I have a spare car in the underground garage.”

Blaine's eyes went totally bug-eyed. "You have a - - -You know what, I don't even know why I'm surprised at this point."

"Me neither, Blaine. It's not like you're a poor-relief case either, your family's pretty loaded, too," Sebastian joked.

Blaine was very much aware of his parents' assets, but he also knew that while they both worked hard to build it, Sebastian's father merely multiplied the already accumulated wealth.

Sebastian tightened up sleeve cuffs on his shirt, looking around in search of the Dalton blazer that ended up on one of the armchairs in the living room.

"Bastian, you really don't have to," Blaine insisted. It sounded polite and sincere, but Sebastian suspected there was more to Blaine's request than just trying to be polite.

”Is there a reason you don't want me to come? Is it because I made you lay on the couch? You know, my bed has Egyptian cotton sheets, and you haven't earned the bed privileges yet."

"You're unbelievable," Blaine sneered.

Sebastian's eyebrows shot up and down coquettishly.

"I don't want to make things worse with my parents. If they see you dropping me off at my house so late, and probably in some million-dollar sports car, they'll ground me until graduation day. I'll get home safely, I promise.”

Sebastian tried to hide the disappointment on his face, masquerading it for a look of understanding.

"Thank you for taking care of me, Sebastian." Blaine reached for Sebastian's arm, lightly touching his elbow. He once read in a psychology journal that it was called "a trust touch". If there ever was a good time to show Sebastian that the ice slightly thawed, this felt like the right moment.

Based on Sebastian's momentary amazement, he had taken notice.

“My pleasure. I'm trying to make up for everything."

Blaine nodded approvingly. "So, you are nice, after all."

“I might just surprise you, Killer.”

Blaine's whirlwind of thoughts and feelings made him feel exhausted even after sleeping through most of the evening. He knew how much power his emotions held over him, and despite disapproving of his father's tough love parenting methods, he could appreciate the focus he developed.

There were ten missed calls from his mother, two from Cooper, and one text message from Sam.

When he entered his house, he expected to see his mother giving a rainstorm of lectures about not picking up the phone. Instead, the living room was quiet; only his father's flexible arm reading light was on.

Christopher Anderson was sitting on a couch asleep, clasping the newest book about eye disorders by his friend Cory Heinsteid of John Hopkins University.

A thought of sneaking past flashed through his mind, but his dad's head was lulled sideways in such a bizarre position, he decided to check up on him instead.

”Dad.”

No response.

Blaine came closer, leaving his bag by the couch's leg. "Dad?"

Heat and sweat watered his face in a split second. He grabbed his dad by the shoulders and shook him harder than he anticipated.

God, not again.

”Dad!”

Christopher's eyes shot open, the book on his chest flying straight down to the floor. Blaine didn't even realize how hard he was clutching his father's sweater until he Christopher himself gently removed them.

"I'm okay, just took a quick nap," he assured Blaine. The drowsiness in his handsome features made him look even more tired than usual.

"You scared me - Where's mom, why isn't anyone looking after you?" Blaine lamented.

Christopher sat up straight, instinctively putting a hand over his heart. The scar healed progressively well, but the sharp pain in his chest remained unchanged. He managed to pretend otherwise most of the time – like right now when he saw the absolute terror in his son's eyes.

"Because I don't need looking after," he determined, "and your mother is working late. I believe she called you to come home early, because she worries obsessively, just like you."

Christopher patted Blaine on the back supportively, and Blaine's guilt started to climb from his stomach up to his mouth, actively blocking his speech skills.

"Where were you, by the way? You never ignore your mother's calls."

Blaine lowered his head in shame, avoiding sincerity at all costs.

”I was with Sam.”

Cristopher raised his eyebrows questioningly. The only time he did that was when he's dead convinced someone's lying to him, merely giving his opponent a fair chance to confess.

Blaine knew instantly he was in hot water.

"Well, that's funny, because your friend Sam came over earlier, looking for you. And unless there is another Sam in your life that I'm not aware of – I'm pretty sure you're lying to me, kid."

Blaine diverted his body sideways, trying to protect the last remaining shred of integrity he had. The weirdest thing was that his dad didn't even sound like he was angry. Not even disappointed. He acted like a curios policeman who just caught a fourteen-year-old smoking weed behind the dumpster.

”I was with Sebastian Smythe.”

Christopher licked his lips, trying to buy himself a reasonable amount of time to react stoically. He hadn't heard the name Smythe in years, besides sporadically reading about Donovan's stellar law firm saving another filthy corporation's credentials. When Blaine transferred to that magniloquent pomposity of a school and never once mentioned the name Smythe, Christopher assumed that Donovan's only son simply wasn't attending Dalton. Hearing that name again, especially in association with Blaine, was like pouring salt into fresh wounds.

”And what the hell were you doing with Sebastian Smythe?”

Stoicism left the building.

”Wait, you know him?”

Christopher let out a deep sigh. He wanted to avoid Blaine's boyish curiosity.

"I know his father. Or, I used to," Christopher said bitterly, "but you are not off the hook, so stop changing the subject. Will you explain to me how in the Sweet Hail Mary you know Donovan's kid?"

"It's kind of a long story," Blaine said shyly, rubbing his hands together. Maybe he should have taken classes in lying from Kurt when he had the chance. Kurt had always been the better liar.

"I have all the time in the world. In case you haven't noticed, I'm an invalid now." Christopher pointed towards his half-functioning heart, trying to lighten up the subject of his health, but Blaine either didn't get the joke or just didn't find it funny. Christopher almost felt bad when his son made that miserable puppy face.

"Don't even joke about that, dad. You know how guilty I feel, and here we are again – you're trying to pull me into another argument that will give you a heart attack."

Christopher backed down slightly. He had never realized that Blaine felt any guilt about it – but again, his younger son never was a blabbermouth when it came to his feelings – one of the few attributes he inherited from him.

"Blaine, you had nothing to do with my heart attack. You're the joy of my life," he confessed, absolutely unexpectedly. He didn't plan on saying it so openly, he never had before. It flew out of his mouth spontaneously.

The utter shock and surprise on Blaine's face probably mirrored his own.

Maybe he just instinctively felt like his son needed to hear it.

”Listen to me, kid. Listen to me very carefully,” Christopher lodged his large hands in between Blaine's clavicle and his neck the way he used to when Blaine was little and misbehaved. Usually, a word of ancient advice followed. Blaine involuntarily smiled through tears when his childhood memories overwhelmed him.

"I worry about you constantly. You're a terrible character judge and a hilariously bad liar, but nothing you ever do or say could disappoint me, much less bring about a heart attack. Even though you might think the opposite."

Blaine threw himself in his father's embrace, the first gleam of genuine emotion in a very long time. When Christopher hugged him back, he could hear an open wound he hadn't been aware of, slowly stitching itself up.

"Why don't you worry the same way about Cooper?" Blaine asked, sheathing back tears with all the will he had left.

“Because bad weed never dies out,” Christopher remarked, “and if I show any support or interest whatsoever, he will take it as an invitation to install the Credit Report Commercial Jingle as a doorbell.”

Blaine burst out in laughter. It gave him comfort, a sense of normality, and family security to hear his father joke around like that. The lingering feeling of hope stayed with him, affirming that their family didn't completely break as he thought.

"It was unfortunate that Eliott Ekker showed his damned face at my door, spoiling the summer for all of us," he reminisced, "but I promise you, as long as that troublemaker stays out of your life, there will be no more heart attacks on my end."

Blaine's heart dropped massively. He wanted to nod, make promises, assure his father that Elliott would never be a part of his life again. The words remained stuck in his throat. He took the liberty of letting his father interpret silence as an affirmative answer.

"Now, back to my original question. What exactly have you been doing with Sebastian Smythe?"

Chapter Text

Despite his grandfather's convictions and daily preaching about privileges, Sebastian realized pretty early in his life that money will only get you so far. Perhaps he took all the wealth thrown at him for granted. But at that moment - he would trade all the comfort, all the extravagant travels to Europe, all the silk, tailored clothing - for a healthy, functional family.

Only when the sharp pain of digging his nails into his palms overtook the pain of being pushed around like a doormat, did he notice the crescent moon scars he had carved into his skin.

He stopped abruptly, the faint street lightning barely covering two feet ahead.

He was not going to go back. If he had to sleep on the curbside like a stray dog, it would still be better than listening to another minute of grandfather's yapping about duty and responsibility, and father's mutilated errand boy act.

He was not going to go back to see his mom pack the little she was allowed to bring, only to return home like some rejected common whore, taking Claudia with her.

If he was to be separated from his sister if he was forbidden from going with his mom, then what was the point of going back at all? He was pretty sure no one would even miss him or care if he disappeared. The black sheep, always keeping everyone on edge with his unpredictable personality.

Donovan Smythe had just been elected State's Attorney of Ohio by some miracle. Everyone in Ohio knew and positively despised the weak-minded brat that his father was. He definitely wouldn't miss a kid who spends too much money on lavish trinkets and has no idea what to do with his life.

The winter breeze tickled Sebastian's eyelids. He felt drawn to close them and give in to the darkness, curl up by the corner of this nameless street that he didn't recognize in this insignificant, lame town, and hoped for a tornado to wipe it off the face of the earth along with him.

He hugged his torso, tucking his chin deeper into the high collar of his Paco Rabanne coat.

The night was silent as death, not even nocturnal animals wanted to lurk around on this November night. The perfect silence engulfed him momentarily.

The perfect stillness was about to be ripped away from him by a fast-approaching figure dressed head to toe in black. Sebastian shivered all his senses on high-alert.

The man was running, slipping on the sidewalk, glazed in thin layered ice every two steps.

Sebastian felt prepared, he was going to step aside and let him pass, or even fight if it came to that. But the closer the man got, the less visible he was under the vastly shadows that the trees cast. Without any warning, the man crashed into Sebastian, tackling him to the ground, falling on top of him like an overused mattress.

The clash was so extreme, it took Sebastian a while to open his eyes and stabilize his breathing.

"Watch where you're going, asshole!" The man yelled at him. The adrenaline and anger fueled by being knocked down like a sack of potatoes, and then unjustly accused of being clumsy, refreshed Sebastian's cognitive abilities.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light shining on the guy on top of him - a blonde mop of hair trying to scramble on his two left feet. He bolstered himself up using Sebastian's chest like a springboard, revealing a tattoo of an eagle on his right wrist in the very cumbersome process. Sebastian blinked several times in a row like a confused fish who was just assaulted by a great white shark.

”Get off of me, you clumsy idiot!” Sebastian managed to push him away even further. He squinted to get a better look at his attacker.

The man wasn't even a full-grown man, hardly older than Sebastian himself. He was wearing an expensive-looking tuxedo under a strappy leather jacket, far too flimsy and ragged to be worn in winter.

The guy clearly didn't like Sebastian's insult or his condescending tone. Getting away from whoever he was running from became automatically less important than teaching this bouji boy some respect.

"I'll show you who's clumsy, you rich bitch."

Sebastian dodged the stranger's right hook just as it was plummeting towards his jaw. He squeezed his fists tight, deepening the crescent moon scars. The anger he had been bottling up came rushing to the surface, overtaking his rationale.

He hesitated for a moment, fully understanding that this guy is not responsible for Sebastian's problems. He just so happened to provoke him on a lousy night.

Sebastian lunched forward, overpowering the blondie, smashing his small frame to the side of the curb. He started hammering all sharp edges of his face until he could feel his knuckles bleeding.

At that moment, this guy encompassed everything that was going wrong with his life. Every diminishing insult from his father, every incongruous commentary from his grandfather, every ridiculous expectation he could not and did not want to live up to.

The blondie's face was slowly turning into a purple puddle of mush, his head hanging off the curbside, his hair nearly touching the rusty grid on the rain drain under it.

”Sebastian!”

An outside force landed on Sebastian's shoulders, pulling him off of the guy with a magnitude of gravitational force.

”That's enough!”

Sebastian resisted for a while, his unhinged reflexes trying to keep bashing the blond stranger.

”Stop it!”

Eventually, he gave in, as the strong arms pinned him to the corroded tin of the street lamp.

”Pull yourself together!” The shadow on the man's face receded under a direct stream of light, revealing the deep-drawn wrinkles and green irises, the same vibrant sea-green Sebastian inherited.

”Grandfather?” Sebastian regained control over his impulses as his grandfather's hands pressed into his chest. He immediately noticed the black Mercedes pulled over by the side of the road. The familiar features of their driver Liam curiously gendering through the side window at the unfolding mess before him.

Cornelius Smythe glanced back at the bleeding boy on the sidewalk, still keeping his grandson in place.

"Jesus Christ, Sebastian. Get in the car now." Sebastian didn't hesitate twice to obey. He walked past the collateral damage of his rage, trying to determine whether he was still breathing.

”Go, Sebastian!” His grandfather urged.

Sebastian got in the back seat, observing his grandfather checking the pulse of the half-conscious guy. The old man rose to his feet, straightened his jacket sternly, and walked over to the car, calm as a summer day.

”Did I - - -“

”No,” Cornelius said, simultaneously patting the driver on the shoulder.

"Drive, Liam, let's get out of here."

Sebastian helplessly looked out the window to take a mental photograph of the fading image of his actions. His hands were uncontrollably quivering in the aftermath of the painful realization - he almost beat someone to death.

As the car began moving and the almost-corpse vanishing out of his sight and into oblivion, he settled into the leather seat, seeking comfort in the silence.

”This is exactly what I was talking about earlier when I said you're out of control, Sebastian."

”How did he know I was rich?” Sebastian was thinking out loud, thoughts and feelings brain-scattered.

“We should have helped him,” he added, barely audibly.

"WE need to get you help before YOU ruin yourself and manage to get another lawsuit for me to settle," Cornelius snapped. He didn't even bother looking at his grandson when scolding him.

”How did you even find me?”

"I didn't find you, I followed you here. Did you really think I'd let you storm off into the night, just hoping for the best?”

Sebastian didn't dare to mouth off, responding honestly to that question would have been a suicide at this point.

"Look, I know you're upset, boy. I am, too. I like your mother, she knows strength and virtue. Unfortunately, your good-for-nothing father won't change his mind. And I think she's had enough of him, too."

Sebastian's face turned into a painful grimace. Listening to this unfiltered cynicism, to the way his grandfather talked about his parents as if they were objects, made his teeth itch with ire.

"You have to understand, once she's been deprived of the Smythe name, she can no longer enjoy all the perks that come with it. Influence, power, money …”

"I don't care about that," Sebastian barked angrily.

"Of course you don't, you're fifteen, and you think that those things belong to you naturally. And they do. As long as you carry the name, Sebastian.”

”What do you want from me?” Sebastian asked, feeling utterly powerless.

Cornelius sighed victoriously, finally deeming Sebastian worthy enough to look him in the eye.

"I want to appease you. I'm a negotiator, first and foremost. You'd be wise to learn from me,” Cornelius smiled viciously.

”Why should you care about what I want? You never have before.”

"Because it's becoming clearer by each passing minute that your father is nothing but a weak, sentimental clown, unable to govern his own wife or children. I can't very well let him drive our empire into a burning building the same way he did it with his marriage.”

It dawned on Sebastian, long before his grandfather even formulated the words.

”Your sister may not live long enough for me to even consider her an heir. You need to be prepared.”

Liam was turning right onto a driveway of the majestic Smythe residence when Cornelius ordered him to turn off the engine and leave them alone.

The harsh reality sunk in, and no matter how large the walls of this mansion were, Sebastian could feel them shrink, shutting off the last remaining flux of hope into his life.

His grandfather observed the ancient white pillars supporting the tabular roof of the house, recalling all the sacrifices he had to make for these pillars to stand tall to this day.

"You're incredibly smart, cunning, ambitious. But you need to control your impulses. A lot of people will hate you just because you are who you are, you don't need to give them more reasons to pick up a fight. And if you do, you need to learn how to fight with your wit, not your fists."

Sebastian could practically feel a resolution to this ongoing conflict coming. One he might not like. "You mean to backstab them like a coward?"

Cornelius praised Sebastian mentally for being a quick thinker.

”There is a place in Colorado Springs. An institution of sorts. They will get your anger under control.”

"So, you wanna ship me off to a madhouse now?” Sebastian jumped in his seat.

"No, don't be ridiculous," Cornelius placed a hand on Sebastian's shoulder in a manipulative attempt to pacify him, "you'd be surprised how many kids of your age and status struggle with inconsolable rage. It's part of the burden you have to carry. Having everything is much harder than having nothing.”

Sebastian shuddered. “This is how you want to appease me?”

"No, this is how I appease you." Cornelius pulled a long piece of thick paper out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Sebastian.

Sebastian accepted it cautiously, expecting another trick, or maybe for it to burst into flames.

"It's your ticket to Paris, two months from now. I knew you'd want to go live with your mother and sister the minute divorce had been announced. You can – for a year. You can learn some manners, explore a different culture, learn how to be a gentleman. But first, you will go to Colorado for two months, straighten yourself out. That's the deal.”

It's a generous offer, Sebastian thought. More than he could ever hope to be offered by a heartless torturer such as Cornelius Smythe.

He stared at the air ticket in his hands growing heavier every second. One year of freedom from all of this in exchange for spending two months in a junior loony bin.

"What if I say no? What if I don't care about your legacy or your money?" Sebastian tried his luck. His grandfather grinned; it was an ugly show of force meant to ridicule Sebastian's misplaced bravery.

"Then, I will destroy your mother's reputation. She will never work in another art exhibition again. Not here, not in Europe, not on Mars, for as long as she lives. And I will make sure you will never see her, or Claudia again.”

Sebastian squeezed the air ticket hard, the bruises on his knuckles prominently popping up. His grandfather was right - it was his burden – his fight. And he felt like he just lost it.

Forgiving Sebastian proved to be easier than he thought. Sure, last year, Blaine convinced himself that he had forgiven the entire debacle with the slushie, the unwanted advances and other uncalled for behavior, but deep down, the assault opened up the old stitches on his soul he thought long absorbed by the optimism and Kurt's love.

But just as Sebastian's whirlwind of a personality cracked his seemingly perfect little life bubble last year, he glued it back together this year.

He still wasn't sure how much of what Sebastian had said and done was real. Yet, when he put it on the justice scales, Sebastian helped him override the inner doubts about breaking up with Kurt, which led to a cathartic conversation with his dad that healed their relationship. Or at least, paved to the road to repair it.

Now, he could focus on what Cooper had advised – sowing back together the fragile, disrupted bonds in the glee club.

He felt pretty confident walking the halls of McKinley in the early hours before the first period, the minor nervous breakdown from yesterday long forgotten. When he opened the locker to stuff it with Tears for Fears sheet music he was going to do later this afternoon in the glee club, the screen of his phone lit up with a text message from Sebastian.

S.S.: I wanna sing everybody wants to rule the world with an acapella arrangement, isn't it a little too on the nose?

Involuntarily, Blaine's face lit up brighter than his phone screen. It had been a while since he felt excited about texting someone without feeling attached.

B: I was planning on singing it in the glee club today, must be telepathy lol

"Someone's in a good mood." Tina shuffled over, wearily resting her head on the locker next to Blaine's.

”Unlike someone else – you okay, T?” Blaine asked.

"Yeah, I'm just drained. Weird things are happening to me." She furrowed her eyebrows. Blaine wanted to say something like: Weirder than you going full Transformers 3 mode and coming to school unrecognizable?

But he decided against it, and let her speak instead. It was a good sign she came over to talk to him, instead of refraining from even being in the same room with him.

"Maybe I'm going crazy. I can't sleep at night. I'm hearing all these weird noises in my bedroom – maybe I need to call in an exorcist."

"Tina," Blaine cackled, pulling her into a hug, "I'm glad you're still you."

Her first instinct was to pull away, but after the horrid breakup summer with Mike, and fighting the urge to kick trash cans in the streets, she went with the second impulse and hugged back.

”Blaine!”

Blaine lifted up his head to see Sam approaching with an eclectic pep in his step. Tina peeled her body off of Blaine's chest, gave him a reassuring nod, and hobbled away for a 'Too Young To Be Bitter Club' meeting.

Before Blaine managed to recuperate, Sam threw his entire weight on his body, engulfing him in an unyielding bear hug.

"Bro, why didn't you tell me your dad was sick? Now I know why you've been so weird and distant!"

"Well, I … I've been processing," Blaine said. It was only half a lie. He was processing, but he was also trying to avoid pity hugs, like the one he had just received.

”Thanks for stopping by yesterday.”

"Dude, I'm sorry. I should have noticed something was wrong. I'll pay more attention next time,” Sam promised. Ironically enough, as he said it, Blaine didn't pay attention at all, barely looking up and down between Sam and the phone.

”Like right now, for example…Who are you texting?” Sam was watching Blaine actively ignoring him, with his eyes and fingers glued to the phone. He snatched the phone from Blaine's hands in an absent-minded moment, using the height advantage he had over his friend.

"Hey!" Blaine squalled out loud. "Give it back! What's this, middle school?"

"It looks like a middle school crush," Sam pointed out jovially. He turned his back to Blaine, holding the phone as high as possible so that Blaine's hilarious attempts to seize it proved useless. He gave up after a minute or so to mentally prepare for what's going to be a long and embarrassing exchange of opinions.

Indeed, Sam swiftly turned around, wide-eyed like a five-year-old who didn't get a toy soldier for Christmas.

"Unless you've recently joined a Neo-Nazi movement, I can only assume that S.S. stands for Sebastian Smythe?”

Blaine straightened his back as to remind himself that Sam, in fact, was not relationship police, and all the pangs of guilt and contrition for keeping in touch with Sebastian had boarded and taken off on the plane with Kurt.

"What, you're judging me now?" Blaine retorted in a more hostile fashion than he wanted. Sam's grip on the phone loosened, and Blaine was able to rip it from him and bury it in his back pocket, along with the shame he felt.

"No, of course not," Sam said studiedly, "I'd never do that."

”I sense a but coming,” Blaine predicted.

”But with everything that's going on, it's kind of hard to believe the

guy is not ..."

Blaine shook his head confusedly. “What?”

"We're still looking for new members to join, we're kind of all over the place," Sam explained, treading carefully. Blaine noticed that Sam only stuttered through the answer, mentally scratching what he had really wanted to say, and opted out for a more diplomatic reply.

”Which brings me to …” Sam cut himself off, pulling out a sign sheet from his backpack, with a smile wider than the sky. He practically plastered it onto Blaine's face, so Blaine had to take it into his hands and adjust it to look at it.

McKinley invites you to be the president!

"I need to salvage my reputation. I still want to do something big with my life, and as a former stripper, well, I need something to balance out the thug ways of my past," Sam explained. Blaine wasn't sure how Sam could utter that sentence with a straight face, or how Blaine himself didn't crack once during that soul-searching monologue.

Blaine reversed the sheet, turned it upside down, but the only name that was written on it with rainbow-colored crayons was 'Brittany S. Pierce.'

”So you wanna run for president against Brit?”

”No, I want to be vice-president. You will be running against Brit. And you're gonna win, bro.”

Nicholas Duval managed to stay out of all the drama surrounding Dalton for the entirety of his high school years. He considered himself a follower, and never had a problem with it, as long as the following was done with a purpose.

He had lost his purpose when Blaine left Dalton, and he was acutely aware that the Warblers felt the same. He knew that the Warbler legacy couldn't survive without a strong leader, and he cared too much about his friends to let their names be forgotten. The New Directions, Vocal Adrenaline, all those show choirs could never measure up to the greatness of Dalton's name. They could never understand their ways, the honor it took to preserve the long lineage of blood heritage.

It wasn't just about the competition and the gold-plated trophies. Unlike the New Directions or Vocal Adrenaline, the Warblers had been building their respectable reputations for decades.

Nick learned that from his father, so did many other legacies just like him. He expected to see the disappointment in his father's eyes upon hearing the news that the Warblers had lost regionals with the New Directions last year, but he received a pat on the back instead. You did your best, that's all that matters.

That was the moment the lightbulb of enlightenment went off in his head – Sebastian probably never had such a role model to teach him about honor. But in the end, he still did the right thing. He proved to be loyal and caring when he omitted the fact that Nick had also tempered with the slushie that blinded Blaine, and took the fall entirely.

He may not have been the leader Blaine was, but he was a leader. And Nick hated being indebted to him. He had made a conscious decision to aid Sebastian in playing dirty; there was no compulsion. And not only did he feel indebted to Sebastian for coming out of it squeaky clean, but a piece of his soul also remained tarnished by the pain he had inflicted on Blaine.

Just when he thought that he had persuaded the Warblers to give Sebastian a second chance, a clean slate, Hunter Clarington, aka Mysterio, showed up and started manipulating the boys to work a selfish angle.

Nick would never admit it, but Hunter terrified him. The way he was gracefully moving his limbs like a cat walking the rope, gave him chills. The afternoon practice, a time he used to cherish, became insufferable to attend with Hunter barking orders like a maniac.

The worst of all, he made the most badass, the most insubordinate person he knew, a mere shadow of himself.

Nick felt like vomiting bile anytime he saw Clarington stretching his muscles over Sebastian.

There was something off about this whole arrangement between Sebastian and Hunter that made Nick Duval break the promise he had given himself not to get involved.

He roamed all the empty classes, the senior study, even the garden, looking for the tall ex-captain, only to find him sitting on the floor of the library near the medicine section. He was clearly distracted, smiling pensively at his phone. He didn't notice Nick's presence until Nick squatted down, joining him.

”Hey, stranger.”

”Hey,” Sebastian replied, quickly putting his phone away.

"You don't look so stonkered anymore, got a good night's sleep?" Nick asked, stretching his legs to find a comfortable position on an incredibly uncomfortable rash carpet.

”Yeah, sure.”

Nick smoothed the lost strand of hair at the back of his head to buy himself some time to figure out how to go about this conversation. Lucky for him, Sebastian didn't seem too pensive or annoyed this morning, as opposed to all the other mornings when he walked around the hallways with a death stare.

”Can we talk? Like, honestly? No BS?”

Sebastian shrugged apathetically. “Depends. Why do you look so constipated? Did Clarington ask you to do a Windsor knot on your tie instead of a half-Windsor?”

"No, and my OCD is no joke. So I'd appreciate it if you stopped mixing my red socks with my blue socks during lacrosse practice when you think I'm not looking," Nick riposted.

Sebastian tried to suppress a laugh, but he failed miserably. "It's just an act of patriotism, Nick. I'm showing a well-deserved appreciation to the American flag, my dad being a State's Attorney and all. It just so happens to be at your expense.”

As much anxiety as Sebastian's pranks were giving him, the effortless charm he got away with everything deserved applause, at least in Nick's book.

”Speaking of which, I actually came to talk to you about Hunter.”

”What about him?” Sebastian asked, interest peeked, the relaxed expression gone from his handsome features.

"Well," Nick hesitated, "I've noticed something - - -"

Sebastian interrupted him with a windy sigh. "Nick, it would be in your best interest to keep organizing your pencils by color, and stop noticing things.”

”Seb, I fucked up last year. Staying silent and watching you plummet towards the rock bottom was ignorant of me. No insult, no comeback, no hostile macroaggressions are gonna stop me now.”

Sebastian relaxed his arms on his knees, letting them hang freely. They were gonna be here for a while. ”What the hell are you talking about?”

Nick took it as an invitation to elaborate, a juicy spark replaced his nervous demeanor.

"I don't like the way Hunter is treating you. How he's treating all of us. These interrogations, the crazy food regiment, the training, the weird whispery conversations that he's having with you – something's up. I know you, Seb. You think you've got this under control, but I'm telling you, the guy is shady as fuck. He's going to destroy the Warblers."

Sebastian tentatively loosened his tie, remaining silent. Nick cautiously laid his hand on Sebastian's shoulder. Surprisingly, Sebastian let it stay there.

"I know you think you're alone in this. But you had my back last year. I got yours now.”

Sebastian snapped his head in Nick's direction. Of all the things he said, this was the one to send him reeling over the edge.

"You have no idea what you're talking about. This isn't kindergarten, we're not playing pitching pennies, you damn idiot.”

”I know that,” Nick mollified, "that's why I'm so relentless."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. That's precisely what he needed on top of everything, babysitting Duval and his counter-productive tendencies.

"I know you think I'm childish and stupid. And maybe you're right, I'm not as smart as you are. But I pay attention. This whole over the top interest of his in wanting to get to know you – it's freaking me out."

”What do you want me to say? He's obsessed with winning, he's a fucking lunatic, I know that. And this big agenda you're talking about – he wants to recruit Blaine Anderson. Give the New Directions a deathly low blow. He's just using me to get the upper hand, that's it.”

This news wasn't even all that shocking to him. What came as a shock was Sebastian's lack of awareness. At least now Nick understood what had the game master off his game – another round of cat and mouse chase with Blaine Anderson.

"I think you're wrong, Seb. I did a whole research on the weirdo. I looked into his past and his family. Look what I found." Nick pulled out an entire file of printed out documents about Hunter's academic and extra-curricular accomplishments and his brief time in the military camp he attended freshman year.

Sebastian raked through the file, mildly impressed with Nick's effort and organizational skills.

"I don't see anything out of order. He's an overachiever with a narcissistic disorder," Sebastian observed.

”Look at this shit right here.” Nick reached his hand to skim through the pages, skipping to the end.

Sebastian flipped the file sideways to get a better look at the faces on the copy of a Harvard yearbook page, class of 1987. On the top, a sallow photograph was clipped onto it. Two young men in Harvard regalia stood next to each other, stiffly smiling, holding bow-tied diplomas.

Sebastian had to squint hard to make sure he saw correctly.

"Well, the taller one is definitely my father. Who's the guy hugging him around the shoulders?"

Nick's confidence twinkled like a night comet.

"That's Michael Clarington, Hunter's dad."

Sebastian furrowed his eyebrows, scrutinizing the picture.

"That's bullshit. I know all about my father's jerk squad from Harvard. He flaunts them like expensive jewelry every year at the anniversary parties at the mansion. I have never heard him so much as mention the name Clarington. Where did you even get this picture?”

Nick unclipped it, waving it around like substantial evidence of court processions.

"When I'd started browsing the internet, and Clarington and Harvard appeared in one correlation, I decided to raid my dad's old stuff from college. And wouldn't you know – I found this in our attic. My dad has tons of pictures like that from the commencement day.”

Sebastian slammed the file shut, handing it to Nick, who reluctantly took it back.

"Nick, your dad isn't a lawyer. He owns a pharmacy," Sebastian reminded Nick as if Nick had just woke up from a coma with severe amnesia.

"Yeah, and Michael Clarington is his supplier. As well as the Lima General Hospital's, where Christopher Anderson shines as the head eye surgeon.”

Sebastian finally started to show symptoms of genuine curiosity.

Nick plunged the file into his backpack, crouching down, lowering his voice to a minimum. ”Don't you think it's weird that a kid of a pharmaceutical giant attends Dalton on a scholarship? And keeps nosing around for info about you and Blaine?"

”What are you saying?” Sebastian asked.

”I don't know yet. Before we figure out what the hell's going on here, we need to keep the private info on the down-low. And if I were you, I'd give Blaine a heads up, too."

Sebastian felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He knew who it was before he even reached down to read it, but the tender feeling in his stomach had already vanished, replaced by the boiling acid instead.

The phone started ringing, not even half a minute later.

"Just … Don't forget that I'm here for you."

Nick left him alone with his thoughts, naturally suspecting Sebastian didn't want to answer the buzzing phone due to his presence.

Sebastian ignored the endearing text message in the notifications and pressed the green button instead.

”Father?”

”Sebastian, are you at school?”

”Yeah, where else would I be?” Sebastian asked sarcastically.

”Can you skip the Warbler practice today and come home? Your grandfather wants to talk to you.”

The text message from Blaine inviting him to hang out later stung even more now. Sebastian rubbed his forehead, feeling a rock of disappointment settle in his stomach.

”Is it an emergency? I have plans, and driving all the way to Columbus in the middle of a school week seems impractical. Besides, I thought you wanted me to stay away, you have this important case on your hands.”

”What plans? With whom?”

Sebastian dug his nails into the palm of his right hand. Old habits die hard.

His father was going to find out sooner or later. His little spies on the school board, and in the student body would snitch on him anyway.

”With Blaine Anderson.”

”Are you trying to put yourself on the next plane to Colorado again?”

Here we go.

"No, it's the opposite. I'm trying to - - -"

"I don't care. Come home."

The beeping sound of an interrupted phone call painfully reminded him where his place was. No matter how often it happened, how much he wanted to get used to it, it hurt every single time - the freedom of choice being taken away from him.

S.S.: I'm really sorry, family emergency. Raincheck for tomorrow?

She was still as graceful as ever. Artie had been mustering up the courage to ask her out for so long, the dream became more appealing than reality. There she stood, tiny and beautiful, surrounded by the flock of her cheerleading court.

The wish upon a star wouldn't come true unless he'd pull the star down by its star tail, and reshape reality to make it worth living again.

The halls of McKinley vacated pretty quickly after the last bell. Only afternoon club meetings took place, and of course, the cheerleading practice at five. Artie had an entire hour to be there for himself because he had always been there for his friends.

He had to give it to Blaine, he gave pretty damn advice. At Lima Bean yesterday, he very well expected Blaine to go on a rampant about his problems - he encouraged it to help ease out a friend's pain.

But instead, Blaine inconspicuously shifted the convo's flow to soothe Artie's growing pains and offered a suggestion in regards to getting Kitty's attention. They would have come up with the entire script for Artie to ask her out on a date, had Blaine not fled the café like a rattled squirrel the minute Sebastian Smythe entered the premises.

He made a mental note to check up on what's up with that later in glee.

Right now, it was time to execute step one of his master plan. And he probably would have if Kitty hadn't caught wind of his staring first, and hadn't walked over to him and his frightened expression.

"Can I help you, Hobble-Wobble?" she asked, gripping her textbooks so tightly, Artie expected her to beat him up with it over the head any minute.

”Ehm, th-the, Beatles.”

”The what now?” she asked, her high-pitched voice oozing with alpha female energy.

"The Beatles," he managed to say without a stutter. "I've heard you like the Beatles."

”The four British uggos with a pot cut hairdo from the 1940s?”

”Ehm … Yeah, those,” Artie confirmed, losing the last shred of faith he had in himself.

But Kitty was full of surprises. ”So what about them?” she asked, much more friendly this time.

”I was gonna sing 'You've got to hide your love away' in the glee club today. Would you like to come and maybe … join me? I heard you sing the Spice Girls at the cheerleading practice the other day, you… You have a good voice.”

The tension built up to a halt, Artie held his breath while awaiting her answer, yet felt relieved and strangely proud of himself regardless of the outcome.

”You want me to join your squadron club of sexual diversity?”

Artie sensed it was a trick question. "No, no! I mean, yes, if you want to. I just thought that maybe you'd wanna come and see what we do. You love performing, you're so vibrant out there in the field with the Cheerios …"

Kitty lowered her chin, to suggest to Artie to stop rambling, partly to get a better look at his face dripping with panic sweat.

”Fine. Why not. Lead the way, Wheelies.”

"It's Artie, actually," he corrected her coyly.

”Whatever.”

Artie led the way into the choir room like she instructed, still in pure disbelief that he pulled this off. Kitty barged in like a hurricane, immediately pulling all attention to herself. Even Brittany looked perplexed, seeing her there.

Artie publicly introduced her, explaining her role as the observer for today.

Kitty scanned the room with her cat eyes, barely listening to Artie's vivacious ode to her persona, looking for one man in particular.

When she found the most unique shade of gold and green she had ever seen, she complacently smiled. She found a spare seat next to the transsexual girl who was suspiciously measuring her up and down.

"Well, now that we're all here, we have an announcement to make."

Kitty watched the blonde guy she knew as Hobo McBieber walk past her chair with his raven-haired best friend by his side.

They both looked stoked as hell to make some kind of a ground-breaking announcement. The rest of the glee club didn't seem moved by this, as though it was a common occurrence.

"Blaine and I are running for student body president and vice-president. We'd like to launch our campaign by this official notice, and expect you all to vote for us."

A loud cheer commenced among the spectators. They were all clapping and howling the words of support, while Kitty was inwardly congratulating herself.

She pulled out her phone from a hidden pocket she had sewn on her cheerleading skirt, and typed in a new message.

K.W: I'm in. The resident golden boy is running for student body president. Want me to crush his dreams, or gently let him down?

The response came back within one minute.

Palpatine: Crush him.

Kitty managed to hold in a satisfying purr.

K.W: I want something in return.

Palpatine: Name it.

K.W.: The guy who was with you the other day. Black hair, innocent smile.

Palpatine: Skylar Wesley? He's too innocent for you, Katherine. I'm grooming him. Let it go.

K.W.: Fine. You're welcome to come to McKinley and bully Blaine Anderson into transferring yourself, Stooge.”

Palpatine: Fine. I'll deliver. But you first. Make him hurt, make it big.

K.W: The smallest deeds do the greatest damage.

Indeed, they do.

The quietude of the house he used to spend so little time in was confusing for Christopher. He was hardly at the end of a flourishing career, being in his fifties. He missed the constant spasmodic rushes at the hospital, and the rewarding feeling he was imbued with anytime he could serve his patients.

Being a doctor was as much part of his identity as being a father or a husband.

But accommodating to the less hectic life of making herbal teas in the evening hours while Madelaine was working late and Blaine was doing God knows what posed an uneasy challenge for him.

He didn't know how much time he had left, therefore, protesting doctors' orders, stalking his younger son or trammeling his wife's work hours didn't present itself as an option anymore.

It was yet another night of drinking some disgusting herbal tea Madelaine had ordered him to drink, being all by his lonesome when the doorbell sonorously rang out through the house, saving him from swallowing down the dry herbs.

He considered pretending not to be at home for a second. It was too late to entertain uninvited guests.

But the intruder was persistent, pressing the doorbell button once again.

”Damn it,” Christopher cursed under his breath, closing a new medical journal Doctor Lichter brought over earlier this morning.

He didn't bother to check who it was before his rapid movements flew the door open wide—a decision he immediately regretted.

”You gotta be kidding me," Christopher's face fell, his prominent neck vain throbbing.

"Nice to see you, too, Chris," the intruder replied, a hint of cheesy amusement suggesting he didn't share Christopher's annoyance.

"Maddie isn't here."

"That's good because I came to see you. Can I come in?"

Christopher crossed his arms defensively, even stopped himself from blinking just in case there was an attack coming from his “old friend.” He knew it would eventually if he let him in.

At a loss for words, jaw clenched and utterly shaken from the fact that Donovan Smythe had the nerve to show his face here, he watched him nonchalantly awaiting the answer instead of pushing past the threshold inside, like Christopher would expect.

Against his better judgment, he stepped aside to let Donovan's tall figure dressed in a thousand-dollar head-to-toe black suit enter.

"How domestic," Donovan commented upon seeing the beige fireplace surrounded by home-made wooden bookshelves, and family pictures of happy faces plastered on every flat surface of the living room.

"Don't get too comfortable. What do you want?" Christopher drew the first position in the offense.

”The hospital. I need you to sell it back to me,” Donovan unfocused gaze shifted from the living room surroundings to Christopher's flabbergasted countenance.

A moment of thunderstruck awe was followed by Christopher's unfiltered laughter.

"You've said some hilarious shit in your day, but this one should be aiming straight for the gold medal at the 'things that will never happen Olympics'."

”I knew you'd have some reservations, but even you must recognize that you're no longer capable of owning or running such a vast establishment,” Donovan reasoned.

"I can't sell it back to you, I never bought it. It was a gift from your father," Christopher reminded sternly.

”You mean bribe from the Wicked Warlock of the Midwest to keep Maddie out of my life for good,” Donovan corrected.

Christopher pinched his lips, making himself responding instead of reacting.

“It's been forty years, Donovan. You need to get over it. But props to you for lasting so long. I expected you to come making demands on my wife three years ago when you kicked Cécile to the curb like a redundant accessory. I assume that's the real reason behind your visit, dressed in a bullshit story about the hospital. How long has it been since you've seen your daughter? Don't you have more important things to do than stalking me?"

Donovan gallantly maneuvered into a counter-attack, the one Christopher expected the second he'd appeared.

"You know that all hell will break loose once I leak to the press that the Lima General medical establishment intended for public ownership has been privatized this whole time. By its very own star surgeon, who's been pretending to graciously serve while lining up his pockets with the tax payers' money."

"I don't owe a damn thing, you slimy bastard. All my papers are orderly. I live on a regular salary. All of the hospital's profits go to medical research, charity, and advanced technical supplies that are saving lives. So go ahead, make your move. I'll bury you before you bury me."

"You'll bury yourself even without my help," Donovan snapped, losing tranquility, "believe it or not, I'm actually trying to help here."

”By flexing your power and trying to take away my legacy?! My children's legacy?! You've always been a conceited, self-obsessed jerk, but I swear you've reached a new low, even for your standards.”

Donovan was rocking on his heels, shaking his head either in disbelief or disagreement. Christopher couldn't tell, so he pushed further.

“I suppose a subpoena from the State's Attorney office will be arriving in my mail soon? You're more than capable of fabricating a nonsense indictment, or even putting together a class action lawsuit to prosecute me, just to get what you want.”

Donovan waved his hand in the air, backing off. ”Look, like you said, it's been forty-forever years, and after all this time, this banter that we have is just old. I came to make a deal, not to give you another heart attack. I'll pay you twice its worth if you sell the hospital back to my family. Maddie doesn't even have to know you sold it to me."

Christopher's breathing became blustered. He was angry with himself for letting Donovan get under his skin again. The man was infuriating. No matter how long they stayed away from each other, anytime he'd come back and turn his life upside down in a lavish, abominable style that only a Smythe could manage to pull off, he would foolishly let him do so. Like biting his nails or day drinking, he couldn't cut out this poisonous habit of allowing the Smythes to manipulate him.

God knows he tried.

Donovan made his living in identifying lies just from people's mannerisms. He immediately smelled on Christopher that he had missed something crucial.

The symptoms were often almost undetectable, a smirk, a blink, a lip bite. In this case, a dodgy sideways look.

”She doesn't know you own it."

He put two and two together. It clicked like a lock with the right key. Christopher's muttering snort only confirmed his suspicion.

"Well, this is going even better than I anticipated,” Donovan admitted, tapping his large feet shod in black lacquered shoes like a happy penguin.

”I'd hate to resort to blackmail again, but with you, Chris, it's always been the most efficient persuasion device," Donovan smiled victoriously. "Your greatest weakness is the false pretense of honor you supposedly live by. And then, my magnifying looking glass is all it takes to uncover all your bullshit.”

"Do you seriously believe that Madelaine will leave our son and me just because I didn't tell her about the hospital?" Christopher asked incredulously.

”Oh, Chris. I seriously believe that your insecurities will ultimately eat you alive. Because you know you were her second choice. She settled for you after I couldn't give her the love she deserved. I've made my peace with it. I had obligations to my family you could never comprehend. Your father was a low-life degenerate gangster from Lima Heights, with a disgraceful lion tattoo marking his miserable existence forever and ever.”

Christopher's stare could kill, but the never-ending back and forth, the one argument over his background he could never win, would always leave him speechless. Ultimately vulnerable in the face of Donovan's pungent slander.

So Christopher let him have his moment of yet another verbal victory before Donovan started walking towards the exit.

He stopped in his tracks, halfway out the door. "One more thing."

Christopher turned around, clasping the fabric inside his pockets out of pure resentment.

"It has come to my attention that our children are spending their free time together. I'll deal with Sebastian. I suggest you do the same with Blaine."

"I'm not going to give my son a list of people he can or cannot spend his time with," Christopher said, "if he wants to hang out with Sebastian, I won't stop him."

Donovan's eyebrows curiously twitched. "So, you don't mind letting your son hang around the guy who almost blinded him?”

Christopher's mouth fell agape. "What?"

"You're not very well informed, are you? I should have known when you never showed up demanding justice."

"You're lying," Christopher accused him because it was the only argument he could muster at that moment.

"No, I'm not."

"Blaine refused to tell me who it was - he said it was an accident," Christopher reasoned.

"It was. That doesn't make it right. It just goes to show how profoundly toxic it gets when our families are around each other. Sebastian has been angry at the world his whole life, taking it out on others. Rich kid complex, if you will. I'm handling it."

"Get the hell out of my house," Christopher finally barked.

"Fine. Just know, whatever you think or don't think about me, I'd never let my troublemaker of a son hurt Blaine again. He's Maddie's son, too."

Christopher wished, just for a split second, he had taken to heart the one and only useful advice Donovan's abhorrent father gave him years ago.

Having everything is much harder than having nothing.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Cornelius Smythe despised, it was the less than ideal social setting.

Lima Heights reeked of destitution, gang violence, impoverished immigrants, and, to his liking, plenty of opportunities to recruit cheap labor for his dirty work.

He never actually had to handle the negotiations himself, Liam did that incredibly humiliating part of the process for him.

This time was different.

He had had his reservations about this boy from the beginning, but the unique circumstances of this situation required a unique approach. It's not as if he could pull any hobo out of the cave and expect him to seduce the Anderson boy.

But the hunch he had once again lived up to his impeccable instincts. The blonde moron fucked up hysterically.

The night of the Sadie Hawkins dance, right after he gave his grandson the air ticket to Paris and the instructions for his upcoming sojourn in the Colorado institute, he directed Liam to go pick up the idiot that Sebastian had accidentally walloped.

He called the Lima General Hospital and the deputy leader of the gang the second he found a quiet, dark corner in the majestic gardens of his mansion. The itch he couldn't scratch the entire week before executing the plan - now he knew why it had been there.

Blaine Anderson survived; no permanent damage had been done.

So when Cornelius walked into the beggared establishment at the outskirts of town that Elliot Ekker called “his trailer,” he already planned to commend  Sebastian for ruining the kid's façade sometime in the future.

Liam was there already, clinging the ice bag to Elliot's swelled, purple face.

"I thought you were dead," Cornelius' opening line glided in as gracefully as his long legs.

”You mean you hoped I was dead,” Elliott corrected him, mixing up the syllables due to protrusions in his jaw, “are you here to finish me off?”

Elliott slapped away Liam's helping hand like a petulant child, holding the ice to his right eye himself.

”I hope you realize the deal is off. You and your little group of Lima Heights thugs failed epically,” Cornelius spit out hatefully, “Blaine Anderson is alive.”

”You never told me to kill him!”

”I told you to take care of it! What did you think I was implying, you degenerate imbecile?!”

Elliott sunk deeper into the yellow crenate fabric of the couch. He wished he could throw the ice pack at the despicable face of that man, but he would have to do the same. He was acutely aware he was just as repulsive as Cornelius Smythe. The only difference between them was their motivation for hurting people.

While Elliott did it out of necessity to survive, Cornelius was getting a kick out of destroying people's lives. Otherwise, he had no idea why an old man would want revenge on a fifteen-year-old, harmless kid.

Cornelius picked up on the disgusting emotion displayed all over Elliott's features immediately. His son wore the same sentiment every day, ever since the freshman year of high school, when he met that poverty-stricken mongrel, Madelaine Ramos.

”Jesus Christ, you fell in love with him,” Cornelius concluded, total resignation palpable in his voice.

Elliott fought hard to hide the truth written in his eyes by tucking his battered chin into his neck.

”I wish I could say I'm surprised. That cursed family's charm spreads faster than chickenpox."

"I don't know why you hate them so much. They're good people. Blaine showed me more kindness in months than my own family did in years," Elliott explained. Partially, he was hoping that the deal would still be valid if he told why he had ordered the gang to rough Blaine up a bit instead of blindly beating him to death. Partially, it was his heart talking.

But Cornelius Smythe had no heart of his own to understand the narrative. 

”Well then, you're welcome to ask them to take you in – a ruffian nobody who spied on Anderson's business and almost killed his son. I'm sure they'll be thrilled to help you. Cause you're not getting a damn cent from me.”  

Elliott's poorly controlled impulses kicked in as he stood up abruptly, tearing apart a hem of his blood-stained white shirt. Cornelius didn't move an inch in the face of this aggression.

”I did exactly as you asked! I made friends with Blaine! I snitched on Anderson's hospital operations! You promised me freedom!"

"And you promised I'd be rid of the Andersons!" Cornelius took just a step closer, emerging himself in Elliott's personal space. Although only a few inches taller, the commanding presence, the tacit threat in his low baritone made Elliott cede in trepidation.

”You were supposed to make it look like a hate crime, you idiot! I told you to get your criminal friends band together to beat up the both of you, killing the Anderson boy in the process. Instead, you fled the scene like a coward. Now you've endangered me! My people told me that Blaine's callow brother brought him to the hospital. It's only a matter of time before the Andersons figure out it was a calculated attack."

”No one saw me. I took a train back to Columbus to see you; it was empty. It's not my fault  that I came across your insane grandson!” Elliott pointed at his damaged left eye, quickly reddening with blood.

A black shadow spread across Cornelius' face. “You should be thanking all your guardian angels for running into Sebastian instead of me,” he said menacingly, “and I should reward him for doing what I had intended to do when I saw you there. Even if it was coincidental.”

Cornelius pulled out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, wiping the droplets of hate sweat from his brows. He snapped his fingers at Liam, directing him towards the exit like an obedient dog.

At that moment, Elliott adopted desperation as his second nature.

"No, sir, please," he begged, grabbing Cornelius by the sleeve, "I can't go back to school, I can't go back to my father, just, please … I'll fix it. Tell me what to do, I'll do whatever you want!”

Cornelius ripped his arm out of the kid's grasp, smoothing the fabric in the process. "You'll be wise to make yourself disappear. And never come back," he advised coldly.

 Liam opened the door for him to gracefully glide out, giving Elliott one last pitiful look, before he closed the door on him for good.   

The lavish residences on East Broad Street rendered familiarity. Despite his family owning several buildings downtown, Sebastian couldn't place the odor of it and adopt it as his own if someone held a gun to his head. The historic district in Columbus's city earned its spot on the list of the National Register, but all he saw was devastating wealth.

The kind that ruined more than built.

“What are we doing here?”

Getting lost in the past is an equivalent of being lost in limbo. Once too deep, you can never get out of it.

It was a good thing there was an anchor to pull him out.

An extremely good-looking, and maybe too good for his own good kind of anchor.

Sebastian didn't answer the question, instead walked Blaine inside a side door made entirely of polished glass where a lady in a three thousand dollar Channel sensible pantsuit awaited them.

Sebastian's swingy mood from an unpleasant conversation with his grandfather earlier that week subsided as a familiar face with kind brown eyes, and a welcoming open arms greeted him.

“Sebastién, mon cher garcon!” she yelled out a little too enthusiastically when he bent slightly to return the embrace. The pointy edges of her Mikado haircut tickled him on the neck.

“Aunt Melodié,” Sebastian greeted back, significantly less excited, but still pleased to see the younger, considerably more neurotic version of his mother.

“How good to see you – this is the friend you were speaking off the other day?” Her stony French accent stood out beautifully as Melodié turned her round face lighted up with optimism towards a perplexed Blaine standing awkwardly merely two steps away from them on the side. 

“Melodié, meet Blaine. Blaine, this is my aunt Melodié.”

“Pleasure," she said, extending her hand confidently. Blaine looked over briefly to check whether Sebastian's confidence had crumbled even slightly upon hearing Melodié's blatant confession about their conversations involving him. Still, Sebastian stood firmly with his shoulders impassively pushed back, and his hands in the back pockets of his black jeans. 

"Pleasure's all mine," Blaine replied politely, returning a sheepish smile.

“Follow me, please,” Melodié said, immediately gaining a heads up despite her high heels and a relatively small width span of a single step.

“Now would be a good time to enlighten me,” Blaine suggested as he looked around in awe.

The Columbus Museum of Art.

A remarkable exterior of a post-modern turquoise brick mismatched with a historic portion of the building matched the contemporary interior mixed with art-deco high ceilings, dark wooden floors, and white paper lanterns hanging from the wide staircase they were currently climbing.

“Well, it's Saturday, we live in Ohio, and this is by far the most interesting place we could find ourselves on a Saturday in Ohio," Sebastian said. The joke's nature was light-hearted, but judging by the way Sebastian helplessly looked around, scanning other visitors with a sort of lofty levity, the underlying meaning of the sentiment uncovered itself rather quickly.

Blaine partially knew what he had signed up for when agreeing to rekindle the friendship with Sebastian. It would be stupid to act surprised upon seeing this behavior pattern now.

However, Sebastian's mighty effort put into acting nicely, the rich kid complex couldn't be beaten out of his bloodstream.

He couldn't be exactly blamed for it either. Not entirely.

And this is kind of sweet of him.

"You wanted to make up for ditching me the other day by inviting me to an exhibition?" Blaine asked. The staircase seemed to maunder forever. If it weren't for his athletic proclivities, his knees would have probably given up by now.

"It's not just any exhibition," Sebastian replied, his mind not entirely present. He pulled a short sleeve of his black V-neck a bit further down. He always fidgeted with his clothes when he got nervous.

"It's not an exhibition per se either," Melodié chimed in when she overheard the exchange happening a few steps behind her.

Even when she was ascending upfront, Sebastian's tall figure managed to at least match her height. Blaine found himself staring at Sebastian's profile while measuring him up and down as inconspicuously as

possible.

"It's a surprise," Sebastian said, closing the topic. He led the way while Blaine was admiring what looked to be a hall of portraits. Lined with Renaissance paintings displaying the variety of crowds and sea of faces typical for pieces of that era, the colors illuminated the subtle white and beige undertones of the hall.

“Almost there,” Melodié announced joyfully when she pulled out a small pointy key from her breast pocket.

She showed it off, dangling it in front of the two boys before making a final left turn to the off-site corridor marked as the East wing.

At the end of the portrait, the hall was a large, heavy door protected by a silver chain hanging from two metal columns with the same shimmering quality.

“Is this the part where you kill me and stack my body inside that secluded den?” Blaine asked with a faux-seriousness, nodding in the direction of the room.

“This is the part where I dazzle you,” Sebastian said, motioning forward with his hand for Blaine to go first.

Melodié set the columns aside and unlocked the mysterious room. She then stepped aside as per Sebastian's instructions, and Blaine let himself in. 

Melodié and Sebastian followed closely behind him, exchanging all-knowing looks.

Once inside, Blaine didn't know where to look first. The gigantic hall stretching in front of him looked like a page ripped out of a Rolling Stone magazine.

The black vintage couch lined with the northern side of the wall under two-part French windows looking into the museum's inner garden.

The majestic chandelier made of gas candles framed with crystal ornaments illuminated the black and white tiles so ridiculously polished. Blaine could see his reflection in them as he carefully tiptoed deeper inside the room.

The elegance of several framed black and white photographs of Paris on the wall organized in the least methodical way possible added to the overall art-deco atmosphere, but the most eye-drawing, devastatingly beautiful was the centerpiece.

An onyx piano with an open wing exquisitely harmonizing with the dark tones around it.

Blaine turned to Sebastian, mouth agape. “A music room?”

Sebastian, wearing his usual smirk served both as armor and in this case, an indication of how impressed with himself he was, never tore his eyes away from an awe-struck Blaine.

“I'll leave you to it," Melodié said, stuffing Sebastian's open palm with the key, closing the door behind her with the last self-pleasing look at her nephew.

Sebastian observed Blaine in his element, completely overtaken by the beauty of the Steinway's masterpiece.

He watched him plop down on the puffed-up leather bench, and caress the keys with the utmost caution as if he was afraid he'd hurt them.

"Do you remember where this piano comes from?" Sebastian asked when he joined Blaine's side, cradling the key from the room in his hands like porcelain.

“Should I?” Blaine asked, not tearing his sight away from the ivory symphony of black and white.

“No, actually, I had to be reminded, too,” Sebastian said, his pompousness dialed down, and Blaine immediately noticed.

Sebastian radiated brazenness, and when doubt or self-consciousness penetrated that wall, slipped through the cracks and revealed vulnerability, (although Blaine saw this happen only once genuinely when Sebastian expressed remorse for treating everything like a big joke last year) it was equivalent only to the sun being shadowed by the eclipse.

People noticed.

And although a quite intriguing spectacle, it could hurt you if you looked directly into the source of that spectacle.

Without any encouragement other than a curious side look from Blaine, Sebastian continued.

“My grandfather told me you played this piano when you and your parents came over for my parents' anniversary fifteen years ago."

Blaine looked positively shocked in the best possible way. His entire face lit up with excitement, and Sebastian wondered if he ever saw someone smile with so much innocence.

When he smiles, it's usually in a conniving way to sweet-talk someone into joining his side.

“And you were there, too?”

Sebastian involuntarily scooped closer to Blaine's side. "Yeah, I was, turns out while you were impersonating Mozart, I was at your side, just like now, trying to climb on top of the piano so I could swing from it like Indiana Jones.”

Blaine laughed. “That was the performer in you.”

"I think I'd rather stick to cardiology," Sebastian admitted.

“You wanna be a doctor?” Blaine asked, and the emphasis on the word doctor low-key offended Sebastian, who couldn't hide that the damage had been done.

“Does that baffle you?”

"No, no, of course not," Blaine rumbled on, "I guess I always expected you to become ... Well, a performer. I think we've already established you've got semantics for drama."

Blaine tried to salvage it, and Sebastian's appeased expression suggested he let it go, although internally, he probably didn't.

The performer in him had also bestowed an enormous, sensitive ego apart from 'the semantics for drama.'

“I volunteer in Lima General Hospital on the weekends,” Sebastian said.

“My dad works there,” Blaine said.

"I know, but I don't see him at all, actually. I usually help out at the children's ward."

Blaine tried his best to look impressed. Deep down, he indeed was, but learning about Sebastian's charitable ways was like learning that Leonardo DiCaprio was an ardent environmentalist.

It's undoubtedly impressive and commendable, and it kind of makes sense, but you totally didn't see it coming. Plus, it takes a while to get used to the notion. 

“You don't believe me," Sebastian assumed.

"No … I mean, yes, I do, I believe you, it's just … unexpected. You caught me off guard. More than once today," Blaine said, keeping his head high. He read somewhere in the Psychology magazine that that's what communicates confidence to people.

“I became dedicated to medicine not too long ago, but long enough to recognize that swinging around in a blazer to a Katy Perry bop is not exactly meaningful.”

Now Blaine looked offended.

"Not that there's anything wrong with swinging in the background," Sebastian added, but the sincerity in his voice was gone.

“I'm sure not even the new captain would dare to put Sebastian Smythe in the background," Blaine said, desperately trying to sound light-hearted and avoid Sebastian's gazing at the same time.

“I wasn't talking about me.” 

Blaine looked at him, all the playful banter had been sucked out of the atmosphere, only the deafening silence around and Sebastian's virescent orbs holding him in place.

"I'm not in the background."

"Aren't you?" Sebastian pushed further, not batting an eyelash. "I don't see you performing at the town events anymore. Columbus used to invite you to perform at every town fair, every large assembly. But I guess you're just busy with all the solos you're getting in glee." It didn't sound snarky, it sounded cavalier. And that was his biggest oratory talent. Saying things that could shatter someone into pieces with such little care as if he was reading the main course off of a restaurant menu. 

Blaine was about to defend himself, probably lie about the fact that he's at the front lines in glee just to maintain his dignity, but Sebastian's phone interrupted them.

He immediately distanced himself, both physically and emotionally. He stood up, read the text message with furrowed brows, and stuck the phone back into his jeans' back pocket.

“Melodié wants something. I'll be right back. You should test out the instrument in the meantime," he said, rushing out of the room. 

He closed the door a little too violently. He ran to the main hall where the intersection between the historic building and the bridge to the glass portrait gallery was.

There stood a guy with his hair slicked back, styled completely different than usual, dressed in fitted black jeans similar to those Sebastian was wearing and a navy blue sweater with large blue buttons at the neck that served more like a fashion accessory than anything else.

“Having fun?” he asked. Maybe he changed his hairstyle, but the tart never left the building.

“Are you serious?” Sebastian whisper-shouted. “Are you seriously such a neurotic psycho that you followed me here?”

"Calm down, I'm not here for you. I just learned that you might be here, sitting in a tree with our favorite golden boy, so I thought I'd say hi," Hunter said, smiling like a maniac.

“Learned from who?” Sebastian asked.

"Well, don't be so nosy. It's not becoming on you, Seb,” Hunter said mockingly, brushing the invisible dirt off Sebastian's shoulder. Sebastian smacked his hand away so hard a pair of old ladies passing them by gave him a disapproving look before moving on.

“Go away,” Sebastian said.

"I will, once you give me any proof, you're actually doing your job, and not just fucking around."

Sebastian bit down hard, his teeth grinding against each other. "I don't know what you're talking about, I didn't bring my Villain 101 guide with me today, to translate every insane word that comes out of your enormous mouth.”

“If you did your homework, Smythe, you'd know that the New Directions still haven't recruited any new members. All their decent singers graduated, and Blaine is their last salvage. We will take away that last shred of hope from them. Given that you'll stop the Sound of Music-themed date and get to work."

Sebastian's veins started throbbing in his neck.

“I am working on it, but it's not that easy. I can't just vomit information on him and ask him to transfer, he's got attachments to McKinley. And you're certainly not helping me with all the sniffing around and hazing me like a little child."

Hunter casually shrugged. “I could always kick you off the Warblers.”

“And I could always quit without batting an eye.”

Hunter laughed out loud, the echo of it staining the purity of the halls. Sebastian took personal offense at this buffoon, making fun of him in the place he used to grow up.

“That's hilarious, I almost believed you. As if your father would ever let you quit the most prominent club at Dalton on a whim, or better yet, you pass on an opportunity to get back at those McKinley morons after they almost ratted you out to the police and ruined your life. They certainly ruined your reputation, that's why I'm the captain, and you're merely the help.”

Sebastian didn't have a comeback. Both of those statements were true.

“Get to work, Sebastian,” Hunter said, going from an insane clown to a serial killer in less than a second. “Sectionals are in November. You have until October to get him on board. Otherwise, you're off the team. And you can join your boyfriend and his squadron of losers. We'll see how your father likes that."

Sebastian wanted to remark that Blaine wasn't his boyfriend, but that seemed like a weak comeback and a useless thing to point out.

It would also only underline another one of his glorious failures connected with McKinley.

No. Blaine wasn't his boyfriend, because Hummel beat him to it. And now, none of that mattered anyway.

Hunter turned on a heel, keeping his arms behind his back like a professor who just refused to give his student a corrective exam.

“What do you know about my father anyway, Hunter?”

Hunter reversed his body as if he was an automated car, and scolded Sebastian with a stern look. "Excuse me?"

“You talk about him a lot, just like you talk about me and my motivations all the time, yet I had never met you before you joined Dalton. Despite your father being photographed with him on their Harvard commencement day. I wonder what the hell your angle really is. Because it sure doesn't look like you'd be the type of guy to care so much about a silly high school competition."

Hunter started clapping slowly. Sebastian was both appalled and irritated at how this guy could turn his every advantage and morph into a joke.

“Look at you, being the smart little detective. A word of advice, Sherlock, next time you have a piece of information like that, maybe wait to reveal it in a way that would benefit you.”

Hunter got closer, taking his time to extenuate every step his ridiculous Marc Jacobs shoes were making.

"Yes, it's true, my father and your father used to be friends in college, but that ended when my dad realized what kind of a person Donovan Smythe truly was.”

Sebastian's eyebrows were practically unified as one after Sebastian's forehead wrinkled with more lines of confusion. Hunter broke the stare-off after sensing that he had messed up Sebastian's head enough to leave a lasting effect.

"But that has nothing to do with you and me. I'm not saying we will ever be chums, but we can be mutually useful to our goals."

“What exactly is your goal?” Sebastian asked, finally able to speak in coherent sentences.

Hunter visibly swallowed down a very bitter response and went with a diplomatic one.

“I want to win.”

Kitty Wilde didn't feel comfortable not wearing her Cheerio's uniform. Although she only recently joined the squad and McKinley, it grew on her like a second skin. It was her protective shield, the undisputed proof of popularity, and a social ladder, just like Hunter's blazer.

Only people who belonged understood.

"You're quiet today."

She lifted her head to meet Skylar and his ever-optimistic face.

"What does that mean, that usually, I'm a loud bother?" she asked aggressively, but it came off as a tease.

“No, you're lovely," he said, the kindness almost palpable. Kitty thought back on what her brother had warned her about. That he's too good for her.

She didn't want to rebut Skylar's comment and come off as self-conscious, but she didn't want to flat out lie and assure him in his clearly false beliefs. So she switched a topic entirely.

I am anything but lovely.

"I'm admiring the view," she said, pointing at the Cuban Forever exhibition currently happening around them.

She wasn't overly fond of the arts and crafts aspect of this date. Still, since Skylar was prompted to go see the new exhibition and was willing to pay for the transportation and the food afterward, she could definitely suffer through this afternoon dose of boring.

Especially after the ecstasy injection of happy from the glee-clubbers. If she could throw up at command, she would have definitely done that on Tuesday when Sam sang George Michael in short shorts in full glory.

Besides, with the coyness Skylar displayed so far, he would have never gathered enough courage to ask her out like that, which meant that Hunter made good on his promise to deliver her newest boy-toy.

This also meant that he put this art exhibition in the Columbus Museum of Art idea in his head.

She checked her phone to see if her brother had any new commands for her, but

the screen showed no new messages.

“So, how's your glee club treating you?" Kitty asked, but she didn't really care.

She wanted this small talk interview part of the date to be over. Plus, having an insider give her an objective about what's going on at Dalton is never a bad thing. Hunter is always ten steps ahead. Gaining three steps on him are still better odds than being ten steps behind.

"Well, Hunter has taken on the role of a mentor, which I am grateful for, but sometimes he comes off as pushy and straight-up dictatorial."

Kitty smirked.

"Sebastian has become a right-hand man, and as far as the Dalton gossip go, it's surprising that he would ever take a back seat.”

Kitty circled around a weird red thing that was supposed to represent the communism aspect of Cuba, but either her brain was not advanced enough for such brilliance, or the statue was just pointy things stuffed together and covered in crepe paper. It was easier to focus on that than hearing that bastard's name.

”And what do you think about Sebastian?” she asked, keeping perfect composure.

Skylar circled right behind her, scanning the elegant curve of her neck. Although she wasn't wearing the cheerleading uniform, she could never get rid of the high pony.

"I don't know what to think, we haven't spoken enough times for me to have an opinion. He hates Hunter. That much is obvious."

Go figure.

“You know him? Hunter?” Skylar slewed around to look at her properly.

She shook her head. "We've run into each other a couple times. Lima is a small town.”

“With small people,” Skylar said. It was the first time that he had spoken negatively about something.

"You're not from Ohio?" Kitty asked.

"No, I'm from New York. My mom still lives there.”

Kitty snarled. "From New York to Ohio? Well, that is a shitty turn of events."

Skylar was grinning from ear to ear, and Kitty thought that he must be the most unfazed person she had ever met. Usually, people would roll their eyes or tell her off for such an insensitive comment, but he didn't take it to heart.

The affection that started to grow in her for such behavior annoyed her tremendously.

“What about you? Are you from Ohio or someplace shitty?”

“Something in between. I moved here from Colorado.”

"With your whole family?" Skylar asked, and the genuine interest left her confused. It wasn't small talk, he actually cared. Every bit of his sympathetic sea, blue eyes suggested so. And Kitty was an excellent judge of character.

“No, just with my mom. My brother lives with our father.”

“Oh,” Skylar said, not entirely sure whether to express sympathy or congratulations. Kitty was a mystery, and she only let her true feelings known when she was angry.

Anger was the one thing that ticked.

“So you have just this one brother, and you don't even live with him? That must be tough, being separated from your family.”

It was a casual question, a book definition of a polite question. He couldn't have known, but the uncomfortable shift in her posture and the way her green orbs went dark suggested he hit a nerve.

"I had a sister, but she died. My brother's twin."

Skylar opened his mouth to say something, but she shushed him with a firm hand gesture.

"No need to express fake remorse, you didn't know her."

"No, but I can still express remorse," he argued, "and I am really sorry. I didn't know."

He tried his best to get her to look him in the eye, but she fervently dodged him and kept examining everything around them even when she clearly had no interest in it.

“Her name was Lena. She was fifteen and very troubled.”

Skylar's eyelids dropped, he didn't want to say the wrong thing. Usually, he was very good at pep talks, but he sensed that his usual mojo wouldn't work on Kitty.

So he let a comfortable silence fill out space for now.

Kitty moved on from the sculpture section of the exhibition towards the paintings brimming with color a mile ago. She passed the Brazilian designs and navigated in the labyrinth towards the intersection that separated modern from vintage.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw her brother and Sebastian talk merely several steps in front of her.

Hunter was wearing a low heel, so he towered slightly over Sebastian. Their biceps were flexing with rage as he listened to whatever lecture Hunter was giving him.

She immediately began devising an escape plan.

That little fucker has been following me.

She made a mental note to break into his dorm and leave a poisonous snake in his underwear drawer later.

She looked over her shoulder to see Skylar engulfed in a Brazilian painting, a depiction of Archangel Michael shaped like a warrior with two swords in his hand.

She'll deal with Hunter and his stalking later. For now, this would be too much of a coincidence for all of them to meet like this again without Sebastian not catching a wind that something was wrong.

They worked too hard and fought too much to be stupidly exposed because Hunter was an overbearing pain in the ass.

So she glanced at Sebastian once more from behind a wall that she was crunching at and returned to Skylar with the pure intention of getting the hell away from that stupid museum.

Sebastian found Blaine sitting in the same position he was when he had left, playing what he recognized as Chopin.

A convoluted series of tones that posed one singular grim melody.

“Bit depressing if you ask me,” Sebastian interrupted. Blaine ceased his fingers' continuous movement on the keyboard, being both rejuvenated by playing and sad that it had to end.

"I was doing my best to match your melancholy," he replied. When he stood up to see whether Sebastian had cooled off in the meantime, he couldn't quite tell.

Sebastian had never been an open book, and Blaine enjoyed the aspect of unpredictability about him. But sometimes the unpredictability dangerously trotted into the territory of cruelty.

And that wasn't as much fun.

“I'm not melancholic," Sebastian said.

"No, you're just being yourself." Blaine said. He couldn't help himself but sound miserable. And disappointed. "I should go."

Sebastian grabbed him by the elbow when he tried to unsuccessfully get to the door.

"Blaine, you don't have to go."

“I do,” Blaine said, wriggling out of Sebastian grasp.

"I'm sorry if I pushed too hard earlier. I just wanted to do this one nice thing for you and - - -“

"Yeah, good point you have right there – What exactly are you doing? Because these grand gestures are nice, but I'm confused as to where you're going with it. Especially when you spin it just so you could make a point about me playing the second violin at McKinley. I thought we were done having this conversation."

Sebastian took a step back to allow darkness to retrieve from his vision. He heard people say they could see red when they were angry, but Sebastian was always mad and never saw red. Instead, his corneas would turn dark, and all the vision faded into a giant ball of nothing blackened with rage and raw impulse.

He remembered why he never visited this place anymore, why he rarely visited Melodié, and why he was so angry.

Blaine awaited an explanation, but Sebastian couldn't give him a satisfactory one, so he went with the plausible one.

"This is my mother's music room," he said, voice much calmer. "She designed it just for herself to come and think after a long day of curating and negotiating so she would never lose touch with the artist inside her.”

Blaine stared at the photographs taken probably with Polaroid, enlarged versions of all the major monuments in Paris.

“I used to spend a ridiculous amount of time here. While she was sitting on that couch and sketching, pencil dragging across the hard paper in such a brilliant, calming way, it could put violent dogs to sleep."

Sebastian span slowly around his own axis. “She had this piano brought in here from our house, even though she never played a note in her life. She loved to be surrounded by beauty, and this piano was a beautiful gift from an ugly man.”

Sebastian could burn holes in Blaine if he looked with any more probingly.

"And now she's in Paris with my little sister, and left all the beauty and the ugliness behind."

"You're not ugly," Blaine said, prompting his feet to move closer. The space between them didn't feel right to him. He let a dramatic pause linger for effect before he spoke out again. "You're just terrible when it comes to people skills."

Sebastian didn't move an inch, although a minuscule part of him that was still decent whispered that he should have.

"I've heard stories about your father, but I don't think he's as bad as everyone says."

Sebastian made out a choked laugh. "You haven't seen anything yet."

“Maybe you could show me.”

"What?" Sebastian, unbeknownst to Blaine, was bushwhacked the second time in a short time, and he didn't like that.

"I do want to give this bizarre friendship a shot, but I can't do that if there are still past demons lingering between us. I could meet your father, and then you can come and meet mine, and we talk it out. Honesty is the best policy," Blaine said, adding a vibrant smile to support his statement.

“Maybe you can do something better for me,” Sebastian unintentionally lowered his voice. It always garnered a tasteful baritone essence anytime he got an exciting idea.

"I'm having trouble adjusting to the new reality as a disgraced former Warbler captain. Maybe you could land a hand."

Blaine frowned. “With the Warblers? What could I possibly do to help you?”

“You can come with me to Dalton on Monday and demonstrate that there is no blood between us. That way, I can regain my position, or at least gain an advantage."

Blaine's confusion had only grown. "Advantage over whom?"

“Over Hunter fucking Clarington.”

Chapter Text

It´s not as if Sebastian had never been punished before. He knew punishment long before he knew love, and his family had always attributed it to a gene they could never rewrite no matter how much grooming they put into shaping an heir to the Smythe dynasty. 

The whole notion of him inheriting anything seemed worthless and downright stupid to him when he was little. But then he tasted what power and money could buy, how much better his life was compared to his peers, and those were still kids who had more than the most. 

His mother didn´t come into the Smythe family with as much influence and wealth backing her up, and her greatest flaw was that she was essentially a foreigner, but even that undesired trait had been subverted by the genius of Cornelius Smythe. Sebastian could never tell why, but his grandfather held terrible disdain towards his father, and he saw an incredible opportunity, in an exotic, untamed, Parisian artist Cécile to promptly fix everything that was wrong with Donovan. Her family was a flock of influential art patrons, she studied at Sorbonne, and the fact that she could occupy Donovan´s mind, to keep him interested and help him stay on task when it came to the Smythe empire, only added more points to the final countdown. 

Sebastian never got along with his father. They were too different, Sebastian always thought his father wasn´t even born in the same solar system as he was, and he must have been dropped from a different galaxy onto Earth by an accident. Donovan Smythe was little too of everything wrapped in a whole lot of nothing. 

Cécile on the other hand was passionate, kind, and could brighten up any room she walked into just by stretching her beautiful heart-shaped lips into an impossible grin. And she was devoted to Donovan, one way or another. 

So there he was, stuck between two parents who both pummeled two entirely different sets of values into him, (not mentioning the brutal way his grandfather was grooming him to become ruthless) and it caused such chaos in his mind, he became one big chaos. He didn´t know who to obey, so obeyed no one. He didn´t know how to act, so he acted unpredictably, and let his instincts drive him. 

Then, freshman year of high school, it all went to shit. 

His father could no longer pretend he loved Cécile, and kicked her to the curb, leaving her no choice but to crawl back to Paris like a disgraced ex-wife. His little sister Claudia fell ill, developing Arrhythmias, and because of this heart disease, she could no longer function as a normal child. And when Sebastian tried to flee with his mother, he got caught and punished, sent to this prison-like establishment that his grandfather liked to call a “correctional facility”, officially known as Colorado Institute for Troubled Youth. 

“Fucking wonderful,” Sebastian sighed, looking around the bedroom the authorities had assigned to him. 

So no special treatment for the Smythe heir, then. Just a good ole depressing juvie cell. 

But the most unbearable part was the group therapy session, or as Sebastian called it, the whining gathering. 

What a waste of time that was. 

Everyone seemed to be into it, pouring their hearts out sitting in a circle like freaks who escaped the circus only to be put into a madhouse. 

But there was one person who stood out to him. A blue-eyed girl with a shy smile reminded him of Claudia. She rarely said anything, just like Sebastian, as if she knew she was too sane to be anywhere near these troubled kids. 

One afternoon, dressed in a grey jumpsuit and a matching sweatpants like a prisoner that he was, he decided to follow her into the canteen. She was skulking around, scratching one specific spot on her forehead over and over again.

Out of curiosity, he approached her when she was just awkwardly standing by the water fountain. 

“You all right?” 

She turned around, her blonde hair swinging around her head like a thousand singing whistles. 

“I know who you are,” she said, pointing her finger at him, then immediately going back to scratching her forehead.

“Then we´re already playing an unfair game because I don´t know who you are,” Sebastian said cautiously. He had no idea why he felt compelled to talk to her but once he opened his mouth, something told him to proceed carefully. Suddenly, it didn´t seem like she was so untroubled after all. 

There was such profound sadness in her eyes, one that Sebastian knew all too well by looking into the mirror every day. Perhaps it was the inner knowing he would soon end up like her, confused and unable to properly scratch an itch if he didn´t pull himself together soon. 

“I´m Lena,” she replied confidently. “But you must not tell anyone. They´re watching me. Always. My father, my brother. My sister.”

Oh, so that´s what it was. Paranoia. 

“I´m sure they mean well,” Sebastian said lamely. The longer he stayed near her, the longer he wanted to hear her talk.

“My father … he´s an evil man. And you, Sebastian Smythe, you … your family …” 

Sebastian perked up. “How do you know my family? Who are you?” 

“I told you. I´m Lena.” 

Hunter was getting bored of pretending he was on Smythe´s side. This whole ordeal was taking longer than he´d like it to, and yet, his younger sister insisted he was proceeding too fast. How on Earth was he supposed to finish what his father sent him to do here if Katherine constantly sabotaged his meticulous plans? 

He entered the largest study in the building, empty and quiet like a calm before a storm that was the Warbler practice sessions.

“Too preoccupied with flossing your disproportionate teeth to answer my texts?” 

The initial shock paralyzed him first, but the survival instinct kicked in immediately after. 

He shut the door behind him with a precise loud thump and nearly ran towards Kitty who was smirking at him with her feet up on his desk, her raggedy white sneakers rumpling his sheet music. 

“Have you lost your mind? We can´t be seen together.” 

“Stop being so paranoid, no one knows we´re related, Hunter.” 

He circled the desk, dramatically spinning her to face him, her lazy feet knocking down everything in its wake. 

“And I´d like for it to stay that way.” 

She leaned into the massive leather chair as if it was custom-made for her needs. 

“I´m just returning the favor. You´re stalking me, I´m stalking you right back.” 

Her tonality switched from playful to menacing in a split of a second. One of the many talents she possessed. 

“What are you talking about?”

She sprung up like an ambitious vine, stretching to engulf and crush whatever was in her way. Even with the comical height difference between them, Hunter couldn´t make himself laugh.

“You were in the museum the other day. Admit it.”

“Okay, I admit it. But I wasn´t there for you, I had other engagements.” 

Kitty scanned him up and down as if she was looking for a clue whether he was lying or not, a nervous tick, a thumping of the foot. But Hunter was still as a statue. 

“You mean pushing Smythe to the brink until he inevitably figures out what´s up!” 

“Lower your damn voice!” Hunter grabbed his sister by the shoulders too harshly for her liking and sat her down on the chair again. That way, if anyone sees him through the French windows, they wouldn´t know who he was interacting with. 

“You´re being sloppy!” she whisper-shouted. “It´s really impressive how you´ve managed to build a network of singing spies in such a short period, and yet, you still bother to show your face at a scene of the crime.”

“Father wants the Smythes out of the way, I wouldn´t jeopardize that,” he said somewhat wearily. He wished for this interrogation to be over but he knew better than to just send Kitty away.

“I know that.” 

He turned to her, pacing the Persian carpeting decorating the front section of the study. “Do you realize that we can´t just wait for the old Smythe to croak and hope for the best? They´ve taken enough from us already, that wretched family.”

Kitty stood up, making her way to him, communicating as much comfort through her eyes as she was capable of mustering. 

“I loved her, too, you know?” 

He nodded. Not enough time had passed for the pain to go away, and even if there were millions of light-years between the past and the present, it would still not be enough for him to forget. 

“I know she was  your twin , but …” 

“I know, Kitty,” he said, a warning in his voice palpable. He never called her Kitty.

“I know that father needs the blackmail to stop, but we can´t prioritize money over our sister.” 

“I get the impression that your strategy is to drag this as slowly as possible just so you wouldn´t have to face the reality that Lena is dead. Lena. Is. Dead.” 

“And it was Sebastian who killed her, the same Sebastian you´re coddling for no reason!” 

Hunter laughed. “Sometimes, your childishness astounds me.” 

She pursed her lips, prepared to retort but Hunter wouldn´t give the platform. 

“Sebastian´s weakness is his pride. He hates to be told what to do, and the more you tell him not to do something, the less he can help doing it.” 

“Doing what?” 

Hunter clenched his teeth. “Let´s just say I don´t intend to send him back to a madhouse. After all, there are many different ways of killing someone. Look at us. Would you say you feel alive?" 

Just when the heavy realization of what Hunter was planning to do dawned on Kitty, a loud slur of laughter and talk coming from the hallways interrupted her trail of thought.

Her eyes widened but Hunter stayed calm and collected as ever, snatching her by the elbow and dragging her towards the desk, clumsily pushing her under it with a strong directive to stay put and stay silent.

Just when he dropped down on his knees to collect the things Kitty tipped over, the wing door flew open, revealing a flock of the Warblers clinging to Blaine Anderson´s side with wide smiles on their faces. 

And Sebastian was trailing just a few steps behind them in that arrogant fashion of his. 

“Hunter, look who came to visit!” Duval exclaimed, pushing Anderson to the forefront like a shy kid afraid to meet the new teacher. 

Hunter put on his best mask of friendliness and took his time to organize his papers before coming over to Blaine and offering his hand. 

“Of course, The Dalton Prince,” Hunter smiled, intentionally looking over at Sebastian who was leaning on the wall near the door, his blazer unbuttoned, clearly proud of himself for pulling this off. 

“No, please, just call me Blaine.”

“And humble too,” Hunter added. “I´m Hunter Clarington, Captain of the Warblers.” 

When Anderson shook his head, firmly yet so nonchalantly, like he had been training to be a real prince, shaking hands with the commoners, charming them with his regality and shining personality, Hunter could see why was everyone so obsessed. 

It wasn´t the Va-Va-Voom of the looks, perhaps not even the captivating velvet in his voice. 

There was light in him, a pure kindness emanating from every fiber of his being that just made everyone feel better the moment they encountered it. 

Hunter  almost  felt bad for what he was planning to do to this poor guy, whose only fault seemed to be hanging around the wrong people. And being the poor judge of character.

Almost.

“It´s a real pleasure to meet you, Blaine. Is this a social visit, or did you have something else in mind?” 

“I thought it would be a good idea for Blaine to join us for practice this afternoon, to get his mind off of things,” Sebastian chimed in, walking over to them as slowly as possible. 

What an ---

“An absolute nightmare coming alive – I haven´t sung in the Warbler style for so long, I´d only ruin your harmonies,” Blaine said, looking around apologetically. 

It took all of Hunter´s strength not to vomit from all the sweetness. 

“Well then, why don´t you take the lead?” 

He turned around just so he could mimic throwing up without actually throwing up and started digging through the sheet music on the desk until he found the right one.

At least Kitty was behaving herself.

“There you go.” 

Blaine looked it over with Sebastian watching him intently, every move of his fingers over the surface of the paper, every wrinkle that appeared in between his eyebrows. 

And Hunter knew he was getting close. So, so close.

“Dark Side?” 

Blaine lifted his head but his sight fell on Sebastian, not Hunter. They exchanged a lingering look, and Sebastian did that idiotic wink thing he does when he´s trying to be cute. 

“Everybody´s got one, as far as I´m concerned,” Hunter said, tucking his hands safely inside his pockets. 

“We have yet to discover Blaine´s,” Duval nudged Blaine in the ribs, unveiling a strange line of genius thinking covered in an innocent joke. Hunter scoffed internally.

“Why don´t we take the practice outside? It´s a beautiful day, the summer garden should be open. Nick?” 

“Oh, yeah, let´s go!” 

As if Smythe had a telepathic connection to Hunter´s mind, he stayed behind, watching the group awkwardly pulling Blaine outside.

“So, how did I do, Dad?”

Hunter smiled, hands behind his back. “As long as you know what you´re doing, Smythe.” 

Sebastian combed through his un-gelled hair with a hand, unfazed by the lack of Hunter´s gratitude. 

“A trip down the memory lane? Evoking nostalgia? Come on, you gotta give me this one.” 

Hunter scoffed. “I´ll give you what you want, once he´s transferred. Just don´t get too cocky. Or cockier, I should say.” 

Sebastian buttoned his blazer, puffing out his chest. 

“I have everything under control.” 

Hunter raised his eyebrows, a knowing look in his blazing eyes.

“Do you now?” 

Sebastian left the question hanging, unanswered, which only strengthened Hunter´s conviction that he could see right past through all of Sebastian's bullshit. He followed the rest of the Warblers outside, and when Hunter was sure there were no more ears to eavesdrop, he told Kitty to come out. 

She climbed from under the table, adjusted her Cheerio´s skirt, and stood next to her brother, complacent than ever before.

"How do you do it every day? Talking to him, acting ... normal. I ... I could never." 

"Now you know why we have to hurry, sis." 

Chapter Text

Barely a week had passed, and Sebastian already felt like crawling out of his skin. Isolated, shut away from his world, tucked away in Colorado Institute like damaged goods, he was already regretting the deal he had made with his grandfather.

He had nothing to do but think, a dangerous pastime for someone who was already a prisoner of his own mind. All this thinking only perpetuated the sadness inside of him.

Then there was this Lena person. Everyone here had their quirks, but Lena seemed troubled beyond salvation.

The only time he had any chance to talk to her was before a joined therapy session, and ever since their first meeting, she never explained her cryptic proclamations about his family.

He didn´t even know her last name. No one did. It´s like she was a ghost. If he wasn´t sure that other people saw her flakiness and paranoia parade itself around during therapy, he´d think she was a product of his wild imagination.

“Sebastian Smythe.”

A guy no older than sixteen plopped down opposite Sebastian, chewing on an apple. There was no swag to his fidgety demeanor, only pretend confidence of someone who needed to impress with the exterior since the interior was empty.

Sebastian could always tell.

“Seems like everyone around here knows who I am,” Sebastian commented, bored out of his mind. The cafeteria was brewing with loud chatter as he looked around.

He had his suspicions about Grandfather placing spies around him to report his every thought back to him.

“We don´t have therapy together, so I just thought I´d introduce myself.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes and scoffed. The guy looked like a raggedy street rat, clearly fresh off of fighting someone, judging by the bruises on his face.

"I´m not interested." Sebastian lifted himself up from the wooden bench and started walking in the direction of the summer garden. The blond nuisance followed after him.

“What if I told you I know a way out of here?”

“Not interested,” Sebastian repeated, losing his patience. He thought about pinning this little nobody to a wall but then, the security cameras were everywhere, he´d probably have to serve another month, pretending his anger could be cured.

And he had a life to get to. A sister and a mother.

“I was the one you beat up that night, Smythe. I´m the reason you´re stuck in here.”

Sebastian stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around, the narrow corridors of the facility suddenly closing around him.

The guy was smiling at him victoriously, the smirk visible despite the slightly receding purple eye.

"You´re not the reason I´m stuck in here. But by all means, go ahead and piss me off, I can give you another good beating if you´d like."

Sebastian stepped closer, hoping to be intimidating but the little fellow was beyond intimidation at that point.

"We both want to stick it to your Grandpa, Smythe. There is power in numbers."

“You have no idea what you´re talking about.”

”Maybe I do.”

The blondie stuck his hand out, and Sebastian even thought about shaking it for a split second.

“I´m Elliott Ekker. Nice to meet you.”

“I had that song in my head for months, sometimes I miss how the Warblers read my mind.”

Sebastian smiled despite himself, despite how he hated such sentimentalities. But today was a victory for him, and no one, not Clarington´s vague innuendoes, not even

Blaine´s poetic soliloquies were going to take that away from him.

He could feel that Blaine´s loyalty towards McKinley was slipping. One big shakedown was all it was going to take to finally close this disappointing chapter of his life.

Sometimes, in the privacy of his bedroom, he would question why he´d let a clown like Clarington boss him around, why he´d let anyone have so much power over him.

Then, one look at Blaine´s naïve eyes and it all came back to him. The guilt, the humiliation, it was all wrong.

He realized it wasn´t Clarington who held the whip, it was the anger in him that he never got rid of.

He was done losing all his battles to lesser men like his father, or Hummel.

“I´m glad you came with me today. It was fun,” Sebastian said.

The porch of Blaine´s house was lit up to an absurd level, and Sebastian wasn´t even sure why he noticed. It fit the mold perfectly – the ever-optimistic family of do-gooders – of course, they´d do everything in their power to keep the darkness out.

“So, is this the moment when you finally tell me what you really want from me?”

The question woke Sebastian from his half-bored stupor but he hoped that Blaine hadn´t noticed.

"I can conjure up something to satisfy you for the time being," Sebastian shrugged nonchalantly.

“For the time being?”

“Until you start believing that I don´t want anything from you.”

Sebastian thought he caught a flash of disappointment on Blaine´s face but it was far too quick, and Blaine´s emotions still far too guarded around him to tell for sure.

Although the mask was coming down, unveiling the truth slowly but surely.

"Today was really just for fun? No need to return favors?"

Sebastian breached the distance between them, keeping his hands in the pockets of his uniform, moving so spontaneously, so elegantly.

He couldn´t help but smile when he noticed that Blaine held his breath when he leaned in and immediately breathed out when he placed a kiss on his cheek, instead of his mouth.

"No need to return favors.”

He lingered for a moment right there, just for the dramatic effect, basking in the mastery of his game.

He would gloat about it later, to Clarington, mostly, perhaps to Nick as well, just to confirm that he could still captivate anyone and everyone he set his eyes on with one suave catchphrase or an innocent kiss.

He left Blaine standing on the porch, walking to his car parked away at a safe distance and not looking back for a second. He felt Blaine was staring after him, and that was all he needed to end his day on a good note.

When the familiar beeping sound announced the doors on his black Audi were unlocked, he gave one final nod to a distantly lit-up Anderson house before slipping into the driver´s seat.

Then, another sound went off right next to his ear. An ominous click.

He knew what it was even without looking over to the passenger´s seat.

“Hi, Seb.”

He should have put his hands up. Normal people would have but then again, he wasn´t exactly normal.

He turned his head to the side as much as the barrel of the gun would let him.

“Elliott?”

“How you been?” Ekker asked casually. He looked so much older, although it´s only been, what, three, four years?

The differences were prevalent and scary. Sebastian clocked a guy who went from a somewhat street delinquent to a lost cause.

“Why are you pointing a gun at me?”

Ekker laughed. “Because clever words are your forte, not mine, I´m more into action than empty threats.”

Sebastian nodded, swallowing a lump that formed in his throat.

“I thought they - - -“

“Put me to death? No, I got out. A benefactor saved me from a punishment for a crime I didn´t commit. You know, the one that you were responsible for?”

Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek until he could taste blood on his tongue.

“A benefactor?”

Ekker pressed the gun to Sebastian´s temporal bone. Sebastian took it as a sign to shut up.

“Drive, Sebastian.”

“Where?”

“Lima Heights.”

Sebastian´s mind was revving up with plans of escape, appealing words but the longer he spent in the car with the maniac, the more silent it got, the more convinced he was that this was it.

Elliott Ekker was never one for controlling his temper - that he had in common with Sebastian.

They passed the last couple of houses at the outskirts of town, entering the dodgy, poorly lit neighborhood of Lima Heights. The Anderson porch didn´t look so ridiculous now to him.

“Pull over at the next crossroad,” Ekker commanded.

This was the time to start thinking. Nothing but a field of dandelions lining the road.

“Elliott, you don´t wanna do this.”

“Get out of the car and shut up.”

Think, think, think. What options were there? Try and take the gun from him? That could go either way.

He reluctantly got out and put his hands up, his sense of self-preservation kicking in.

”You know my family won´t let this slide.”

“I don´t really care. Move. Down the road, straight to that grove by the streetlights.”

Sebastian started walking, the uncomfortable coldness of the gun pressed again his neck now a physical manifestation of all his fuck ups.

Maybe he did deserve this. But what about Claudia? What would happen to her after his death?

“Elliott, I didn´t want to - -“

“Yeah, I know. But this isn´t about revenge, so don´t try and appeal to my better judgment. It´s just a job for me. Turn around.”

So he obeyed. Ekker looked like a death personified, dressed in all black, conveniently covered up, just in case anyone happened to care about a murder happening in Lima Heights like it was the news.

He could jump at him and fight him off. If only he didn´t have a gun, he´d have a fair shot. He did beat him in a hand-to-hand combat before.

“Who put you up to this?”

The safety lever clicked. It was deafening in the silent night that surrounded them.

“You know this was coming, Sebastian. With your track record and all.”

“Eli, I can pay you way more than anyone who –“

“I won´t insult you by making you kneel. Don´t insult me by trying to bribe me.”

Ekker aimed at his chest. The bullet could enter anywhere between the right pulmonary arteries to the left primary bronchus. If it only pierces his lungs, he could have time to reach for his phone and call for help.

A shot went off, and his very last thought was:

How come I always lose to lesser men?

Chapter Text

It was almost too good to be true. National Championship in the bag, a brand new start ahead with Kurt by his side. Blaine almost saw it as a sign from the universe when Kurt didn´t get into NYADA. As if fate was trying to tell them that being apart wasn´t ever going to be an option. And the sweeping power of an idea of eternal love was more than enough for him to moderately fake disappointment that Kurt wasn´t leaving that summer.

Until that day.

When the oxygen in his lungs evaporated and the laughter died on his tongue, leaving a strange mix of dread and excitement.

The face he hadn´t seen for what seemed like ages, the face he saw minutes before his spirit was crushed to pieces along with his body.

One look at his face, and Blaine could feel the blood on his tongue once again. The sound of ribs cracking, bones shattering.

“Hey, B.”

There was nothing grandiose about his return, he still looked ragged, haunted by the life in Lima Heights. His facial hair finally started growing but Blaine could swear he was wearing the same black jeans he always wore three years ago.

"You can´t be here," Blaine demanded. He was sure a puppeteer was controlling his vocal cords because there was no way he would be able to sound so even-tempered.

Elliott made his way inside, strolling around, ogling the house, and all he never had with envy he couldn´t quite hide.

“Still living the life, eh, Blainey?”

“Don´t call me that.”

There was an open show of hostility. Blaine´s eyes wandered to Elliott´s waistband a couple of times, wondering if he was carrying a gun. He never shied away from having a knife on him back then.

“Got yourself a new boyfriend? Can´t say I´m a fan.”

Blaine felt like screaming, struggling to draw air into his lungs. “Why are you here? Where have you been all this time?”

Elliott sat down in one of the hand-woven rattan armchairs by the fireplace, looking into the black emptiness that lacked the wood and the fire to give it any purpose. July heat was settling in, there was no need to light any fires, and based on the look of existential crisis Elliott had in his eyes, he felt exactly like that fireplace – used only when needed.

“I´ve been soul-searching, B. Remember when we were little? I used to sneak out all the time to the big city to come see you – that´s how much I knew that my place was always by your side.”

Curious contentment descended upon Blaine, every bone in his body telling him that Elliott being in his home would wake up something horrible within him. Something he wouldn´t be able to escape this time around.

“You need to go.”

Elliott got up, dragging his feet behind him. “You need to get over yourself. If you were me, you would have run for the hills, too.”

“That´s what you have to say for yourself?”

Elliott reached for the crystal vase on the coffee table to his right and smashed it to pieces on the ground. The glass went flying everywhere but Blaine didn´t even flinch.

“Still on your high horse, Blainey? Spewing moralities about the goodness of the heart? Tell me, how much allowance did you get this week? Enough to preach to the entire neighborhood of miscreants about how important it is to be an upstanding member of society?”

Blaine´s mind touched the farthest horizons of imagination when it came to writing speeches in his head about what to say to Elliott if he ever came back. And yet, now that he was there, all he could see was an embodiment of a broken promise. A wasted potential.

“I didn´t do this to you, Elliott. I tried to help.”

The cruel familiarity of Elliott´s features crept up on Blaine as he crowded him.

“You have no idea what´s coming, Blainey. If I were you, I´d break up with that soprano boyfriend of yours and send him packing to New York as soon as possible.”

"Are you threatening me?"

“No. I´m warning you.”

Elliott never tended to linger in uncomfortable silence, so Blaine thought he was trying to make a point. But it all sounded like a distorted noise to him. Elliott had always had issues but now, as he was older, rougher, clearly more disturbed, Blaine couldn´t begin to imagine the range of chaos he would bring down on his head.

Suddenly, they both heard the front door open and before Blaine could react, his father was standing behind them with a horrified look on his face.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

“Dad…”

“Get out! Get out before I paint your face purple and call the police!”

There was no time to take a gulp or to protest before Doctor Anderson was dragging Elliott outside with almost a violent manner, shoving him so hard he tripped and almost fell flat on his face once on the porch.

He shut the door so angrily they almost fell off its hinges, and returned inside, seeing Blaine stand as if nailed to the floor in shock and agitation.

“You … promised me. You promised me that you´d never associate with him again.”

 Blaine wanted to express regret and explain, instead of silently crying, paralyzed by the past, but faith had yet another tragedy for him in store. When he saw his father trying to catch a breath, holding his left arm and slowly falling down on his knees, in a brief moment of absolute terror, he cursed Elliott Ekker to hell.

Happiness has always been somewhat of an elusive concept for Blaine. A fleeting moment of ecstasy, like hearing a brand new melody for the first time.

It wasn´t an unfamiliar feeling – that which he felt yesterday when Sebastian was playing his regular cat-and-mouse game. It wasn´t unpleasant either - but was it happiness?

It turned out to be a cruel joke a few times before, especially when Sebastian was involved. It´s not like there was a reference material on whether he really changed. And there weren´t a lot of trustworthy people around to ask.

He spent the evening overthinking and overplaying the scene in his head on a loop.

Even now, he almost head-on ran into Sam, daydreaming about someone he shouldn´t want.

When he looked up, he realized Sam wasn´t moving, blocking the entrance into the main hallway.

“Let´s ditch today,” Sam spat it out so quickly he could compete with Rachel´s ramblings.

“What? Why?”

Sam looked around, a crowd of half-asleep kids shoving and elbowing Sam trying to get in no problem.

“Because.”

Blaine chuckled. “Don´t be weird.”

One step forward and Sam was in front of him again. Blaine took a deep breath.

“Sam, what is this about?”

Sam scratched his neck, avoiding eye contact as he always did when he was about to tell a lie.

“Nothing, I just want you to be supportive and not go in.”

“Supportive? Of what?”

“Of me. I´m not graduating this year, not with that horrible GPA, so the least you can do is not graduate with me.”

Blaine blinked a few times in a row like a confused ferret. Maybe he would have indulged his best friend had it not been for all the pent-up feelings that had nowhere to go.

And so he played a false right and used his smaller frame to maneuver around Sam to get inside.

The entire packed hall went silent when he entered, staring at him disapprovingly.

At first, the disgusted looks were all he saw, as if the rest of his surroundings blended into that one singular phenomenon. To have a negative spotlight shining down like a thousand judgmental swords.

Sam appeared next to him almost immediately, sighing loudly, drawing attention to that unwanted, unbelievable reason he was the villain of the show.

“I´m sorry, we´ll take it down, I´ll take care of it.”

It.

It wasn´t just any it.

It was his fantasy that came true. It was his dream date played in his head a million times over.

It was a thousand Polaroid pictures of Sebastian kissing his cheek and smiling, shot from a thousand different angles, plastered over everyone´s locker like a bad Andy Warhol exhibition.

“W-what…the hell?”

Sam was about to open his mouth but then Tina elbowed her way through the crowd. She could be heard before she was seen.

“Yeah, what the hell? What the hell are you doing kissing that psycho slushie-assaulter?”

“Technically, he´s not kissing him,” Sam intervened.

“Way to destroy your potential presidency, Blaine Warbler.” Brittany walked up to him, throwing her copy at his feet.

Kitty trailed behind her with a contemptuous shoulder –raise, copying the

As people were getting louder around them, Tina´s shrill voice disappearing in Sam´s lower tenor, Blaine clutched the buckle on his bag tight and in an act of sheer one-second decision-making brilliance, wiggled out of the momentum-gathering group madness and ran for the hills.

He probably would have cried if the rage wasn´t a more prevalent emotion currently boiling inside him. He heard Tina and Sam shouting after him, following after him but the ringing in his ears was louder.

Once in the open space of the schoolyard, Tina almost rear-ended him with her heels, Sam closely behind her.

“You can´t just leave now!”

“Leave is exactly what I´m gonna do.” He waited in tense silence although every fiber of his being screamed to keep moving.

“I´ll find out who did it, I promise,” Sam said complacently. Evidently, the content of those pictures wasn´t a surprise to him. He could be perceptive when he wanted to be. If anything, he sounded disappointed he had to find out this way instead of directly from his best friend.

“It doesn´t even matter.”

It did matter but not in the concept that Sam was thinking of. An ugly manifestation of bullying that was still alive and well – it was more than that, almost as if the universe was trying to tell him to pack his things and leave for good.

“Has it occurred to you that Sebastian could have done it? Arrange the whole thing?” Tina asked, head turned to Sam but the undertone aiming at Blaine.

“Why would he do something like that?” Blaine asked, half-aware he was speaking inner thoughts out loud.

“Yeah, why would he? It´s not like he hasn´t tried to sabotage us before, backstabbing is so not his thing,” Tina continued, her tonality decreasing in pitch and increasing in cruelty.

“Not everything is about you,” Blaine barked at her.

 Sam gave him a disapproving look. “You should skip school today. Everyone will forget about all of this by tomorrow.”

“Like you guys forgot to tell me about the tape?”

Tina and Sam looked at each other.

“What tape?” Sam asked.

“The tape where Sebastian admitted everything and you just handed it back to him without asking me.”

He hesitated for a moment as if he caught himself in a lie instead of his friends. Maybe because his friends looked nothing short of shocked, and instead of denying or hedging, they were staring at him, confused.

“Blaine, Kurt told us it was your idea to hand over the tape to Sebastian. Something about taking the high road,” Sam air-quoted.

Blaine studied both of them with growing bitterness. A life he could have had with Kurt flashed before his eyes and died right after in a span of nanoseconds. He almost felt thankful for Elliott returning in the summer and pushing him towards the break-up.

Clearly, everyone was better informed than he was. And he was getting sick and tired of it.

“I might just take the easy street this time around.”

K: All done, can I take the afternoon off, Majesty? Or do you need me to spoonfeed you and change your diapers, too?

It was a good thing Kitty could never see his reactions to her texts. They cracked him up every time but God forbid he would ever show such emotion. God forbid she would actually realize how valuable and skilled she really was.

“What are you grinning about?”

Hunter put away the phone, his “grin” morphing into a frown upon seeing the last person on Earth he wanted to see.

“Here I was hoping no one would find me here,” he replied, staring down his cup of coffee.

“You spend more time in Columbus than anywhere else. What is it about overprized Starbucks roast that gets you off so much, Clarington?”

“The same thing that makes you crawl under my feet just so you could get your hands on it.”

Hunter pulled out his wallet, waving a handful of green goodies in front of Ekker´s face before throwing it on the small round table in front of him.

“Katherine just texted me – you did a good job, if you ever decide to quit your crime-spree, you could become a photographer,” Hunter mocked him. "But you rarely risk showing your face. And yet here you are. Which means – you´re in trouble.”

Ekker swallowed, Adam´s apple bopping in and out. He was looking at his hands, wearing a pair of washed-down black gloves without fingers, as if he could read from his palms and find answers to his life´s problems there.

“Just tell me, Elliott. I know what I signed up for when I hired you.”

Elliott chuckled nervously, fidgeting, obviously going through the first stage of withdrawal.

“I´m not sure you can clean this one up.”

Hunter clenched his jaw. “What did you do?”

Ekker leaned in closer, but Hunter stayed perfectly still, legs crossed.

“I shot Sebastian Smythe last night.”

Hunter´s mouth fell open, a scream stuck in his throat, never quite getting out.

“He´s not dead,” Ekker added quickly. “I think.”

“You think?”

“I know,” Elliott raised his voice slightly. “The aim was a safe bet and then … I left him at someone´s doorstep.”

Hunter buried his head in his hands, massaging his forehead, several courses of action cruising through his mind. First – he has to tell his father that Elliott Ekker is a bona fied idiot who should be fired and put down - not necessarily in that order.

Second – maybe that son of a bitch really drew his last breath already and Ekker actually did them a solid.

Third – He has to text Katherine back, rejecting her request to have an afternoon off.

The dizziness wasn´t the worst part. It´s not like this was the first time he felt woozy, or unaware of his surroundings to the point of blackout. The pain was the worst part. Not physical, just a distant memory of utter humiliation that burnt in his chest.

And something else burnt as well …

“You awake?”

He didn´t want to open his eyes but that familiar voice was so persisting.

And so annoying.

“Wake up, McFloppy.”

So he opened his eyes. He didn´t wake up, at least he wasn´t sure if he did. Because this must have been a dream. Or, worse yet, a true nightmare.

“S-Santana?”

Chapter Text

It astounded him anytime he looked around. The hypocrisy of it.

Colorado Institute for Troubled Youth was in reality a prison to store away your kids in and kill any individuality they might express.

Sebastian assumed that all of them were to carry on legacies and inherit fortunes, and you simply cannot be a free-thinking person with a responsibility to look after the collective good of entities and hierarchies under you.

Sebastian could see why his grandfather had put him there. He belonged there in a way, even though he hated everything about it.

They all did. Except for one.

Elliott Ekker.

The first thing that tipped Sebastian off was the fact that he introduced himself. His full name. In a prison where they only operated on the first name basis, where everyone could guess who is an heir to whom at most, this kid didn´t hold anything back about himself. It was almost as if he wanted to be seen.

Sebastian had a weird feeling like he had met this guy before but he couldn´t place it, it was a smoke temporarily forming a shape and then transforming back into nothingness.

Then there was that weird chick Lena. Sometimes, Sebastian thought she was having hallucinations but no asylum was safe enough not to leak the info, so they put her here and just hoped that the anger management therapy would beat the visions out of her.

She knew everything about the Smythes, even the stuff Sebastian never knew, and at some point, he had to question whether she was making all of this up.

“Your father is a sell-out,” she said at a dinner table one evening. Dinners were the only part of the day where they were allowed to eat to the highest standards of their rank in society.

No one knew how the system worked, but Sebastian always found himself at a round table with Lena and Elliott, as if the authorities were playing some sort of Arthur´s Camelot bullshit game with them.

As if they were all equal. A chick who could barely tell the difference between her right and left hand, and a weirdo with the table manners of the initial Homo sapiens stage.

“Really? How´s that?” Sebastian entertained her. She dipped the piece of a freshly baked bread in a melted herb butter and took a small, elegant bite.

“He wanted out, just like you do. But there isn´t a way out. Not when you´re gambling with health.”

“Stop scaring him with your weird-ass prophecies, Lena,” Elliott scolded her and yanked the bread away from her, even though there was plenty left on the table in front of him.

“I don´t get scared easily,” Sebastian said confidently.

It was a blatant lie but it had been one perpetuated in his head for so long, he started to believe it.

“No? What scares you, then?” Elliott asked, voice low and full of curiosity.

“Normalcy. Mediocrity. Bad haircuts.”

Lena laughed but Elliott remained silent, the playful smirk disappearing from his face.

"What a nice media-trained response. I wonder, Sebastian if anyone were to threaten someone you truly loved, forced you to hurt them, whether you´d still keep that phony shit up.”

“You´re saying that as if you know exactly how it feels.”

Elliott stopped chewing, and instead looked at something, or maybe someone, behind Sebastian´s head.

“Maybe I do.”

Most people couldn´t pinpoint the moment their lives derailed and turned into a nightmare. Blaine was cursed with that knowledge. He didn´t know at the time, but as his life revealed its complicated layers, he knew exactly who to blame for the struggle.

Elliott Ekker.

He wouldn´t be surprised if he was the one behind that little stunt. Elliott had always been unhealthily jealous and possessive.

And elusive. Blaine often felt like every moment he spent with him back then was a fever dream. He used to love their talks after school when Elliott popped out of nowhere and they spent hours walking in the sunflower fields.

Blaine had never met anyone who had such a profound understanding of life yet hated living so much.

One unexpected visit and his life turned upside down once again. Elliott was like an omen for all good things coming to an end.

One unexpected visit and he saw that whatever chance he thought he had with Kurt, it wasn´t going to work.

The worst part about it was that Elliott was right.

And his tricks were not unfamiliar to Blaine by now. He knew that Elliott wasn´t exactly a squeaky clean white dove, but still – stooping so low as to spy on him, follow him around, and then airing the dirty laundry all around the school property?

What if his dad would find out? The last conversation he had with him about Sebastian didn´t go so well. And although Blaine never made any promises not to see Sebastian again, it did bother him to go against his father´s wishes. Especially since his health was still so delicate.

All he wished for was peace and quiet, no disturbing voices of disappointed friends and disappointed aspirations in his head.

“I guess we could add skipping school to the alarming rise of you ditching responsibility.”

Blaine rolled his eyes, closing the front door louder than necessary.

“You always show up at the worst possible time, Cooper.”

Blaine headed straight for the stairs, but Cooper effectively blocked him with his tall frame and blazing blue eyes that screamed authority.

“Are you actively trying to sabotage yourself?”

“How do you even know what I do, did you bug my phone or something?”

Cooper pulled a phone out of his leather jacket and showed Blaine a text message from Sam, then immediately knocking Blaine overhead with it.

“Ouch!”

“Don´t start with me right now, I blew an audition yesterday, I´m not in a mood for your bullshit.”

Blaine plucked at his brother´s sleeve to move but Cooper didn´t budge. Instead, he whipped out a picture that Blaine assumed Sam had sent along with the intel.

"First you date a guy who leaves you for dead, then a guy who just leaves you, and now you´re in cahoots with the guy who almost blinded you? Tell me, Blainey, did that accident give you brain damage?"

Blaine vowed that he would never discuss anything personal with Copper ever again, but his mongrel of a brother was more persistent than a mold stain on a wall. It was getting irritating by the day.

“Dad already gave me a lecture, could you spare me?” He asked sarcastically.

“Has our dad also told you what kind of a family the Smythes are? What they did to mum?”

As usual, Cooper surprised with an ace up his sleeve. No one won arguments with Cooper, and this was the reason why. Just when you thought you had an upper hand, Cooper was three steps ahead.

“What are you talking about?”

A loud banging on the door interrupted their stare-off.

“Police! Open the door!”

Blaine and Cooper exchanged horrified looks and both almost jumped off their feet to get to the door first.

It revealed three officers with a look stanched in frustration.

“We´re looking for Blaine Anderson, is he home?”

Cooper´s instinctive reaction was to shield his little brother but Blaine was already in plain sight.

“I´m Blaine Anderson, what is this about?”

The largest one of them with the most intimidating expression pulled out a picture identical to those on display that morning at McKinley.

Blaine´s heart skipped a beat. This was getting better and better.

“Sebastian Smythe has been reported missing, and you´re the person who was last seen with him. We have some questions, but since you´re underage –“

“Missing? How can you declare a person missing when barely fifteen-hour has passed?” Cooper asked.

All the officers exchanged looks, almost on the verge of laughing.

“What do you think this is, CSI Ohio? It´s not a law to wait forty-eight hours to declare a person missing,” said the smallest, most intimidating one.

“Especially when you´re a Smythe.”

Blaine looked at his brother who suddenly went deathly pale upon hearing the low growl in the voice coming from behind the policemen.

A tall figure with broad shoulders and intimidating posture climbed the steps of the Anderson porch, and all three officers parted to reveal him wider than the Red Sea.

Cooper instinctively positioned himself in the door frame as to shield his brother completely.

The man with receding grey hairline and fiery green eyes carried himself like a king entering the feast, helping himself with a silver cane, even though it looked like he didn´t need it at all.

He stopped just before Cooper and his defensive stature.

“Look who crawled back home like a worm.”

Blaine pushed Cooper slightly aside and Copper surprisingly let him.

The elder man´s sight fell on him immediately. Blaine had never experienced anyone expressing so much disgust with just one simple look.

“You, Blaine Anderson, are really starting to get on my nerves.”

He opened his eyes. He didn´t wake up, at least he wasn´t sure if he did. Because this must have been a dream. Or, worse yet, a true nightmare.

“S-Santana?”

He couldn´t tell his leg from his arm, everything felt numb and painful at the same time. So much so, he couldn´t even come up with a clever insult nickname for the Mexicana.

He saw her sitting in a rattan armchair by the window with blinds half-rolled down, the sharp autumn sun blinding his sensitive eyes.

“Am I in hell?”

“Kinda. This used to be my personal hell. The question is, what are you doing on my bed, laying there like a mutilated fish, Richie Rich?”

Sebastian blinked hard twice in a row, to try and see clearly but his vision was smudged he could barely hold his eyelids open.

“Everything hurts like a motherfucker.” He did his best to lift his upper body but all he could do was slid up a bit higher on the elevated pillow underneath him.

Santana walked over to him and handed him a huge white pill with a glass of water that was by the bedside.

“What is that?”

“Grams told me to give it to you once you woke up.”

He didn´t question it, just swallowed it and laid his head back on the pillow like a man defeated by life.

“Your grandmother saved me?”

Santana sat down on the edge of the bed and peeled back a little bit of the gauze on his left shoulder. He hissed in pain.

“Clean shot. Someone either had a bad day or they knew exactly what they were doing.”

Sebastian kept his eyes shut tight, from embarrassment or exhaustion, he couldn´t decide.

”Why am I not in the hospital?”

Santana crossed her legs and laughed. “You were dropped at my Abuela´s doorstep like a throwaway kitten, bloody and unconscious – where do you think you are, you snob? This isn´t Brentwood, we don´t do hospitals here. If only she had known you were rich, she would have dropped your ungrateful ass at Lima General and let the cops deal with whatever bullshit you´ve gotten yourself into.”

“My car … What happened to my car?”

Santana crossed her legs and started laughing. “You´re unbelievable.”

“If you want me to get on my knees and kiss the ring for saving my life, you´re wasting your time.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Sebastian? Were you beaten as a child or something? Did all the ink on the Benjamins poison your brain?”

Sebastian scoffed and averted his head as best he could.

Santana left the premises of her childhood bedroom, and Sebastian thought that was the end of it. But she came back a minute later with full-on paramedic equipment and pulled out two bottles of what only could be betadine and hydrogen peroxide.

“My Abuela used to be a nurse. She served in World War II and saved men in much worse shape. You should be grateful she still sees hope in hopeless cases if nothing else.”

She was working with precision and elegance, removing the gauze, cleaning the wound gently with finesse. Whatever it was she had given him earlier was working, the overall pain started to slowly dissipate.

"We are not exactly on speaking terms right now, my Abuela and I. So you can imagine my surprise, getting a call that someone with my number in his phone had just been dropped off at her porch. Lucky you, I was already on my way home last night."

“Yeah, lucky me.”

She sealed the wound with a new gauze harshly than he would have liked, probably to make a point.

“So, you in this shitty neighborhood, no fancy car in sight, no ID on you, just a phone and a pierced, bleeding shoulder.”

“Is there a question?”

“I feel like there´s no answer either,” she poignantly observed. There wasn´t. Or rather, there wasn´t one he was willing to give. The truth was – he had that bullet coming for a long time, and no one in this universe would ever make him admit that out loud.

How monumentally he´d been screwing up for the last four years, and this was just karma catching up with him.

“Look, this is none of my business, and once you´re able to stand, I´m gonna walk you out of that door and hopefully never see you again. But I can´t help but feel that Abuela had made the right call not driving you to a hospital. And my third eye never lies.”

Sebastian had to take a few breaths to compose himself after Santana poked around in a hole in his shoulder for quite a bit. A million things were running through his mind, like how he didn´t come last night and his family had probably alarmed the FBI already, or why Elliott didn´t kill him, even though he seemed so determined on getting his revenge.

“Where´s your Grandma now?”

“Out. She didn´t want to be here with me present,” she replied with a stern, steady voice masking emotion. Sebastian knew that voice very well, he had been using it for a very long time.

He felt like he should have expressed that he was sorry but it seemed oddly out of place to show compassion, even though this girl he hated was not only showing but executing more compassion he had seen from blood relatives throughout his entire life.

"Did you get a good look at whoever shot you?"

She shifted topics, throwing the attention and the spotlight back at him, one of his signatures moves when it came to dodging difficult conversations. Maybe they weren´t so different after all.

“I know who shot me, Santana, I don´t wanna get into it.”

She shrugged. “Fine. I don´t care. It was probably just one of the losers from the gang.”

He re-adjusted the way his shoulder was positioned on the pillow but the numbness started to travel down his arm. Santana´s manipulative ways to get him to talk didn´t help either.

The way he saw it, there weren´t that many avenues to pursue anymore. His past was catching up with him and he was surrounded by enemies. On one hand, he had his controlling, cryptic, sociopathic family, on the other, the controlling, cryptic, sociopathic Warbler captain. The only semblance of a friend he had was Duval, and Sebastian trusted his wits only as far as he could throw him.

Maybe it was time to start looking for allies. And what better ally than a stone-cold bitch with no real love or hardcore ties to this one-pony town?

“The guy who shot me … His name´s Elliott Ekker. We go way back.”

Santana raised her meticulously shaped eyebrows. “Does this Elliott Ekker person happen to have a lion tattoo on his hip?”

The entire room started spinning as he thought back on his time in that Colorado prison. All those times he saw Ekker working out the common area without his shirt on, the lion tattoo so cheesy and so over the top decorating his right hip. A piercing headache hit him so hard his knees would give up if he wasn´t laying down already.

“Yeah, how do you know?”

Santana stood up and rolled her white blouse higher up her torso. For a second, Sebastian was utterly confused, and when she revealed the lion tattoo on her right hip, the confusion only deepened.

“What the hell?”

“So it´s really him,” she whispered, so quietly it sounded more defeated than the way he felt in that moment.

“You know him?”

She opened her mouth only to be silenced by the piercing old-fashioned bell. They both looked at each other, Sebastian already counting minutes until the special units invade Santana´s childhood home and ravage it in the name of the Smythe Empire being threatened.

“I´ll be right back,” she said and fearlessly went to get the door.

The lack of violent outbursts was a good sign. He couldn´t hear much but he did recognize an unmistakable, righteous Warbler voice.

He covered his eyes with a healthy arm, hoping he would eventually wake up from this never-ending nightmare.

Chapter Text

If hell could ever rise up from, well, hell, it would look like the room Sebastian had been assigned almost a month ago.

Two more to go and he would be reunited with his family.

His mother and sister, his real family, not the wolves in sheep´s clothing, the Smythes.

As he gripped the sheets, almost tearing through them with his nails, it was almost impossible not to scream at the empty ceiling above. The helplessness forged into his veins a long time ago, and no matter what he did, he couldn´t purge it. Again and again he found himself helpless.

Helpless to save his dying sister, helpless to defy his grandfather, helpless to do anything but lose over and over again.

He looked over to the ground where that overbearing weirdo Elliott Ekker fell asleep after the drinking game. Sebastian had no idea where in the ever loving fuck did Elliott. The supervisors insisted to have him woken up and dragged into his room if necessary, but Sebastian used his name and influence to convince them to let the weirdo sleep there on the floor.

Not because he liked him, quite the contrary. Elliott was anything but pleasing. He was ruthless and sneaky in a way Sebastian knew intimately, because it takes one to know one.

No, he wanted him to stay, because if he was alone in that pitiful room one more night, he´d breach the limits of impossible and … start screaming. Show weakness, let it all out, maybe break the windows with his fists and jump to his death five stories down. Given the fact that he was pretty drunk, his grandfather would present it to the world as a horrible accident and then invent a magical device to fix the little one´s heart – just so he could have his heir.

Problem solved.

No.

With Elliott present, there was no way in hell he´d let his emotions wander about like a lost, embarrassing child who ran away from home in a temper tantrum.

Sebastian chose to be here.

At least that’s what he told himself to survive. That these were his choices that would ultimately lead him to freedom.

A knock on the door disrupted his flow of thought, made him loosen the grip on the sheets.

He got suspicious, alarmed even. There was no way anyone could sneak away from their rooms in the middle of the night in such heavily monitored establishment as Colorado Institute for Troubled Youth.

But then again, if Elliott smuggled alcohol in …

So he walked over to his closet and looked for something to use to defend himself. Clothes was the only possession they hadn´t taken away, the only reminder of an “old life” they were able to reminisce about, although not allowed to wear.

Sebastian´s vision adjusted to the dark quickly, since he was up most nights, caressing the emptiness of the dark around him with silent curses against his father and grandfather.

He found a belt at the back of his closet with the Smythe crest engraved on the buckle.

He wrapped it around his fist with the buckle facing forward, ready to punch anyone who was behind the door.

But when he swung it open, his arm stretched and muscles flexed, there was no one that he would ever thought of hurting.

So he just stared. And he stared back.

“How did you know?”

Sebastian squinted, his vision half-blurred. “What?”

“How did you know I came to borrow a belt?”

Sebastian blinked twice, like a confused animal trapped in the corner. “How did you avoid the supervisors and come down all the way from your wing here?”
He was slurring his words, but Lena looked like she was in trance and didn´t even notice he was somewhat drunk.

“I told you, I need to borrow your belt.”

“Why, you going to a fashion show?” he laughed too loudly for his own good.

Lena sighed. “I like to play with my brother´s belt, making … shapes, like balloon animals but without the balloon. Since he´s not here, and I don´t have any belts…”

Sebastian´s eyes went wide. “Jesus, Lena, you are so weird. You need a shrink, not a vacation in the middle of nowhere.”

Lena bit her lip. “I know. So, will you give me the belt, or not?”

Kitty Wilde never really knew hatred until she knew Sebastian Smythe. Well, she didn´t really know him. She knew of him. She knew of his skewering ways, his good looks, his charm, and his intelligence.

Yes, his intelligence.

While his peers saw but a surface, she knew through personal tragedy that Sebastian had bestowed upon them and then got away with it, that he was intelligent.

Stupid people did not get away with murder … For the most part.

Kitty didn´t really have anyone except for Lena. Although she was Hunter´s twin, Lena had a big enough heart to never leave Kitty behind, despite Hunter being the gatekeeper of their “special sibling bond club”.

It was precisely that bond and the loss of it that still kept the fire of hope inside Kitty´s heart burning.

Hope that Hunter may, well, not become a complete monster. His methods were questionable, but she condoned and actively perpetuated all of them for Lena´s sake, so …

This was for her. They were going to do the same thing that Sebastian did to Lena.

Emotionally destroy him to the point where he´d not want to live anymore.

It was the right thing to do, she was sure of it.

There was no other way to get justice, father said as much. And he had known Smythes longer than his children did, if he said that the Smythes were unbeatable, then …

She clutched the stirring wheel as if to reinforce her conviction. But she looked to her right, to a man so innocent he verged on too boring for her to bother, the conviction … Well, it did not disappear, but there was a pit in her stomach that deepened when she imagined Wes´ horrified expression if he were to find out what kind of person she really was.

He smiled at her.

She returned the smile.

Testing people´s loyalty had always been her specialty. Still, she couldn´t shake the feeling that what she was really doing right now, driving to Lima Heights, was self-sabotage.

She couldn´t exactly refuse Hunter´s orders to go check whether Sebastian was alive, but she absolutely could stop herself from bringing Wes with her.

Only if she was stupid enough to invest her trust in her brother unequivocally, then she could stop sabotaging her blossoming relationships in the name of “insurance policies against her own brother.”

“What are we doing here?“ Wes asked, looking suspiciously out the window, the alleyway of never-ending small houses in a poor condition, stray dogs eating hollow bones, and kids sitting on the front porches with their grandparents, or playing ball in the driveways.

“One of my cheerleading idols from McKinley is back in town, we are going to pay her a visit,” Kitty half-lied. She had heard about the trio of super chaotic queen B´s that graduated last year and left quite the reputation behind…

Not that Kitty ever cared much about some basic wannabe Regina Joneses.

“Okay? So you´re just going to her house? Uninvited?”

“Yeah,” Kitty said, shrugging, as if he was the one asking dumb questions.

“I´m gonna take a wild guess here and call bullshit,” Wes said. Kitty struggled not to take her eyes off the road.

Skylar Wesley was a mystery to her for many reasons, but the top spot was occupied by his ability to bring out in her something so fundamentally foreign to what she´s used to, she couldn´t look away. Ever. He was the quintessential prep boy, except that he was … good.

Through and through. And Hunter being Hunter - obliterating anything good in his path just because good represented Lena and Lena could not be mentioned without so much pain it brought both of them down to their knees – he chose Skylar to corrupt him. Just to prove that good was stupid. Good never worked. Good only led to death.

There was no way around this anyway, especially since Hunter overstepped.

Killing Sebastian, no matter how much they wanted to, was never the goal.

Kitty was suspicious that Hunter had different goals in mind for some time now. He was unusually sloppy, he was rushing things, and now he couldn´t even keep his lapdog on a tight leash. It was time to change tactics and start looking after oneself.

Kitty hit the breaks so hard, if it wasn´t for the seatbelts, they´d plunge forward and through the window onto the poorly concreted road covered in dents.

“Jesus, Kitty!”
“Calm your lemons,” she said loudly. There was only once course of action, if she were to stay away from breaking and entering … And maintain some leverage against Hunter.

“When was the last time you saw Sebastian Smythe?”

Wes shrugged. “I don´t know, I don´t really-“

“He´s been declared missing.”

Wes´ brow creased, incredulous and curious, as if he simultaneously knew and didn´t know where Kitty was going with this.

“And what do you want to do about it?” he asked after a while, but Kitty sensed that he had an entirely different question on his mind, maybe a whole set of them, he just decided to be polite and go with the most neutral one.

Kitty nodded towards the house with the cracked white paint and shoddy driveway lined with un-watered, dying Fiddle Leaf Figs.

“It is entirely possible he´s at Santana´s and maybe he needs help.”

Wes leaned towards her, only his seat belt blocking him from getting too close for her comfort. Nevertheless, his sweet cologne was distracting her.

“Right,” he whispered, like they were exchanging secret information, almost mockingly. “And you want to help, because social good is at the forefront of your priorities.”

She smirked. “No, at the forefront of yours. I just like to use people for what they´re good at.”

He nodded, not discouraged or disheartened in the slightest.  

“One of these days, you´re gonna say the wrong thing to the wrong people, Katherine, and it´s gonna get you into a lot of trouble:”

Kitty smiled, unbuckling her seatbelt. “You go to the same school with him, if he´s in there, you need to convince Santana to let us see him.”

“I barely interacted with him, Kitty, he´s just a guy I know, why are you so hell-bent on me even being here?”

It was depressingly unfunny how smart he was. She was used to getting better of people based on their general levels of stupidity.

“You´re my best bet.”

And he really was.

But first, there was something he needed to know.

***

He couldn´t hear much but he did recognize an unmistakable, righteous Warbler voice.

He covered his eyes with a healthy arm, hoping he would eventually wake up from this never-ending nightmare, when Santana marched back to the room, disturbing a momentary relief of pain the lack of light gave his eyes.

“There are two idiots at the door, demanding to talk to you. Some Skylar Wesley and the girl I saw hanging around the Glee club but didn´t pay attention enough to remember her name.”

Sebastian´s body went to a freeze mode. His senses were dampened, and although he had a hole in his shoulder, it was his chest that felt hollow.

“God, if you weren´t injured, I´d throw you out the window, but first I would close it shut.”

He heard her speaking, but didn´t hear her.

“Sebastian!”

That sinking, sick feeling, the notion that he’d fucked something up has been a constant presence in the base of his stomach, heavy and obtrusive and guilt-inducing and confusing.

Wesley? How did he Wesley find him?

Then he remembered how Hunter groomed him, how he had the quiet, observant child glued to his side at all times, like some sort of reverse Batman and Robin.

Of course Clarington would be the one to find him and then send someone to make sure his investments were still protected.

“What have you gotten yourself into?” Santana asked, the usual sarcasm gone from her voice. He suspected she noticed how ghastly he looked into the middle distance, how he was pondering whether to tear off the bandages and rip into her Abuela´s perfect stitching with his nails, giving himself infection that would finally end it all.

“I´m not going to let them in if you don´t want me to … But that doesn´t mean we´re friends,” she added.

A fresh reminder that some things still made sense.

“In fact, I´d be more than happy to kick you out as soon as possible. We don´t need your rich people problems dismantling the harmony around this house.”

“Yes, very harmonious and idyllic. I can get shot around here and the people who find me don´t even bother getting me to a hospital,” Sebastian jabbed.

“Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“No.”

“Then shut up and stop complaining.”

If only Sebastian could remember whether it was Ekker who had enough sense left to leave him at someone´s doorstep … Then he could discern whether he was actively seeking revenge for taking blame years ago, or just snapped.

Either way, going to the hospital with a bullet wound meant another humongous scandal, and most likely another trip to Colorado, or possibly someplace else.

Only this time, for good.

“You like my complaining, just admit it. After what I´ve done, the only reasonable explanation for your helping me is that this is the most exciting thing that´s happened to you since you left this one pony town. And we both know how much you hate being excluded.”

Santana abandoned her static position by the door, walked over to her bed that was now occupied by the worst person she knew (or so she believed) and kicked the pillars of the bed until the old grate started shaking enough to disturb Sebastian´s unmoving state and send ripples of pain through his body.

“You´re right, I did miss the action.”

Sebastian put his palm lightly to the bandage and breathed through the aftershocks as bravely as he could, given the fact that he refused to give the satisfaction of seeing him falter to the biggest bitch in town.

“I´ll see him,” he said barely audibly when the wound allowed him to speak. He was 90 percent sure there was still shrapnel inside his shoulder, there´s no way the old Mexican nurse got it all out, it wouldn´t have hurt this much, would it?

“Where is your altruistic grandmother, anyway?”

“She´s gone to get more supplies, I told you. Fluids, mainly. And it´s him and her.”

Sebastian waved her off. “Fine, whatever makes you leave my presence faster.”

He closed his eyes for a moment when she left, just to think about the possible next steps.

He could stay here forever, on the outskirts of town, trade his A-grade, superior intelligence and good hair for Wal-Mart jeans and no conditioner. Maybe join Ekker in the life of crime. It could be his way out.

Or he could get better, go home and tell his family that he decided to go on a spontaneous vacation and didn´t tell anyone – that one, as stupid as it sounded in his head – rendered the least amount of consequences.

Or three, he could get better, go home and tell the truth. That his chickens came home to roost them. That he was responsible for the death of an innocent girl, Daddy shifted the blame from the rich kid to a kid with no status or money to his name, and now they had a whole tsunami of shit rushing towards them with no water barriers to reduce the impact.

Or four … He could stop being a coward and do what he wanted to do back then. Tell the truth and accept the consequences instead of wallowing in misery, looking for the next target to take his rage out on.

“Oh, man.”

Sebastian opened his eyes to see a petite little blonde in a McKinley cheerleading uniform staring at him with determination, while Wes appeared behind her, although comically taller than her and physically domineering, somehow cowardly and meek-like.

To the point he was sure that it was her talking and not Wesley.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Sebastian was not overly acquainted with Skylar, but the little he did know, did not suggest he´d even have the word ´hell´ in his vocabulary.

In his free time, he probably hugged trees and put carps back into the river after catching them.

“I got shot. Did Hunter send you?”

Wes looked at the midget girl, well, looked down, actually, like he was seeking approval for disclosing information.

“Ehm, yeah. Yes.”

“But you know Hunter, he is much too proud to come down and mingle with the commoners,” the girl chirped in.

“Was that a Lion King quote?” Wes´ eyes started glowing. Sebastian made a face.

Disgusting.

“Yeah. Yes, it was,” she smiled.

“I´m sorry, who are you?” Sebastian asked, unnecessarily pointing at her with his good hand.

“Oh, this is my friend, Katherine,” Wes said.

“Kitty. And I need to talk to you.”

“No, thank you. Where is Santana?”

“Giving us much needed privacy, I´m sure,” Kitty said, turning to Wes.

Maybe it was Sebastian hallucinating from the meds Santana had made him take, or these two were communicating telepathically.

“Sebastian, Kitty has something to tell you. About Hunter. And Blaine.”

“Blaine?” Sebastian almost sat up.

“Are you feeling up to it?” Kitty asked.

“What happened to Blaine?”

The little girl with a high ponytail that Sebastian vividly remembered on Santana whispered something in Wes´ ear after which he promptly left and shut the squeaking doors behind him.

“That got your attention.”

“Listen, Mitty…”

“Kitty.”

“As you can see, I am in a bit of a pickle here, so I´d prefer a swift end to whatever this is.”

Kitty re-adjusted her ponytail to rest even higher on her head. “Your grandfather is shaking down everybody you talked to right before you disappeared, and Blaine is getting it the worst.”

Sebastian threw his head back, hoping it would hit a hard wall, but it only fell back on the soft pillows.

“What does that have to do with you? Are you one of Hunter´s squad spies?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“No,” he admitted disinterested. “But it still sucks.”

She almost smiled, had it not been for Sebastian´s muddied mental clarity, he´d think she wanted to curse out the over the top Clarington.

“There is a connection here that you don´t see yet, but that´s not why I´m here.”

He´s about to interject, except that she wouldn´t let him.

“You have a unique opportunity to get rid of Elliott Ekker once and for all.”

He got very briefly, very marginally sidetracked; his body naturally confused by the second-hand alarm pounding in his chest and the too-familiar feel of scheming. It wasn´t too far-fetched a thought that Ekker was the kind of asshole to make enemies out of everybody who crossed his path.

The question was how he crossed paths with …

“I have the opportunity?”

“We have the opportunity,” she confessed.

“What did Ekker do to Hunter and why do I have to be the one to do the dirty work? I am already running a job for him.”

“Blaine, right?”

Sebastian´s inner alarm went bonkers once again, but then, it wasn´t too uncommon for that to happen when Blaine´s name was so much as released into the atmosphere.

“I´m running the same job, driving Blaine out of McKinley. Hunter´s insurance policy, in case you fail.”

“Of course you are,” he muttered.

“Do you feel betrayed?”

“No, I´m feeling insulted. Why do I have to repeat myself so many times?”

Kitty strayed with her eyesight away from Sebastian.

“You know why.”

She grinned, too-bright and slightly manic as he tried to hide his face, but there was no hiding place to offer refuge.  

“It´s nothing to be ashamed of, Sebastian.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Kitty shook her head in surprise. “Well, love.”

Sebastian chuckled. “I want revenge. And restoration of my name at Dalton, so that I wouldn´t have to crawl around the hallways and ultimately graduate in shame like a failure. Someone who got bested by a less than mediocre choir headlined by the gay Marty McFly.”

Kitty lowered her head as she inaudibly chuckled to herself. “Sure.”

Sebastian let it go. He had to. He knew that going on for too long would eventually canceled out his argument.

“How does Hunter know who shot me?”

Kitty sighed. “Ekker came to him for help. Hunter refused. No one wants to get too involved with Elliott Ekker.”

“Do I need to know how Hunter came to know him? Or you, for that matter? Or why should I care about any of this?”

Kitty dragged a swivel chair from the corner of the room to Sebastian´s bed, getting physically on the same level as him to evoke the feeling of partnership and equality. Sebastian recognized every manipulation, every trick in the book. One of the many things he hated about himself.

“If you know anything about Elliott Ekker, you know that it´s impossible to move forward with your life until he´s disappeared from it. Any plans you or Hunter have for this year will implode if we don´t take care of Ekker first. I don´t ask how you came to know him, so extend me the same courtesy, and we just … take him down together.”

“What about Hunter?”

“This was his idea.”

“No, I mean, how do you know him?”  

Kitty rocked back and forth in the chair, probably composing the most neutral statement she could come up with.

“Let´s just say that we both owe the same person, and rather than repaying the debt separately, we decided to join forces. And Elliott Ekker is a major thorn in our sides. But the three of us now that Elliott has gone completely mad, can get rid of him once and for all and … You know, continue in our plan.”

“Our plan? I´m supposed to trust you when I didn´t even know you were a part of the plan five minutes ago?”

Kitty shrugged. “It´s just how things work with Hunter, Sebastian. He´s got many secrets, you have to be at peace with never really knowing him if you want to get to the final destination … Maybe I can throw in a little extra help with winning Blaine over, which we both know is your true final destination. So what do you say?”

Sebastian might have not really ever get to know Hunter, or this Katherine person, but they had something truly and eerily similar in common: The ability to convince God to forgive Satan for his transgressions.

And if Sebastian wanted to rise from hell, maybe he did have to put trust into Satan and give into him without inhibitions.  

Chapter Text

For a life to have a meaning, one has to give it a meaning. Sebastian wasn´t brought up believing that all men were created equal. Not every life had value, and very few lives were as valuable as a Smythe´s life.

There was always a seed of doubt in Sebastian about this particular belief, a doubt nurtured by his mother, mostly. The more she was forced to distance herself from him, the more he was sure that the treatment she received on the accounts of not being good enough was not only undeserved, it was … cruel.

But he came to his senses fully when he saw Lena´s corpse hanging off of a ceiling with his belt around her neck.

He stood frozen in time and space, watching the police take pictures of her unmoving body slightly rocking back and forth from the wind coming through the open windows.

Elliott Ekker was soliloquizing a silent prayer just a few inches to his right, while Cornellius Smythe was talking with two men who were not wearing a police uniform but carried a stench of cops wherever they went. Both with pitch-black hair and soulless eyes.

“Did you kill her?”

Sebastian woke up from the coma that the sight of Lena´s body put him to when he heard Ekker´s outrageous question.

He opened his mouth to speak, to silence Ekker forever, maybe bury his nails into Ekker´s veins until they pierced and he bled out.

But Sebastian did neither of those things, because his grandfather was walking over to them with the two cops and one other officer carrying handcuffs.

“Elliott Ekker, you are arrested for the murder of Alena Cunningham.”

Ekker´s normally smug face turned into a grotesque, surprised grimace.

“What?” He looked at Cornelius Smythe´s cold, unresponsive mask.

An officer recited Miranda´s rights while Ekker protested and pleaded, until he was forced away, cursing Sebastian into hell.

“This is only the beginning, Sebastian,” Ekker said menacingly.

Sebastian turned to his grandfather. “Is this your doing?”

“Which one? The murder or the arrest?”

Sebastian stumbled on his own words, unable to form coherent sentences.

“Why is your belt around her neck, Sebastian?”

Sebastian feared to look at Lena again, fearing they still didn´t take her down and he´d never force that image out of his mind.

He wouldn´t be anyway.

“I can see that you are overcome with emotion,” Cornelius said, thumping his silver cane against the wooden floor in a tactical, maddening tempo. It matched Sebastian´s beating heart.

“Let me tell you, something, son. You won´t last long going around caring for people. I suggest you start thinking of yourself before landing your help to someone in good faith. They might end up misusing your goodwill. End up with your belt around their neck.”

Since that day, Sebastian had been waiting for his reckoning to come.

***

“How many times do I have to tell you? We said goodbye and he left!”

Blaine was hardly registering the fuss around the house. He heard Cooper´s voice yelling at the search party and keeping them from turning the property upside down, but his sensitive hearing couldn´t really focus on all of it at once less he´d explode.

The officer with soulless eyes and pitch-black hair sitting by his right at the dining table was leaning uncomfortably close, while Cornellius Smythe stood above him, grasping the cane.

“Where did he go?” Cornellius asked. “He must have told you.”

“I know, it´s so unlike Sebastian to keep secrets,” Blaine retorted.

“That´s enough, leave my brother alone,” Cooper stepped in. Once he realized there was no way of stopping the police from searching the house.

“You don´t have a warrant, you have no right to be here, Smythe,” Cooper said, hugging Blaine around the shoulders protectively.

“I don´t need a warrant. This is my house. Everything you think you own belongs to me. Including your miserable lives.”

Cooper laughed with cautious, faux amusement. “You have gone mad.”

“Have I?” Smythe asked, threat palpable in his voice when he half-limped a few steps towards Cooper. They had always been under the impression that Smythe didn´t need the cane to walk, and the fact that after several hours on his feet his legs revealed a weakness was as unbelievable as the fact that this man had blood in his veins instead of ice.

But then again, no one ever saw him bleed.

“When will you rabble stop destroying my family?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Smythe.”

Blaine stood up. “I don´t understand why we have to make it a thing, for all we know, Sebastian could have taken off to Paris on a limb, doesn´t he have family there?”

Cornellius shifted his attention and hatred-filled eyes towards Blaine. “So you do know Sebastian.”

“I never said I didn´t.”

“Know as in know.”

Blaine had to look away. He told himself that it was out of fear of getting hexed by this lizard-man, but the truth lay somewhere deeper. Somewhere he didn´t want to go. Not alone, not in the company of sociopaths searching his house.

“Stop antagonizing him with your riddles, Rumplestiltskin,” Cooper said.

“Just because we get coffee sometimes … Sebastian doesn´t answer to me. Not to me, not to anyone.”

“Oh, but none of that is true, is it?” Smythe asked menacingly. “For one, Sebastian answers to me. And you two don´t just get coffee, do you? Did your mother put you up to this? Does she want to start another war because she´s hell-bent on marrying her kind into money?”

“Excuse me?” Blaine lunched forward.

Both Cooper and the cop stepped in front of him.

“Get out. Take your goons with you,” Cooper said with little to no faith that the old man would actually listen. It took a while for them to clear the premises but the unmistakable stench of privilege stayed.

“You just can´t help yourself, can you?” Cooper turned to his brother. Blaine wasn´t sure if it´d be smart to get defensive. Cooper´s sniffing abilities to detect bullshit would sooner or later kick in and he didn´t feel like having another argument with yet another person in his life.

Lately, that´s all he´d known. Fighting for his life, justifying his existence like it was a crime that everyone simply tolerated.

“I told you to stay away from Sebastian Smythe,” Cooper piled on.

“And I should listen to you because?”

Cooper raised a quizzical brow as if he was both taken aback and proud of Blaine and couldn´t quite reconcile the two feelings clashing at once.

“My little bro, rebel with a cause.”

Blaine slid down to the nearest chair he could find, watching the mess of things that Sebastian´s grandfather left behind. Did he really think Sebastian was here? Did Sebastian talk about him often? So much so that the first place they search is his house?

“If Mom and Dad find out about that man invading our home …” Cooper lamented.

“I wish everyone would stop lying,” Blaine said more to himself than to Cooper. But Cooper heard him. Loud and clear.

“Those who can´t do preach.”

Blaine scoffed. “You´re so annoying.”

“Wait until you have the entire Smythe clan on your ass because you dared to so much as look at their precious heir.”

Blaine wished he could decipher Cooper´s sarcasm in a slew of emotion he put into uttering those words. But like many times before, Cooper severely disappointed his younger brother.

***

“I thought he was just an asshole,” Sebastian said, each word cutting into the very core of his being. Getting shot hurt like a motherfucker. Morphine made him unusually agreeable and lightheaded, so he opted out of taking too much. He needed his wits about him, he needed to have an edge that only a grandiose pain could give a person.

“Well, he is, but he´s also dangerous,” Santana said, injecting antibiotics into Sebastian´s IV drip. In the past two days, that was all he could think about. How he would repay her grandmother for taking him in, and, well, her.

His greatest rival right after Kinky Boots. The truth was, the ladder of his rivals kept growing, it was like the ladder had adjustable steps and handles for his enemies to add and climb.

His resurrection coming from Santana, well, that was some world-shattering irony. He could offer money but even he knew that it would offend them. So he waited for an opportunity to present itself. The one where he could repay her in a way her friends couldn´t. Because they were too noble or too scared, whichever of those two that made them weak and despicable in Sebastian´s eyes.

“He´s a thug,” Sebastian said. “A gang leader, I don´t know what else could be expected.”

“You´re not listening to me,” Santana smacked him on the head. “Elliott is not like other members of the Lions, he´s not a brute, he´s smart. He´s not a gun for hire. Well, not always. Not like that.”

“Meaning?”

“God, you´re slow, what happened to your famously sharp wit?”

“I got shot.”

“That´s fair,” Santana nodded approvingly. “I haven´t seen that little street rat in years.”

“Why did you leave the gang then? Seems like the perfect place for you, violent and savage, just like you like it,” Sebastian smirked.

Santana ignored the jab, just like she ignored almost all of them ever since Sebastian woke up in her room. Something was different, something was wrong. It´s like she was Santana but not entirely, a new version that no longer masked the pain with bluntness and insults but showed it instead. Maybe it wasn´t obvious to her daft friends but it was to him. Because he had yet to master showing how he felt instead of masking it. And he envied that she got there before him.

“I chose another way. I didn´t fit in. Elliott didn´t either. He had ambitions, criminal ambitions. He wanted a career, not an internship. He was looking for a patron, someone to give him identity and purpose.”

Sebastian´s head lulled to the side involuntarily. The meds started to kick in but he made himself stay awake.

“How long do you plan on leeching off of my generosity?”

“As long as you keep giving it,” he retorted. “It could be worth your time, you never know."

"There is nothing you could possibly give me,” Santana laughed.

“I have everything.”

Santana looked at him from behind her glued eyelashes. Really looked.

“That´s why you don´t want me to call anyone or even let me drive you to a hospital? Because you have everything and you can´t wait to go back to your everything?”

 Even if this pitiful bedroom of hers was bigger and more luxurious, Sebastian didn´t think there was a corner around here where he could escape her question.

“You are handling this situation way too calmly, which makes me think that for some reason, Ekker shooting you was somehow a blessing in your messed up little mind.”

“Don´t be ridiculous, of course, I didn´t want to get shot, I´m not crazy like you.”

Santana wagged her finger. “Don´t do that, Twinky, I´m not one of your Warbler slaves, you don´t talk down to me.”

Sebastian gripped the sheets underneath the covers, praying for her – all of this – to just go away.

“You want to tell me that you couldn´t fight Ekker off? You´re twice his size.”

“No, I couldn´t, okay? He surprised me and he had a gun, what are you getting at, Santana?” He blinked wearily multiple times in a row before he heard what she was really saying with that judge-y look on her face.

His eyes went wide, laughing the way maniacs laugh right before they´re about to be slaughtered. “You think I let him shoot me? That I wanted to die? Is that why you´re being so nice to me? You don´t want to be responsible for me potentially offing myself?”

Santana threw her arms in the air. “Well, do you? Do you want to die?”

“No!” Sebastian shouted resolutely. A “but” was hanging on the tip of his tongue.

But maybe I should. Maybe I deserve it.

“What did that Blonde dwarf want?”

Sebastian felt relief when she changed the subject.

“She proposed an alliance. She wants Ekker gone.”

“Why can´t you just go to the police?”

Sebastian sighed. “Because it´s not that simple. I can´t involve anyone, much less my family, especially after we thought …”

Santana leaned in. “After you thought what?”

“That he was gone. That we made him go.”

Santana´s eyes lit up with realization. “You did something and Ekker took the fall, didn´t he? That´s why he´s trying to kill you.”

“He´s trying to get revenge on my grandfather, so maybe … I should just let him. If I go away quietly and Ekker thinks that I´m dead, it will be better for everyone.”

Sebastian pulled on his hair, the sweat and the dirt palpable in his palms. He looked exactly how he felt.

“You mean you. This is your golden ticket out of your everything. So, what you´re really doing right now is not recovering but buying yourself some time until you can figure out how to escape and let everyone else deal with your mess, is that right?”

Sebastian sat up straight and started clapping in an overtly flamboyant fashion. “How profound, Telemundo, congrats. And how ironic, too, coming from you, when all you´ve done is run away. From your dreams, from your friends, from your girlfriend.”

Santana´s black eyes sharpened. “Maybe I didn´t want any of it.”

“Exactly.”

There’s just something about the Mexicana that crawled under his skin and niggled poked until he told the truth.

They were much too alike. And like didn´t attract like, not in a way that Sebastian liked to live.

“What did you do, Sebastian?” She asked after a moment of illuminating silence.

“What did you do that makes you want to sabotage everything good in your life?”

Sebastian felt like punching the pillows, hanging his head in shame.

“What I´ve done can´t be forgiven, no point in discussing it.”

Santana accepted her capitulation with grace. She would not get anything out of him. Not today.

“Maybe you haven´t found anyone who would try and challenge your view on forgiveness. Maybe you owe yourself a chance to wait and find out.”

Maybe I have. Maybe I will.

Chapter Text

Christopher Anderson became more in touch with the spiritual ever since he tasted death on the tip of his tongue the past summer. He could always tell when trouble was nearby. 

Call it a newly acquired superpower or a remnant of instinct from his days in the gang, when there was a problem, he could feel it.

“Sir, you have a visitor,” his intern announced after a short knock on his office door. Anderson scratched the corners of his eyes, just between the eyelid and the eyebrow where the temporal lobe ended.

“Don´t tell me my wife found me out?”

The intern laughed. Probably the first laugh he got since the poor boy arrived in this hospital. “No, sir, it´s Mr. Smythe.”

Christopher shuddered. “Which one?”

The intern, Greg was his name, panicked, voice short and jittery like he had one too many cups of coffee. “Sir?”

“Let him in.”

Do not resist, was an operative phrase his mind supplemented. It was easier to let the Smythes blow through their cabinet of insults and threats than engage and let the fire blow even hotter and stronger.

When Donovan Smythe showed up wearing a casual sweater and a pair of jeans, Christopher knew that the situation must have gotten worse.

“Thank you, Greg,” Anderson said, gesturing to the boy to close the door.

He was going to offer Donovan to sit down but then he remembered who he was talking to and swiftly forgot all about his manners.

“Can I help you?”

“Is my son here?” Smythe hurled. His hair usually slicked back was disheveled and pointing in all different directions. “I know he volunteers here, he thinks I don´t know. Surely, he must be here, sulking.”

Christopher sat down behind his desk, loosening his tie. “Sebastian´s not here.”

“He wouldn´t-“

“Donovan, I´m sure the police are doing everything they can.”

Smythe scoffed. “You should know, right? How many years did it take them to catch your old merry band of gangsters?”

Christopher shook his head in disbelief, letting out a small, heart-breaking laugh.

“I´m sorry,” Smythe said with a vicious look in his eyes. It was barely a murmur like he was ashamed of uttering words of apology and non-verbally threatened to retaliate if Anderson ever repeated he´d heard him say it.

“You know they are so different from us,” he continued, previous malice gone from his voice. “Our children.”

Christopher didn´t really interact with Sebastian, he tried not to get entangled with the Smythes more than he already was, but from what he heard, these mood swings were Sebastian´s signature style. He didn´t know if Sebastian was that different from his father and grandfather, but he know that Blaine was different. His ambition never consumed him the way it did him, there wasn´t a drop of venom in his blood. Not like the venom he felt anytime he interacted with any of the Smythes. He often wished he could explain the bias to his son. Be done with the lies.

“Sebastian will come home eventually, Donovan,” Christopher said out of politeness more than compassion. He was out of compassion for this man.

“What if someone took him? What if-“

“Why are you here?”

If there ever was anything salvageable of their friendship, it died a long time ago. Christopher tried to remind himself of that whenever the guilt started to seep in.

Donovan frowned, his age lines showing, longer and more profound like he´s aged years in a few days.

“It´s been a month. If it were your son, I´d help.”

Christopher laughed. “Out of the goodness of your heart, I´m sure. Not because you want to impress my wife.”

Donovan walked around the desk, circling like predators do with their victims. Except, Christopher Anderson was no longer a poor orphan living off of scraps on the outskirts of town. He stood his ground.

“If you don´t help me, I will tell Maddie that you made a deal with my father. That all of this – “ he dramatically spread his arms, “ – is because my father gifted you this hospital so that you could steal Maddie from me.”

Anderson´s muscles tensed. He could always punch the son of a bitch in the face, but …

“That right there is the very reason she chose me, Donovan,” he said, focusing all his strength on sounding even-tempered. “You never saw her as her own person who could make her own choices. I may have accepted your father´s offer and courted Maddie at the beginning, but it was your selfishness that made her give up on you. Not your father´s meddling. Or mine.”

Christopher waited. And waited. For a reaction. A nuclear reaction. Or an insult.

But Smythe merely stumbled backward and down onto the nearest chair as if he lost control of his motor functions. Christopher almost felt pity.

“I need someone who thinks like a thug.”

Christopher rolled his eyes. Of course, everyone hated the Smythes. Their condescension was on another fucking level. He could become the best surgeon in the galaxy and Donovan Smythe would still call him a thug from Lima Heights.

“Sebastian´s smart. He will evade us and the police for the rest of his life should that be his wish. I can´t … I don´t know how he thinks. Neither does my father. He thought he´d be-“

“With Blaine,” Christopher finished with some remarkable degree of disgust. “I know, Cooper told me your daddy raided my house.”

Donovan gave him one weak nod.

Christopher pondered the future of his family. Of his son. What if Sebastian Smythe disappeared forever? Wouldn´t the world be a better place if the Smythe empire lost their heir? Even more so when it seemed like Sebastian was running from his pre-destined path himself?

Donovan was right. If someone kidnapped him, they would have already asked the Smythes for ransom. There were two options – either someone killed him or Sebastian indeed ran away and went into hiding to escape his psychotic family.

If the latter was true, then ...

Then he shouldn´t help his worst enemy find his son. The boy who almost permanently crippled Blaine out of spite. Except. Except that he could so clearly see Blaine´s kind features disfigured by disappointment if he knew his father refused to help. Despite his best efforts to teach him to always look out for himself first, Maddie´s upbringing resonated with him more, she soaked their boy in her selflessness and now …

Now Christopher had to help. To not let down his son.

“If you know that those who are looking for you also know your friends, would you ask them for help?”

Donovan squinted like he couldn´t quite discern where he was going with this.

“No?”

“No,” Christopher parroted as if he was teaching a child a new lesson, prompting him to figure it out for himself. Rarely did he feel an upper hand when he was in a room with a Smythe. A small consolation for landing a helping hand.

“I would ask my enemies?” Donovan began spitballing.

“We have more in common with our enemies than our friends,” Christopher said, thinking out loud. He hated to admit to himself that if he was in a bind again, just like he was all those years ago, he would go to the Smythes. Often your enemies are the only ones who can move an unmovable object in your way. Because they don´t abide by the same morale. Because they have no inhibitions. Because they´re ruthless. All you need to do is convince them you´re worth their time.

“Has Sebastian ever mentioned anyone who he particularly disliked? Someone he often fought with, who irritated him?”

Donovan paused for a second to think. “There was Kurt Hummel, of course."

Christopher remembered Kurt. All too well. And all the drama and heartbreak he brought into his household.

Then, Smythe´s eyes went wide. “There was a girl. Latina, a loudmouth from McKinley. He used to complain about her getting on his nerves almost every day.”

Christopher raised his eyebrows. “Well, it´s a good place to start. Do you know where she lives?”

“No, but I can find out.”

“I´m sure you can.”

“Why would she help him?”

Anderson looked into the middle distance, trying to suppress the impulse to lie. When he couldn´t find a convincing answer, he decided to simply tell the truth.

“You´d be surprised how hard it is to say no to a Smythe.”

***

Blaine was agitated. The feeling was unwelcome, an intruder stealing his peace. Hard to get rid of but more frequent company in these last several months, whispering in his ear to keep acting on his worst impulses without thinking. His allies evaporated. Or maybe he just felt like he couldn´t trust anyone. He couldn´t confide in anyone.

There was something going on. It was egregiously wrong and it involved his and Sebastian´s family.

But he looked around the choir room filled with familiar faces and the agitation resurfaced. He was more acquainted, more on good terms with that feeling than he was with his friends. He looked to his left, saw Kitty passionately texting someone to his right while Artie was talking at her with inexhaustible effort. Sometimes, she smiled, but mostly ignored his attempts.

He looked to his right, saw Sam flirt with Tina who giggled, leaning in to encourage him.

He could call Kurt. They were on good terms … For the most part. Kurt would never refuse him.

A jolting, sharp pain exuded from the place within he couldn´t identify. He was terrified of what could become of him if he gave into it. If he lost himself and his better judgment to suspicions and lies surrounding him. Paranoia engulfed his senses, drowned them.

Then, thunderous applause.

Blaine lifted his sight to see Santana march in, high-heeled knee boots and a tight black Fall coat to match them. She hugged Brittany who threw herself at her first, then made her way through all the New Directions. Blaine remained seated, motionless.

“What are you doing here?” Tina asked with just the right amount of enthusiasm so that Santana couldn´t accuse her of hinting she wasn´t welcome here anymore.

Blaine was watching as Santana pushed the surrounding crowd away from her in a rude, hilarious way that only Santana could get away with and intertwined her fingers, looking at Blaine.

“I´m actually here to talk to him,” she announced to the forum. New Directions looked at one another in silent awe, then at Blaine, awkwardness dripping from the air like palpable pollution poisoning the atmosphere.

Blaine sat up straight. “Uhm … me?”

Santana smiled, eyes wide.

“Mr. Shue´s will be here soon-“

“Blaine, I need to talk to you,” she exclaimed, still smiling.

Brittany clung to Santana´s side but she gently elbowed her away from her body proximity, waiting for Blaine.

He reluctantly got up and followed her into the hallway. Her smile was gone, her features frozen in a serious frown as if on cue.

“You need to come with me.”

Blaine scoffed. “What, are you kidnapping me?”

Santana ignored his faux playfulness, squeezed his arm. “Blaine.”

Blaine searched her face. If Santana was a sign, the Deus ex machina he had been asking for, then Deus had a terrible sense of humor.

***

Even if the car ride lasted ten hours, it wouldn´t emotionally prepare him for the conversation. Blaine´s restless heart was trying to tear its way out of his chest for several days now and he had no idea why.

Now he knew that his intuition was more powerful than he´d ever known it could be.

When Santana pulled over, there was another car in front of the house with its engine running, a black Toyota with a non-formal-looking driver tapping its fingers on the wheel.

She led him into her home, stopped at the narrow-walled parlor, and turned to him.

“I thought you should know.”

Blaine licked his lips, letting out a heavy sigh that somehow didn´t alleviate any anxiety. Whoever preached “just breathe” should stick a sock in it.

“What do you expect me to do?”

Santana gave him a look. “Me? This isn´t about me, you idiot. I´m doing you a favor. Now go before he leaves.”

Blaine nodded, and started walking in the direction of Santana´s closed bedroom door that she´d pointed at. Her house wasn´t as big as his, but he figured that that was not the reason why he felt like its walls were closing in on him. On the way there, he greeted an old woman knitting in the living room that must have been Santana´s Abuela with a hello and a wave. She scowled at him.

Never mind then.

He raised his hand to knock, then put it down again. Then raised it again. Then put it down again.

Until Santana marched up from behind him and forced him aside, yanking the door open.

It had been a month. A month of radio silence, of worrying, of losing hope, and feeling like the entire world stopped spinning on its axis. Only for Santana to violently make it turn again. The last person he expected to make his life make sense.

She pulled him by the sleeve of his beige coat like a rag doll and pushed him inside her bedroom. “You´re welcome,” she said, closing the door behind him.

Blaine stood face to face with a very different-looking Sebastian.

Physically, he was the same. But there was no more ethos to his aura. His pristinely shaved face now showed the first signs of beard. His hair was longer, messier, curling slightly at his neck. His shoulders were slumped as he was packing a black sports bag with essentials sprawled on the bed.

He barely looked at Blaine when he spoke. “She shouldn´t have brought you here.”

Blaine swallowed the whimper forming in his vocal cords when he realized that Sebastian didn´t want him there.

“Everyone´s looking for you and you were just gonna … leave? Without saying goodbye?”

Sebastian fleered at the sentiment but didn´t say anything, just robotically continued to pack his bag. Blaine got enraged.

He didn´t even know why. It was an impulse, a feeling maybe less intense brewing for some time that now got heightened. Upped to eleven.

He walked over to Sebastian, wrenching the shirt he was in a process of throwing into the bag from his hands and tossed it on the floor.

Sebastian hissed. It was merely audible, if his features disfigured slightly by pain didn´t give him away, Blaine wouldn´t have noticed.

But he did. He slid the fabric of Sebastian´s short sleeve slightly lower on his shoulder, revealing a tightly taped-up medical gauze. Blaine looked at Sebastian in horror. He evaded his eyes. Like he was fearful of judgment.

And pulled away. Blaine´s arms fell helplessly to his side.

“What happened?”

“I thought the little meddling vixen told you everything.”

“Apparently not everything,” Blaine retorted through his teeth. He wanted to scream so many things at this infuriating man. How could you leave, how could you not call, how could you lead me on and then disappear.

“Go back to your life, Blaine. I will forge a new one for myself,” Sebastian said coldly.

“And I have no place in it,” Blaine blurted out.

Sebastian stopped his almost maniacal movements, a conflict emerging. Blaine recognized it, he knew what it looked like. He saw it before. But before, whenever that conflict emerged, Sebastian chose wrong. Blaine prayed he wouldn´t choose wrong this time.

“Trust me, you don´t want any place in it.”

“I thought you respected me enough to let me make my own choices.”

Sebastian resumed his work, shaking his head. “You talk like a naïve five-year-old.”  

“And you are back to being a jerk.”

Sebastian zipped the bag angrily like it did something to him. “What did you think was happening here?”

Blaine choked on his words. He was stuck somewhere between ´I don´t know and I was hoping for´.

The doorbell interrupted his train of thought. Sebastian looked torn, like he couldn´t decide where to run towards the blinds that were shut or towards the door that Santana was surely guarding. When Blaine was about to speak, Sebastian put a finger to his lips to suggest he should shut up.

Then they heard it. Santana´s grandmother spoke in an overly loud voice, greeting the visitors.

“Both the State´s Attorney and the Chief of Surgery in my home, now to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Blaine and Sebastian´s eyes went simultaneously wide.

“Why is my father here?” Blaine asked.

 It didn´t take long for Santana to come barging in.

She looked at Sebastian like his life depended on it, motioning her head towards the window. “Go through the backyard, the car is waiting. If you go around the house, you can sneak past them. I will keep them occupied.”

Sebastian nodded, mumbled a silent thank you before she left and joined her Abuela in fake, enthusiastic greetings.

Sebastian placed his hands on Blaine´s shoulders. “Come with me.”

Blaine searched Sebastian´s face, the green in his eyes no longer as vibrant, but just as beautiful. Darker, somehow.

“Remember my mother´s music room? It could be like that,” he was promising. Even if Blaine could keep up with him and his moods, with him and his mind, brilliant but troubled, the fear that that´s all it was – promise – would still haunt him.

And yet. When Sebastian was around, back in his life even for the briefest of moments, he felt alive.

“JFK in three days. I´ll be waiting for you to make your choice.”

Sebastian´s lips find his, light and careful and gentle, like he wasn´t pressed for time and running from his family, like the world wasn´t crumbling down on his damaged psyche.

And Blaine didn´t know what to do, where to put his hands, whether he was supposed to plead stay for me or assure him I will go with you. So he didn´t do anything, he let himself be kissed, assured that once Sebastian´s gone, that agitation he had been feeling for what seemed like twenty years would turn into desperation going on for eternity.

Chapter Text

There was not a lot Hunter Clarington loved, and there was not a lot to love about him. But he knew how to appreciate love when he saw it. And he saw it every day in the eyes of his twin sister. Lena, as he liked to call her, carried an imprint of his soul. Not just because of the genetic design that life willed upon them, but more so for the emotional trace she left on everything she had ever come into contact with. Hunter couldn´t believe they formed in the same womb together, for when he looked at her and then looked in the mirror, it was like looking at a twisted, distorted version of what he should have been. 

Someone infinitely better than what he turned out to be.

He could easily blame his father for instilling hatred in him, but late at night when there was no Michael Clarington with a stern brow and feral dedication to destroying the Smythes, Hunter felt that by urging him to act upon his worst instincts, his father merely poured gasoline on an already open fire that had always been there.

There was only one person who kept the flame of his wickedness under control. According to his father´s slumped shoulders and red cheeks ready to explode with rage, that person was recently found hanging off of a ceiling at a correction facility at the skirts of the city. 

Hands clasped together, his knuckles turning white from strain – Michael Clarington, for all the santal wood furniture and classic books in leather binding in his home office, could not bring his daughter back from the dead. 

“Elliott Ekker,” Clarington senior said, voice as steady as Hunter expected. The only tell of his grief were the signs of physical discomfort his body betrayed here and there. But Hunter knew he would never see his father shed a tear. Crying was for feeble families like the Smythes who couldn´t pass the genes of fighters onto their sons and daughters. Crying wasn´t for pharmaceutical moguls that were the Claringtons.

“Who´s Elliott Ekker?” Hunter asked. 

“A dirty little rat with no loyalty,” Clarington said. “Smythe must have planted Ekker there to spy on Lena. To use her against us, to pry, to …” 

Hunter feared to even shift in his seat. When his father was in a volatile mood, he tended to give out drastic orders with too many repercussions for the family to sweep under the rug. 

Yet somehow, they always managed to get out squeaky clean. Hunter´s faith in the family hadn´t faultered so far. It never would. Despite the fact that there was now so much less family to lean on. Lena, however fragile her mind used to be, was a force of nature. And so different from the Claringtons that had it not been for her striking resemblance to Hunter and his mother, Hunter was sure that their father would toss her aside and disown her like a bastard. Like he did with Katherine.

“I never thought he´d actually kill her,” Clarington finished. It was the first time in two weeks since she died that Hunter heard his father say the words out loud. Hearing his voice sound so formal and yet so passionate, like steel forging a sword in a fire, affirmed Hunter´s conviction that there was already a deadly plan formulating behind that cold, calculating demeanor.

“She was troubled. Maybe it wasn´t a murder,” Hunter reasoned more for the sake of Lena´s memory than his father´s peace of mind. Or maybe he didn´t feel like moving again or starting another war with yet another family that rivaled the Clarington wealth.

Hunter hated whom he was told to hate, he befriended children of his father´s enemies just to stab them in the back, he fucked daughters and sons to discredit them, to take whatever information the Claringtons needed to get richer, more powerful. Always more, that was the motto of the family. As long as they never reached the ceiling, as long as Hunter was sure that the ceiling was merely an illusion instead of a solid threat, he didn´t mind doing whatever it took to satiate the hunger for more.

“Smythe planted Ekker in the madhouse to kill her,” Clarington retorted. “He may have done the deed, but it´s that old bastard Smythe who´s truly responsible. He´s been trying to get back at me for years. For allying myself with Anderson.”

“Then we shouldn´t have sent her there in the first place,” Hunter blurted. He regretted it immediately, his head humbly bowing before Clarington had a chance to remind his son why it was not a good idea to throw blame around at a time like this. But when Hunter lifted his gaze, he didn´t find any anger or displeasure for calling his father´s better judgment into question.

“He made it a point to wrap his grandson´s belt around her neck,” Clarington said quietly. The silent whimper that followed scared Hunter more than death.

Michael Clarington leaned on his fists, planting them into the open pages of his diary so hard the paper almost started tearing. Hunter did not look into his father´s eyes when he heard him gave the order.

“It´s time for you to stop working in the shadows, Hunter,” he whispered. “You´re going to go to Ohio and fry the Smythes in their own arrogance until there is nothing left but hollow bones and pleads for forgiveness.”

Hunter reconciled with death a long time ago, long before his mother died, in fact. He saw people die and took it at face value, as something inevitable. Something beautiful. But that was mainly for Lena´s ability to explain the beauty behind it – the immediate ceasefire of pain and mistrust that was everyday life once death arrived on one´s doorstep. When Hunter pictured that every single one of his father´s victims was freed from hell and the storms of having to live a life, it was much easier to see him as a breaker of chains rather than a murderer. 

Hunter just wasn´t sure if he could feel that way without Lena reminding him how lovely death was. Then again, he had one sister left. One whose sinister ways reflected and even copied Hunter´s. A younger sister who was disposed of as useless, worthless. One of many errors of judgment on his father´s part. For if he ever truly bothered to spend some time with his younger daughter, he´d know just how vicious and efficient Kitty could be if she wanted to. 

For the right price, of course. 

***

It was becoming increasingly more difficult for Hunter to keep updating his father on the progress and simultaneously dodging his wrath. Because updates and wrath were inseparable anytime Hunter picked up a phone to get in touch with the Clarington mansion under a false pretense of a social call. He thought he had Ekker under control, but the loose cannon that Ekker was, he went and almost ended his father´s entire plan to leave the Smythes penniless, heirless, broken. 

Fry them in their own arrogance,  was his direct order. Getting Ekker out of prison when Lena died was like helping a wild hound escape its cage in hopes that he would stay loyal when any wise man would know that a wild animal with no impulse control craving revenge could not be controlled. 

But Hunter was never going to be the one to tell his father that using Ekker as a front shield was a bad idea.

If Smythe indeed had hired and betrayed him, he´d be out for blood if he let him out. He´s an asset. 

What an asset Ekker was. Scaring Sebastian into hiding, stirring ruckus across the town, drawing attention where it should have never been. 

Not yet anyway.

Hunter used the bus - the least probable means of transportation anyone would suspect him of using – to go visit his suspiciously obedient sister. Dressed in corduroy pants, a hideous yellow T-shirt to match it, and a baseball cap covering the upper part of his face, he expected Katherine to answer the call on the door immediately. Her mother should have been long gone, working a night shift. There should have been a gap between his knock and Her Feistiness appearing in front of him. 

But there was. The driveway lights were out, as was the lights in the entire house. Eerie barking in the distance and uncut lawn was all that greeted Hunter. Once again. 

Granted, he hadn´t told her he´d be coming, but Kitty was home on every Friday night when her mother was out and their neighbor needed babysitting his however-year-old kid.

So what the hell? 

Hunter used a spare key Kitty had given him, but when the key wouldn´t give, he turned the doorknob, easily letting himself in without the need to unlock it.

Hunter knew the house like the palm of his hand. As he walked towards her bedroom, taking every step with caution, putting one foot in front of another in a menacingly slow rhythm, he started to get a feeling why the house was so creepily quiet, so empty. If it wasn´t for the fact that he could hear shuffling and smell Kitty´s ridiculously smelly, flowery perfume … 

Hunter lightly pressed his fingers against the door of Kitty´s bedroom. He expected a lot of things. He expected a rehash of a painful memory of another sister that he buried so deep that sometimes he couldn´t tell if it actually happened, or if it was just his sick mind concocting the most horrid images to torture him. He expected to find the person he loved most in the world to be brutally slashed in pieces on her bed. 

He did not expect to find her  on the bed , healthy and in a rush. Packing her bags.

Even in a barely lit, crammed-up space, moonlight shining through the cracks of the blinds that Kitty kept shut, he could make up her silhouette, tense and shocked to find him standing there. 

Hunter flipped the switch on, his sister coming into full view, half-sitting, half-standing above a large leather Louise Vuitton bag he had gifted her last year.

In case there is an emergency. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

Kitty stuttered, her mouth opening and closing in spasms. She composed herself in no time, as she always did.

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

“I asked you first.” 

Hunter looked at her open closet, most of her clothes that he also bought, were still there, intact.  

There was no defensiveness, no walking on a thin rope of playfulness and provocation as was her habit. Her body tensed up, she avoided eye contact, staring at the floor. 

This was what it came to. When their father decided she was only half-Clarington, that she was a disposable nothing, when Hunter came to her defense and implored the family to give her another chance, to prove herself, to show she was useful and could be written back into the will – at the first sight of trouble, she decided to flee. Her mother was probably long gone, too. 

And in the moment of pure instinct, at the thought that another sister would be taken from him without Hunter´s permission, blessing, or even a say in the matter, he grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the nearest wall.

“Where do you think you´re going?” 

Kitty gnarled at his wrist, the only thing preventing from leaving scratches was the black turtleneck she wore, although he was sure the violence would leave bruises.

Good. Let her see what happens when someone tries to leave me.

“Hun-ter,”  Kitty shout-whispered. There was genuine fear he had seen many times before in the eyes of people who crossed him, but never in his sister´s eyes. Not so palpable, not so convincing. He could be very convincing when he wanted to be. 

She pleaded, coarsely, saying nonsense as her vocal cords were not in shape to let her form a coherent sentence. 

He yielded, slightly, easing the grip just enough so she could speak.

“Explain yourself.” 

Kitty gasped, barely scraping to give her abused, compressed voice some much needed authority. “I found Sebastian.”

“So he survived, how predictable of him,” Hunter said. “When were you going to tell me?” 

 Kitty shot him a frown. “When were you going to tell me our father is laundering money through Anderson´s hospital?”

Hunter made the muscles in his right arm go loose, his brain overriding his primal, natural instinct to protect what was his and actively being taken away. He let go of her. 

Kitty coughed and coughed until she convinced her body to relax, that there was no danger threatening to suffocate the life out of her. 

“That has nothing to do with avenging our sister,” Hunter said, the maniac in him retreating back into the shell of a civilized preppy boy he pretended to be his entire life.

“Somehow, I don´t believe you.” 

Hunter kept a safe distance, trying to show through meaningless gestures she didn´t have to be afraid.

“Did the good little doctor in the making tell you that?” 

“Yes, he did,” Kitty confirmed with too much confidence for someone who almost got choked a few minutes ago. “Nick found an interesting connection-“

“Did you just say  Nick ?” Hunter scoffed. “The boot-licking coward so far up Sebastian´s ass you can only see his scrappy shoes?” 

“Hunter, can´t you feel something doesn´t add up here? Why would Cornellius Smythe want to kill our sister and start a war for no apparent reason?” 

“Maybe there was a reason, it´s not up to us to question our father. Smythe had a vengence of his own to enact.”

Kitty cleared her throat, making it a point that Hunter´s aggression left its marks.

“Elliott Ekker would not shoot Sebastian without a direct order.” 

“Don´t tell me Sebastian Smythe got under your skin just because Daddy has been mean to you lately,” Hunter mocked. “I would not take kindly to betrayal.”

Kitty´s hands curled into trembling fists. “I am trying to look out for us.”

“You are playing games, Katherine. I can always tell when you are up to something. You kept me out of the loop.” 

“Because your blind loyalty to our father is clouding your judgment. I have no love for Sebastian Smythe, I know what a piece of shit he is. But maybe,  just maybe,  we interpreted Lena´s diary in the wrong way.” 

Hunter shifted his weight uncomfortably at the memory of reading what was left of the journal his twin maintained so diligently, in such detail about her feelings, and yet so vague about why or how those feelings came to be. “What are you suggesting? That Ekker  actually  killed our sister without Smythe ordering him to do it? Ekker is crazy, but not  that  crazy. He had no motive.” 

“No, but our father did.” 

Hunter sank onto Kitty´s bed. Too much had happened in too short a time, and now everything in his head was a jumbled mess. “He wouldn´t do that. Lena was loyal.” 

“We both know she wasn´t like us, Hunter,” Kitty joined him on the bed, the caution in the way her body lowered next to him, made him think that if nothing else, at least he could trust how aware she was of his worst impulses. 

“What if she wasn´t troubled, just … well informed?” 

Hunter got up to assert dominance. There was no way he would let her make incomprehensible accusations a nd  let her keep level ground. 

“How long have you been entertaining these theories?”

Kitty looked away with shame. 

“From the beginning,” Hunter filled in what she chose to communicate with her silence.

Katherine wisely stayed seated, her eyes pleading for him to hear her out. She had the same eyes as Lena. Same eyes as he did. And now Katherine was trying to convince him that his twin would be capable of betraying the family. Letting out their secrets, allying with rivals, with enemies.

Except that whenever the portrait of Lena´s face haunted his sanity, he never saw evil. They were not the same. 

Katherine was just smart enough to figure out  just how  different Lena was.

“Ekker, at the time of Lena´s murder, had been at odds with Cornellius Smythe, Hunter,” Kitty´s voice barely mustered enough power to be audible, and yet, she never sounded more captivating to his ears than in that moment. “He fired him, left him destitute, Ekker had to find a new job. A new patron. There´s no way he was at the Institute at the behest of the Smythes.”

“Who told you that?”

“Santana Lopez.” 

Hunter laughed. “The skank from Lima Heights?”

“The skank from Lima Heights used to be in Ekker´s Lion gang, or whatever the hell they´re called. When I went to see Sebastian, we had a little chat. There was a word on the street that Ekker´s big sponsor for whom he left the gang disowned him, and Ekker tried to acquire a new one. Someone with name and money, close to Smythes but not too close for it to be obvious.”

“Santana? Helping Sebastian?” Kitty smirked. Out of all the things she just said, the concept of Santana acting with an ounce of benevolence towards her enemy was the least believable of them all.

“I know, not exactly what we´d expect. Maybe that´s the problem. What if we´re only seeing what our parents want us to see? All of us?

If you had told me that our father knew Christopher Anderson and in college, that he was using the hospital as a vessel, I would have figured it out much sooner.” 

Hunter ticked his fingers one by one for no particular reason other than focusing the pent-up energy into doing something non-destructive. 

“Nick took your mission to spy on Smythe a little too seriously,” Kitty chuckled. 

“It was never meant to be covert, I wanted Sebastian to know I had him followed at all times. It would turn his suspicions away from you.” 

“Hunter, I think we´re being tricked.” 

Hunter shook his head adamantly. “What do fraudulent money operations have to do with our sister´s murder? We know our father didn´t get rich by paying his taxes and selling Aspirin.” 

“Except that the hospital in question through which the money laundering takes place belongs to Smythe´s arch nemesis, who just happens to be complicit to our father´s business.”

“So, your solution to finding out the truth is to pack up and run away – where exactly are you going again, Kitty? Oh, right, you didn´t tell me, you´re just stalling with unfounded conspiracy theories so I wouldn´t kill you.” 

Kitty rose to her feet, still so tiny in comparison to Hunter´s towering, terrifying presence. “Do you trust me?”

“No, not at this particular moment.”

Kitty rolled her eyes. The playfulness returned to her features, to the curve of her brow and the pout of her lower lip. “What about other moments? When you feel like we truly only have each other?”

Hunter offered an exhausted sigh. “What exactly do you want from me?”

“I need you to stall our father, keep him occupied.”

“What will you be doing in the meantime?” 

Kitty squeezed his shoulders, convincing more herself than him that there was any semblance of trust left. “I´m going home.”

*** 

Blaine never wanted to see the inside walls of his home again. For two days he had been trapped, only allowed to go to school and back, supervised by his father, who refused to let him out of his sight. Head buried in hands, long after dinner was over, but still sitting at the dinner table full of unspoken disappointment, Blaine, for the first time, did not confide in his family. The silent treatment is what they had given one another. Lies and deception. For every question that Blaine asked, he was met with dodgy, vague answers. 

“Maybe we should send you to aunt Callista´s for a while. A change of scenery would do you good,” Anderson-senior said. Blaine looked in the direction of his mother sitting at the head of the table, waiting, anticipating, hoping for her support, voicing her disagreement. Despite her fiery nature, despite the fact that she held a soft spot for her younger son, Madelaine chose to look away. 

“You want to ship me off to the Philippines,” Blaine rubbed his stinging eyes, the fatigue from the whirlwind of explaining himself over and over again setting in. Explaining what he was doing in the bedroom of a girl that obstructed justice by letting an injured victim of a shooting hide in her house. Explaining how much he knew or didn´t know about Elliott Ekker, his childhood friend, boyfriend – the leader of the gang who beat him to a pulp when he was barely fifteen - wreaking havoc on Lima. 

“There is too much bad blood here, Blaine,” Madelaine said to soothe the discomfort emanating from her son. “With recent tragedies befalling our family …”

“I´m fine,” Blaine argued, adopting a tone more defiant than his parents had ever heard from him. “The only tragedy is that it feels like we´re at war, and I´m getting a pretty good idea of who´s waging it. The only thing I can´t figure out is why.”

Christopher and Madelaine exchanged worried, telling looks. It infuriated Blaine even more than the silent treatment. 

“Is it because of Smythe´s old crush on Mom? Is it because of me and Sebastian?”

“What of you and Sebastian, Blaine?” 

Blaine´s father was not supposed to get angry. Not just because he didn´t have it in him to stoop to such a trivial emotion reserved for uncivilized beasts, but mainly because the last time he did, he ended up in his own hospital, bedridden, weak, feeble. No longer a surgeon, no longer the head of the board at Lima General. 

Blaine didn´t want to be the one to cause him pain. Again. By choosing to love the wrong person. Again. 

Except that this could go on forever. There would always be someone whom his father deemed inappropriate, too low-life, too extravagant, too free-spirited. Too this and too that. And Blaine could think of a million reasons why Sebastian was another too much of something, but equally as many reasons why he was perfect. 

It was perfect that Sebastian fucked up so many times, yet never lost confidence in who he was. It was perfect that he knew exactly what to do when Blaine´s panic attack kicked in. It was perfect that he knew his coffee order, his favorite songs.   

It was perfect how Sebastian never treated him like there was something profoundly broken inside him that couldn´t be fixed. 

It was perfect that Sebastian knew when to push and when to pull. How to hate. How to love. How to kiss. 

“Nothing,” Blaine replied. There was nothing more to say. Not about Blaine having the last dinner with his parents, giving them the last chance to explain everything before he´d set his heart on a journey to find out how he fit into all of this for himself. Not about a text message he received from an unknown number to be ready at dawn. Not about his decision to follow his heart and stop being a pawn of Lima´s shadowy figures once and for all. 

***

Sebastian Smythe hadn´t shaved in days. There wasn’t much suitable equipment on the bus to New York that he´d entrust his perfect skin with. So the scruffy beard and the pitiful sports clothes it was.

He thought that getting shot would take his edge off, that he´d feel less entitled to pretty things and expensive colognes. 

Alas, maybe in another life. 

At least he could blend easily with the crowd of passengers at JFK. He tossed all the electronic devices when the car that Santana had arranged for him dropped him off at the bus station outside the Lima city borders. 

There was no way to contact anyone, or for anyone to contact him. For all he knew, Kitty´s roundabout, idiotic plan could have already been blown to pieces. 

The tap on his shoulder scared him to death. “I come bearing gifts.” 

Wesley´s stupid, inappropriate smile accompanied with his ever-present optimism riled him up enough to snatch the plane tickets out of his dumb, Warbler-manicured fingers without saying so much as a “thank you.”

“Where is Kitty?” Sebastian asked, standing on his tip-toes to try and find the blonde midget in an ocean of chaos around them. 

She came around from a completely different direction, also tapping him on the shoulder like he was a little, easily distracted kid.

Also bearing gifts. Gifts he was much fonder of than he´d like to admit. 

“I´m here,” she confirmed, looking at the Gift standing by her side, carrying a moderately packed carry-on similar to hers. 

The Gift offered a smile and nodded, somewhat weary from the journey, but clearly resolute about what they were going to do. Sebastian didn´t feel the need to do anything other than reciprocate the smile. 

“Okay, so here´s the plan,” Wes began, the chatter of the airport serving and aiding as the backdrop to his secretive stance. “Sebastian paid for three tickets to Paris, I paid for three tickets to Colorado. I´m sure his absolutely sane, not at all crazy family will figure it out, but it should give you guys a head start until they do, a few days at least. Nick, Santana, and I will try and find Ekker, wherever the hell he´s hiding, and pry the truth from him.” 

“Use the burner phone only,” Kitty reminded him. 

Sebastian noticed the lovey-dovey grin Wesley shot her way and how her eyes lit up with a promise of something more when he had. He thought it would be disgusting, if only he wasn´t so painfully aware that he was doing the same thing to Blaine. 

“We´ll keep in touch,” Wesley promised. Sebastian placed his trust in people he didn´t know at all. People who didn´t know  him  at all. People whose trust he didn´t care for at all. And the only reassurance he had was that the one person whose trust he wanted most chose to come with him.

Well, Sebastian wanted more than trust. 

But that was a discussion for another day. A hopefully sunny day awaiting them in Colorado.