Now that I know Kurt is not in fact a Mutt hired by the Pack, but an actual Pack member I no longer know what to think of him. From what I’ve gathered so far (and really, this is all from what he said at dinner, because we haven’t really spoken since) he’s only been a Wolf for four years, and he seems to have accepted it fully even though it couldn’t have been easy to have been thrust into a world where werewolves are apparently real and not a figment of someone’s imagination.

The thing is, on the rare occasion that a bitten wolf actually survives the first transformation and the process leading up to that, some can’t handle it. They either can’t handle the pain, or they break under the pressure of trying to fit into a world they’d been told didn’t exist their entire lives. Some are just disgusted with themselves because they’re not completely human anymore. The wolves that can’t handle it, break. They stop taking care of themselves till they wither away, or make sure their miserable half-life ends as soon as possible.

So, to see Kurt be as composed as he seems to be is refreshing. Though, he had the support system of the Pack to fall back on, so maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised. Hardly any bitten wolf taken in by the Pack decides they can’t live the life they’ve been cursed with. The Pack acts as a family, even though only few of them are actually related by blood.

Apparently I’m not the only one that thinks this car ride is kind of awkward, as Kurt turns on the iPod in the dock on his dashboard. I recognise the music coming from it as the soundtrack to RENT and somehow I’m not surprised. I had him pegged as a Broadway guy from the start. At least that’s one prejudiced thought I’ve had about him that’s proven right.

He must have seen the flash of recognition in my eyes, because he takes this as an opportunity to start talking.

“So, a musical fan, then?”, he asks, and I try to ignore the way he says it, like he’s grasping on straws to start a conversation.

“I suppose,” I answer, then decide to throw him a bone. “I’m more of a top- 40 guy, though.”

He nods as if I just told him the answer to acquiring world peace. “I see.”

Another silence falls, this one seeming even more awkward. He steers us onto the right exit and I go back to staring out of the window without actually seeing anything. This is the beginning of a very, very long drive.

________________________________________________________

It’s nearing ten and we’re pulling of the high way to get gas. I’ve offered to drive, but apparently Kurt gets very territorial when it comes to his car. I haven’t offered again. We park next to a pump and both get out. He’s also very distrusting when it comes to people staying inside his car when he’s not. I’m not too sure what to think of him and his near obsessive love for his car.
He starts up the pump, then turns to me.

“Go get us some food, will you? I’m starving after that baby- sized meal from earlier,” he says, and normally I’d balk at the order, but I’m famished myself. Wolves aren’t supposed to eat so little, like humans. I had two hotdogs from a vendor before dinner, and I’m still hungry.

“Fine,” I say, and turn to walk to the shabby looking shop attached to the pumps.

“And try to find something healthy!”, he calls from behind me. I wave my hand back at him, dismissing it. It’s a gas station on the side of the high way. What’s he expecting, a fricking three course vegetarian dinner? I snort. From what I’ve seen of his mannerisms so far, I won’t be surprised if that’s exactly what he’s expecting.

_________________________________________________________

I get back in the car, tossing a package of string cheese and a package of hard buns on his lap. He looks at me, aghast, as I start tearing into my own hard buns- nearly moaning upon tasting the salami.

“What’s this?”, he asks snootily, waving the cheese strings in my face.

“String cheese,” I mutter, mouth full. “ s ’Good for you. Dairy and stuff.”

I swallow the bread still in my mouth. “Besides, I’m pretty sure there’s some wilting lettuce somewhere in those buns. Vegetables.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He starts the car up, reluctantly unwrapping the cheese strings. “My skin will look terrible after this.”

“Y ’know, Kurt?”, I say, polishing of my first bun and starting in on the second. “I don’t really care.”

_________________________________________________________

It’s almost one when I realise there’s no way we’re going to be able to drive through the night. Kurt looks about ready to drop (which is saying something, since wolves usually have incredible amounts of energy) and he’ll never let me drive his car.

“Just stop at the nearest motel, okay Kurt?”, I speak, surprising him since we haven’t spoken in hours. “You look just about ready to fall asleep and I’d really hate to die tonight.”

It’s a testament to how tired he is that he doesn’t reply with any more than a nod. I suspect that I won’t be able to comment on his appearance without invoking his wrath normally. He just seems like that kind of guy.

We leave the highway at the first sign of a motel. It looks a little shady, I admit, but all I really want right now is a nice, warm bed. I didn’t exactly get much sleep after my Change last night and it shows. Kurt parks the car, but doesn’t get out. I look at him taking in the motel. The look of disgust on his face is clear as day. He turns the key in the ignition.

“No, absolutely not. We’re staying at the next one. I don’t want lice.”

I sigh. Of course he’d be a diva about where he spends the night.

__________________________________________________________

The next motel, as it turns out, is over an hour away and looks only marginally better than the last one. By now I’m cranky as hell and Kurt’s humming along to the radio is doing nothing to soothe me. He turns of the car, instantly killing the radio, and I nearly breathe out a sigh of relief. The relief is soon gone when I see him scrutinizing this motel like he did the last one.

“I don’t know….maybe the next one.”

I’ve had enough. I’m tired, cranky, and the bread from earlier did nothing to fill me up. I give him my best glare.

“Get out of the fucking car.”

To my surprise, he only sighs and obeys. I raise an eyebrow. Really? It is that easy to get him to do something? I catch him trying to hide a yawn and I realise that it probably isn’t always so easy, but he’s tired as well. I unbuckle and grab my bag from the backseat before getting out of the car myself. I close the door at the same time Kurt snaps the trunk closed, a rather classy looking bag hanging off his shoulder.

We start towards the reception- esque area of the motel (which really only consists of a small room with a sort of bar set up as a desk with some grungy looking chairs in the corner. I pretend not to notice Kurt wrinkling his nose in disgust. I step up to the ‘desk’, and slam my hand down on the dingy bell. After a few moments of waiting and Kurt looking around, trying desperately not to touch anything, a small, rotund man comes shuffling in from what I presume to be a back room.

“What can I do for you?”, he asks, voice gravelly. I suspect he’s a smoker, and a heavy one at that.

“We’d like a room for the night,” I answer, determinedly ignoring Kurt’s mutter about how ‘like’ is an incredible overstatement.

The man’s beady eyes narrow some. “Just the one room?”

“Yeah. Have you got any left with two beds?”

He doesn’t say anything and turns around to look at the mouldy board behind him. He picks up a key and shoves it into my hand. “There. Payment’s up front.”

I move to get my wallet, but Kurt’s already handing the man a card. I look at him and he shrugs at me.

“Wes sent me the card for our expenses on the trip home.”

I nod, a smirk threatening to break out onto my face. Wes’s card, huh? That could be fun.

Before I can say anything about it, the man hands Kurt the card back and walks back into the back room without saying anything further. I snort, then turn over the key in my hand. Room six. We walk out of the reception area and find our room within seconds. Seeing as there are only ten rooms, it wasn’t that big of a surprise, but still. The moment we walk in, I realise the man gave us a room with just one bed. Kurt groans and I’m tempted to join in. I don’t really want to share a bed with him, but the dirty looking couch in the corner doesn’t really look appealing either.

We share a glance and I’m pretty sure this is the first time the annoyance in Kurt’s eyes is not directed at me. He sighs.

“Flip for it?”

I look at him. He looks tired, weary, as if he hasn’t had any sleep in days. Before I process what I’m thinking, I’m already shaking my head.

“No, you take it. I’m fine on the couch.”

He searches my face for signs of deception and nods when he doesn’t find any. He half- smiles, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him do so.

“If you’re sure?” he asks, but he’s already putting his bag on the bed as he speaks.

“I’m sure,” I answer, plopping mine down next to the
ratty old couch.

“Ok,” he says, before grabbing a bundle of clothes and some jars I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know the contents of and disappearing inside the small bathroom. I take the time he’s gone to change into a pair of sweats and a shirt. I also pull one of the pillows from the bed and put it on the couch. When Kurt exits the bathroom, face all shiny, I go in to brush my teeth.

I take a moment to just stare at myself in the mirror. I’m not really vain or anything –ok, so maybe my hair is a soft spot for me- but I can tell I look like crap. My eyes look tired and the skin around them is starting to darken some. The after effects of the Change coupled with lack of sleep. There’s a bit of a stubble growing on my cheeks and chin and I resolve to shave in the morning. My hair’s a mess, but I’ve been leaning against the car window ignoring Kurt’s dirty looks for most of the evening and night.

I brush my teeth, then exit the bathroom. Kurt’s standing at the edge of the bed, looking down on it as if trying to decide something.

“What are you doing?”, I ask while I’m putting my toothbrush and the paste back in my bag.

He looks at me briefly. “Trying to decide which side of the bed is less likely to give me lice.”

I snort, reaching over to flick off the light so that the only light in the room comes from outside. I flop down on the couch, not a trace of grace visible.

“I wouldn’t worry about getting lice,” I say. I wait for his breath of relief before I continue: “I’d worry about STDs.”

“Blaine!”