~*~ Chapter Five ~*~

We'll show the world they were wrong

(Nickelback; If everyone cared)

Massacre in Texas – Wolfhybrid Runs Amok and Kills fifteen Students

Hundreds of people on the street, holding placates and banners, candles flickering in the dusty wind. What looks like dying remains of a giant demonstration, reminds of the tragedy that happened in a little, traditional town in Texas. Yesterday at about nine o' clock stormed Blake Adams, a sixteen-year-old Wolfhybrid the local elementary school, armed with two guns from his father. He infiltrated through the school gate into the separate class rooms, shooting apparently aimless and shouting violently. Teachers as well as students panicked and tried to escape, only very few of them possesed the intellectual perceptiveness to barricade themselves in their class rooms. The catastrophy lasted over twenty minutes until the police, that a concerned neighbour had alarmed was able to stop the murderer. Twenty minutes full of anxiety and fear, not knowing how many of them would survive. This was enough for Blake Adams to shoot over eight children between the age of five and eight, the forty-five year old art teacher Mrs.Cabot and to injure their janitor deadly. He and twenty other students and teachers had to be transported to the hospital, where they were thoroughly medically checked. The motives of the offender remain unclear so far. Blake lived since his birth in the town, visiting the elementary school with the rest of the students and had been currently absolving his Sophmore year in the local High School. During the next few days he will be presented to the national court, where the judges will decide about his future.

Family and friends are clueless what could have triggered the young men to such a tragic act and the only explanation his mother Veronica Adams, 43 can find is in his genes. "I'm sure he didn't mean to kill so many people, but you can't fight your genes forever and sooner, or later with that dangerous gene in him he couldn't control his urges anymore." His father adds to this, "Blake has always been a very vocal and aggressive child. We thought we could change that with strict education, but in the end his instincts were too strong."

These statements shed new light on our understanding of the hybrid society. If they are really just animals, fighting their instincts, how safe is the rest of us?

"Damn Hybrids."

"Excuse me?!"

They were sitting at the breakfast table on Saturday morning. One week after their first visit Carole had come over as a surprise for Burt, bringing buns from the nearby bakery and soon all four of them were seated around the kitchen table, buttering bread and silently sipping their orange juice. After a quick greeting Burt had disappeared into the living room, mumbling something about an important phone call he had to make. Finn had used his absence to steal his left-over toast and catch a look at the newspaper, reading with furrowed brow.

"Come on, this damn hybrids have been silently endangering us for years now. It was just a question of time before one of them would leash out."

"There have been humans running amok about a million times and nobody dares to equate one madman with his whole species." Kurt crossed his arms defensive, ears twitching angrily under his hair. Carole looked nervously from her son to Kurt, but does not dare to interrupt just yet.

"But it's different with hybrids," Finn tried to explain, like everybody should know that and god, Kurt how can you be so naïve? "Everybody knows they are dangerous."

"How? How does 'everybody' know this? Have their been any studies, or proofs?"

"No, but-"

"It is no wonder that hybrids are considered dangerous when everyone is treating them like damn animals!"

"But in the end that's what they are, isn't it? I mean they look like them, behave like them. Everybody knows they are just freaks."

Kurt loses it. "God, how can you be so stupid? They aren't freaks, just because they are different!" he screams, causing the other boy to rise his voice as well.

"Well, this is rich coming from someone like you. Birds of a feather flock together, right?"

Kurt gasped silently at him. "Finn Hudson, I pray to whoever is out there that you did not mean that in the way I understood it."

Finn's posture seemed to falter slightly and he gestured nervously, trying to defend his point. "I'm just saying that it's no wonder you protect them, when everybody calls them freaks. Because in the end you are one your-"

"Finn!" Carole exclaimed horrified.

"But it's true! Everybody says that! And it's no wonder if he runs around like that." He gestured helplessly towards Kurt's yoga-like posture, his elegant clothing and carefully styled hair. Carole opens her mouth in protest, but a stern voice from the kitchen door interrupts her.

"Get. Out." Burt, who had just re-entered the kitchen and must have listened to the last few sentences, stood tall and broad in front of Finn, arms crossed, jaw set.

"What?"

"I will not allow anyone in this house to talk to my son like that! Not. Ever!"

"Burt-"

"No, Carole. I'm sorry, but I think it would be best if you both left now." Kurt watched rigidly as his father escorted them towards the exit, silently bidding Carole goodbye and glaring at Finn until he closed the door behind them. He stood there for a moment, shoulders slumped, before he turned back to his son.

"Are you okay?," Burt asked quietly.

"I'm ... I just need some time alone," he whispered, standing up, but his father is not about to let him go just yet.

"Are you sure, because-"

"I will be downstairs," Kurt stopped him sternly, back still turned and stiffly making his way out of the kitchen.

He did not manage to hold back the tears until he reached the safety of his own room, but at least the first drop only managed to escape his eye after he had turned. Head held high he teetered down the stairs, careful not to give anything away by shaking shoulders, or erratic breathing.

"You will tell me if I can do anything, right?" His father called after him.

It took good four seconds and a few deep breaths, before he could answer without his voice breaking "Of course."

Very slowly and with shaking hands he closed his bedroom door, sinking to the floor the moment his hand left the door handle. His whole body started shacking with sobs and he had to press both hands to his mouth to keep himself from making any noises.

He sat there crying until his knees started hurting and his face felt gross, because his tears eventually mixed with snot. Slowly he probed himself up, wavering towards his bed and the box of tissues he kept on his nightstand and upon reaching it blewing his nose as silently as possible. Until then his sobs had subsided and only occasional single tears were rolling down his cheek, dropping on the mattress beneath him.

Suddenly his phone vibrated, signalling the arrival of an incoming text.

Are we still on for today? Movie and snacks? I risked my life in order to steal the whole floors Disney collection, don't let me down now. - B

Shit, I completely forgot about that. Would it be okay if we postponed it for the time being? I'm not exactly feeling like leaving the house right now. - K

Why? Is something wrong? - B

... Can I call you? - K

Only seconds later Kurt's phone started vibrating, playing the familiar tune of Lady Gaga's 'Telephone'. He had found the song oddly fitting as a ringtone.

"Didn't I wrote that I would call?"

"It seemed easier this way. So spill, what's up?"

"Nothing, as I said, I just ... don't feel like watching a movie today."

"There must be something seriously wrong if you don't feel like Disney."

Kurt resisted the temptation to roll his eyes and sighed instead defeated.

"Fine, you remember I told you about meeting my father's girlfriend last weekend?"

"Carole, right? And her son Finn?"

"Yeah. Finn." Kurt spoke the word with so much venom, that Blaine felt a cold chill run down his spine.

"What happened?"

"He and Carole came over for breakfast today and we started talking about the massacre in Texas. It escalated pretty quickly, because Finn is a dumb idiot, who isn't able to do anything but parrot everything he hears on the television, and I am not."

Blaine chuckled quietly and Kurt found himself smiling as well, despite the situation.

"Anyway, he said some very ugly things and I said some very ugly things and in the end my Dad kicked him out. It's not that big of a deal, but-"

"It sounds like it's a very big deal to you."

Kurt was speechless for a moment, phone clutched tightly to his ear. "Yeah ... yeah, I mean I really try to not let it get to me, but ... I ... I just. Great, now I'm crying again. Damn that idiot."

He heard Blaine taking a deep breath on the other end of the phone. "Okay, here is the plan: Give me five minutes to slip into my shoes and grab my coat. I will be over in an hour."

"What? Blaine, no you really shouldn't – That wasn't what I – And what do you mean; An hour? You need at last one and a half until you reach Lima!"

"See you in a bit."

"Don't you dare hanging up on me, Blaine Devo- Oh, wonderful. I hope you die in a car accident! Stupid, stupid, sweet idiot."

Why did this boy have to be so damn concerned about everybody? Sure during the last few weeks he and Kurt had spend a lot of time together and slowly a very tentative friendship was forming between them, but Kurt could not help to be still wary around him. It all just seemed far too ... perfect. The handsome young gentleman noticing the shy new boy in his first day of school and befriending him afterwards? Things like this just did not happen in real life. Much more likely was that Blaine saw him as nothing more than a charity case he felt the obligation to help, or a mystery that he wanted to solve. But still ... so far the other boy had been nothing but friendly towards him, never pushing conversation topics Kurt clearly was uncomfortable with and doing everything to charm his pants of. And he did not even seem to realise just how much every word, every touch and every smile meant to Kurt ... even though it should not. First of all he did not even know if Blaine was really gay. Sure he suspected it, but he had learned the hard way never to assume. And even if ... if Blaine ever found out about him he would lose every chance he had with the boy anyway.

When Blaine arrived exactly one hour and forty-five minutes later Kurt had just been able to destroy any proof of his emotional breakdown and fixing his appearance to the point that his tail and ears were strictly hidden.

"I hate you," Kurt greeted him politely upon opening the door. He had silently slipped past his father, when he had heard Blaine's car pulling into their driveway and managed to open the door just before Blaine could ring.

"A wonderful Sunday morning to you too," Blaine grinned right back at his dark face. "May I come in?"

Kurt sighed and stepped aside, silently watching as Blaine neatly placed his shoes behind the door and hung up his coat. Underneath he was wearing a baggy Dalton pullover and a simple pair of jeans and Kurt realised that this must be the first time he saw him out of uniform. It suited him. Especially because a few of his natural curls had escaped their gel-prison and were bouncing happily up and down with every move he made, giving him the adorableness of an excited little animal. Realising that he was staring Kurt quickly blinked himself out of his trance.

"Would you like something to eat or drink?" he asked, while leading his guest down the stairs and into his room.

"Nah, I just ate breakfast." Blaine's eyes widened when they entered the large basement, furnished and decorated carefully by Kurt himself. "Wow. This room is ... wow." Mouth slightly opened Blaine turned around slowly, until his eyes fell on Kurt and his face turned serious.

"So ..." He studied him closely. "You didn't sound very good on the phone."

"Yeah, I know," murmured Kurt in a 'Thanks-Captain-Obvious'-tone, before flopping down on his neatly made bed. Blaine, who was still awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, tried to decide where it was appropriate for him to sit and send help seeking looks towards Kurt, but the boy was too busy picking at the cushions and avoiding his gaze, so in the end he settled on the black desk chair, carefully rolling closer.

"I'm ... not very good at this," Blaine admitted quietly, after a short while. "Comforting people and all that ... I never know what to say."

"That's fine. I'm not very good at being comforted either," he answered softly. "But thank you for trying."

Blaine's face lit up. "Anytime. Are you going to tell me what happened, now?"

"You already know the basics. We had different opinions, we fought, Finn was being an idiot and then he called me a -"

"A what?"

"He called me a freak," Kurt said very, very quietly.

"He called you a what?!" Blaine growled. Literally growled and if Kurt had not been so close to tears he probably would have thought of it as quite sexy, but at the moment it only made him shrink back into himself even more. "Right, crap, sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you, but ... that asshole! No wonder your Dad kicked him out."

"He even yelled at Carole because of it," Kurt sniffed silently. "Because of me."

"Oh Kurt, I'm sure she understands."

"I just don't get it, why ... why do these things always happen to me?" He pressed his lips tightly together to keep himself from tearing up, but it was no use.

Kurt had really been sure that he had already cried out every single drop of substance existing in his body, but apparently he had been wrong. Big, hot tears were streaming over his still sensitive skin, dropping soundly on the mattress in front of him.

"Oh honey, please don't cry," he heard Blaine murmur, the endearment slipping out without notice, then the bed dipped as Blaine sat down close to him. Hesitantly he reached out, placing one of his hands soothingly over Kurt's and when that only intensified the other boy's sobs he shuffled closer, gently putting an arm around his shoulders. At first Kurt tried to push him away, hiding his tear-streaked face, but after a few moments his defence weakened and he collapsed into the other boy. Quickly Blaine wrapped his other arm around his lower back and held him close, to keep them both upright.

With his head tucked securely in Blaine's neck and his body resting comfortably against his, Kurt thought that this could really be considered a good place to bawl your eyes out. ... Actually Kurt decided this was one of the best crying places he had used so far, even beating the little blanket fort he had build with five, because Aaron Mitchel had stolen his chocolate muffin.

First of all, while several layers of blankets could provide a decent warmth, Kurt was pretty sure that no amount of blankets could beat Blaine's natural body heat pressing close, or the strong arms encircling his back and rubbing gentle patterns over his shirt. And if he had not had sixteen years of practice restraining his natural instincts he surely would have started purring, but as it was he held himself back. But it was difficult ... oh, so difficult, especially while he was surrounded by Blaine's natural scent, overtaking his respiratory and making his head spin.

Most boys his age were giving of a constant aroma of old frying oil, torturing Kurt's poor hypersensitive nose and killing any kind of attraction he could have felt for them otherwise.

Blaine though (or the Dalton boys in general, maybe it had something to do with this school, he would have to check that thesis on Monday) seemed immune to this phenomenon in his age-group or maybe his natural scent was just strong enough to cover everything else up. Either way, with his nose pressed into the crook of his neck, Kurt could not help but breathe in deeply, which made his head swirl and every fiber of his body begging to be closer. Maybe it really was time to get some space between them, before Kurt did something stupid. Just ... a few seconds longer. That would not hurt anybody, right? While thinking he had tucked closer to the other boy, burying his face deeper into his neck, unconsciously nosing over the soft skin and making the other boy shudder.

Okay. Time to stop now.

"Urgh." He grimaced somewhat apologetic, slightly leaning back. "I really need a tissue."

Very carefully Blaine withdrew his left hand to reach into his pocket, handing him a packet of tissues which Kurt accepted thankfully.

"I was half-expecting you to carry around one of this old-fashioned silk handkerchiefs with your initials embroidered," he muttered, before blowing his nose as elegantly as possible.

Blaine laughed half-heartedly, wordlessly pocketing the pack again, one arm still around his shoulders. "I'm not that old-fashioned."

"You are carrying a pocket watch, Blaine. A pocket watch."

"It was an heirloom!" Blaine exclaimed exaggeratedly, before turning serious again. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you. And I'm sorry for ... breaking down on you, ruining your pullover and all that."

"Oh no, that's fine. My clothes have seen worse, thanks to living in an all-boys-school with it's own chemistry lab."

Kurt smiled lightly, before shyly glancing up. "How about that Disney film we talked about now?"