Chapter Text
Kurt stepped onto the pavement in front of Westerberg High, his hands in the pockets of his varsity jacket, a confident smile on his face. His sneakers were new and- uncharacteristically- tied, they had a game to practice for on Sunday, and he was just great. Life was going good. He was going good, aside from the fact he couldn't remember the days before
This fact he had considered, but he decided to push it way out of mind.
First period, he met up with Ram, fist bumping him and slinging an arm around his shoulder with a loud “punch it in”, of course. As they walked, he noticed how everything seemed overly normal. …perfect, actually. Weird.
He huffed.
He sat down in this social emotional class in the back of the classroom with Ram, smiling. (Their grade was unfortunately forced into taking said class because of suicide rates were going up in Ohio.) He leaned back against the chair, looking at Ram. “Hey bro?” “Mm?” Ram looked up at him from he packet the handed out at the beginning of the class, obviously confused. “Dude, I don’t understand this shit at. All.” Kurt nodded, reviewing his packet too. “No clue. But can I ask you somethin’?”
The other boy nodded at him, throwing the packet off to the side. “Does everything seem a little… off to you? Just a bit? Like everything is too… perfect?” “Um…” Ram looked around, before shrugging. “I dunno, dude. Everything seems fine to me?” “Exactly, bro...” Kurt said, leaning over onto the desk.
About 10 minutes into the period, he sorta was getting bored and wanted to take a break. “Alright im gonna to the bathroom, let me know if anything interesting happens. And I’m not talking like those random surveys I mean like if we get invited to a party or something because I’m in the mood.”
Ram, now surveying his packet once more, as if he was gonna understand it now that he took a break from it for a few minutes. He nodded at Kurt, shrugging again.
Kurt raised his hand, leaning his chin on the other. “Uh, Ms. Flemming? I gotta use the bathroom.” Ms. Flemming looked up from the chalkboard, turning. She sighed before nodding. “Make it quick, Mr. Kelly.” He sat up, snatching the little index card that was the bathroom pass and walking into the hallway.
When he got to the bathroom, he looked in the mirror, running a few fingers through his hair and giving himself a thumbs up. “What’s cooking, good looking?” He then cringed at himself, before letting out a laugh and taking off his jacket, tying the arms around his shoulders.
But as he did that, his shirt came up a bit, and something caught his eye. A large black tattoo, similar to what a gunshot wound would look like, stretched from the side of his chest to the center like cracks, as if he were made of porcelain. “What the hell?”
Just then, a sharp pain stabbed at his chest and his brain. He doubled over, falling onto the bathroom floor, onto his hands and knees. He clutched his chest where the scar was, the pain was unbearable. He tried to stand up, one hand resting against the bathroom tile wall as he tried to steady himself.
Kurt was able to stand, although his knees were wobbly.
When he looked up at himself in the mirror, blood was dripping from under his shirt and dribbling from his mouth down his chin. He walked out of the bathroom, still leaning on the wall, making his way towards the nurse’s office, stepping carefully down the stairs and he held onto the railing for dear life.
A random janitor who had been cleaning the other end of the stairwell looked at him, rushing over. “Hey, kid, you alright?” “Er- nurse’s office- chest hurt-“ His words began to slur, and the world spun. Before he could even form a proper sentence, everything began to burn inside him. Just like that, he was out cold.
When he came to, Kurt was in a bit of a daze, lying down in a cot. He stared at the ceiling, a fan whirring around quietly, letting out a soft hum. He groaned, still holding his chest.
The nurse came up to him, sitting down. “Hello there, hon, I see you’re awake.” He nodded slightly, sitting up a bit. “You sort of just passed out. The janitor carried you here, honey. Why do you think that happened?” Kurt mumbled some stuff, before forming coherent words. “Uh… my chest… big black scar and it really hurt, dude… like really hurt… then I just felt nauseous and passed out.” He reached up to wipe his mouth, but found no blood to wipe off. “Big black scar?” He nodded. "Tattoo- looking thing."
The nurse looked at him like he was crazy. “Well, let’s see. Do I have permission to lift your shirt?” Kurt flinched as another wave of pain washed over him and nodded.
She did so, her eyes scanning over him, but saw nothing. “Are you sure? It looks fine to me."
Kurt looked down at himself, pulling his shirt up further, but there was the scar, clear as day. “You might want to get your eyes checked, lady…” He said, pointing directly at the center of the wound.
She shook her head. “I can give you ice if you’d like, but I don’t know how to cure what you can see if I can’t see it myself.” She grabbed the ice pack from a mini fridge, grabbing a zip lock bag filled with half melted ice. “Here you go, honey.” Kurt took it, pressing it on his chest, but it didn’t really help. “Pfft- thanks a lot.” He mumbled, rolling his eyes.
“Can you call my dad? I really don’t feel good.” She put her hands on her hips, giving him a tired look. “Hey, kid, if you say so, but you seem like you’re faking it.” Kurt shook his head. “I swear I’m not… it hurts real bad.” She sighed, sitting down at her desk and taking out a book with a list of the student records. “Last name and first name?” “Kelly, Kurt.” He muttered, rolling his eyes and trying to sit up. “Kelly… Kelly…” she mumbled under her breath, searching for the “K” section. “Ah, okay. Your dad’s number is *** *** ****?” He let out a soft grunt of a “yeah”, sighing.
She dialed the number, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Hello, Mr. Kelly? I have your son here complaining about a chest ache.” … Kurt tried to hear his dad’s voice through the phone, but couldn’t hear anything. “Yes, he passed out and then woke up here, requesting to go home.” … “No, sir, I don’t, but he said there was a “big black scar” along his chest that only he seems to see.” … “Well that’s what he said.” … “Mhm. Alright, thank you.” She put the phone down on its hook. “You’re dad said that you have to stay in school.” He groaned in complaint, his head leaning back against the surface of the cot.
“Damn.. yeah okay I-” He began re-sitting up, swinging his legs over the side, standing up, then immediately getting light headed and sitting back down. “Egh….” He shook his head, putting one foot in front of the other and standing up (again).
“Are you sure you want to go back to class, young man?” The nurse asked. Kurt looked at her, sighing. “I just need to take a walk…” She nodded, scribbling something down on a spare piece of paper. “Take this.”
She handed him the excuse paper, and he walked out of the office, down the hall. He stumbled only slightly on his way back upstairs to his next class.
When Kurt walked into class, all eyes turned to him. He stared back at them, giving them all a look. “What?” He went to go sit down next to Ram in his seat, not waiting for an answer.
“What’s with him?” Heather Duke asked behind them, a cheeky, classic “I’m better than everyone and have no real concern what so ever” smile plastered on her face. “Be quiet, Duke!” Ram snapped, before turning to his best friend. “But dude, are you okay? I heard that you passed out in the hallway…!” Ram asked him in a hushed whisper. Kurt nodded, putting his head down on the desk onto of crossed arms.
“Yeah, I just got sick on the way out of the bathroom. Don't worry, I’m fine..."
A few minutes later, Kurt had fallen asleep in sleep in the class. When he woke up, he was at his house, and the phone was ringing. How did he get back home again? He answered the phone, and on the other side of the line was…
Veronica, of all people, had called him and Ram for a three-way. She said wanted to meet in the grave yard, so they went. When they got there, she had told them to strip for her, and so they did. She said that she wanted them to take her clothes off for her on the count of three.
“One…”
“Two…”
But that kid in the trench coat, the one that was always lurking near the bleachers had shown up. Jason Dean. (Was that his name? Kurt thought so.)
“Three.”
BANG.
And he shot Ram. He shot Ram… square in the throat. Blood gushed from Ram's neck, clotting and spraying out. Kurt saw his best friend collapse and panicked. He on instinct wanted to run over to his friend, but saw JD raising his gun again.
Uh oh.
He yelped and ran for his life, abandoning the body with no time to mourn his best friend. He was being chased through the woods in his underwear with Jason Dean calling his name evilly, a gun in hand. “YOU KILLED MY BEST FRIEND!” “Kurt~! KURT! COME BACK HERE SO I CAN SEND YOUR PERVERTED ASS TO HELL!”
He shouted for help, tears of fear beginning to stream down his eyes onto his flushed cheeks from the cool night air against him as he bolted, dodging trees. He was a dick, and he knew that, but he didn't want to die now. Not with so much of his life ahead of him. He ran harder, dodging a pine tree. "I was just kidding about the whole Bo Diddley thing!" He rambled, running as fast as he could.
And then- he climbed the fence, that damn fence, hoping to jump it and get the fuck out of there. The adrenaline that he thought would boost him worked against him as much as he tried to climb higher.
His hand slipped and he panicked, attempting to regain balance.
He could see Ram's body from here.
“STOP BEING A DICK!” He shouted, whining as he reached an end point on the fence he couldn't jump. "Tsk... fuck- SHIT-" JD raised the gun, pointing it with murderous intent at Kurt, spewing something about asteroids and dinosaurs. (Weren’t those extinct? Kurt thought so. Kurt was kinda proud of himself for doing this much thinking. Well, Veronica once called him the smartest guy on the football team, that’s a good thing going for him! Anyway-) “WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN-?!” BANG.
…He was shot. He felt the metal bullet go through the middle of his chest. There was a ringing in his ears. Fuck, fuck, fuck- The wind knocked out of him as he fell and the world fell with him.
He died.
He felt his own body hit the floor of the cemetery and he was shaking... shaking, then gone. Forever. Blood gurgled and poured out of his mouth, mixed with saliva, dripping into the dirt, soaking the spots around his body with a crimson color. His body went limp, and he could have sworn Ram was looking down at him as he blacked out. Ram, now ghostly and transparent, crying like a baby as Kurt shut his eyes.
The last thing he heard was Veronica shouting, his own spirit disconnecting from his physical form.
"What the fuck have you done?"
Just after that, Kurt woke up with a jolt, falling backwards in his seat. “WhOaA-” He crashed into the floor. Everyone laughed, Kurt’s cheeks reddened with embarrassment, and the teacher gave him a stern look. “Kurt, please, I’m trying to teach the class.” Hearing his name made him shudder as the memory of JD's voice calling him through the graveyard settled in him. “Er- sorry, teach.” He mumbled. Ram helped him up, offering him a hand.
“Dude, are you positive you’re alright?” Ram patted his back, ruffling his hair and cocking his head to the side. Kurt swatted his hand away playfully, grinning and sticking out his tongue at his friend. “Quit caring, I’m fine, just didn’t get enough sleep last night.” (He was not fine. He was- he was dead. He died. There was no way he was alive. What the hell is going on, and why wasn’t he in hell?) Ram nodded suspiciously. “If you say so.”
Kurt mumbled a “uh huh” and looked up at the board, just trying to focus on the math. (Since when did he care about math?) He was just trying to get his mind off things. Then again, it was all coming back to him.
He remembered how he and Ram and someone else (he can’t remember who…) had commented on Veronica’s decisions and life experiences like it was a movie. He watched he and Ram’s funerals, how everyone had thought they were gay, their fags of dads making out (ew), Martha Dumptruck (also ew) throwing herself off a bridge, the bomb in the school, he watched Jason Dean break into Veronica’s house, and he watched him later kill himself on the football field. He pushed away all of this, ignoring the soft ringing in his ears, as if a bomb had just gone off.
The bell rung, and they made their way out of there, walking through the hallway. No one seemed to remember what had happened. Shit, he hadn’t even remembered until about 5 minutes ago! Kurt had a feeling talking to Ram about this would freak him out, so maybe he shouldn’t bring up bad memories. But one person seemed to be staring at him and Ram, looking like she’d just seen a ghost. Hey, come to think of it, maybe she had.
He looked over at Ram, who had been talking to another guy on the football team, and punched him lightly. “Hey bro, I gotta check something out real quick. I’ll see you again at lunch after periods 3, 4 and 5, yeah?” Ram acknowledged him with a wave and a nod, and Kurt made his way towards Veronica Sawyer.
She backed away from him a bit, looking over at the Heathers, who seemed to be preoccupied, intentionally trying to avoid eye contact with the approaching jock. He grabbed her shoulder, turning her around. Her breath hitched in panic, and she backed away again. Veronica felt a tinge of fear as she felt his hand on her shoulder, and she almost looked scared. “Kurt. Hi, um… what do you want?”
He sighed, running a hand down his face, deciding to get right to it. “Do you remember?” “I- what?” She raised an eyebrow at him, confused. Her words were slightly distressed.“You keep fucking staring at me. Do you remember it all? Me and Ram- the school exploding- any of it? You know?” She looked at him as if he were crazy, before looking over her shoulder at Heather Chandler, Duke, and Mac, sighing. (Wait, Heather Chandler? Wasn’t she-)
Veronica grabbed his hand abruptly and tugged him into a nearby classroom. “Whoa- hey man I’m dizzy-” She cut him off, snapping in his face. “Listen, you remember too?” He paused, slowly nodding. “If you mean dying, yeah, I think I remember it. Ram too and- didn’t Chandler…?” Veronica ran her fingers through her hair, she was shaking and moving her head up and down. “Yeah, you… all of you died. So did-……” Her voice broke off.
...
“JD.” He mumbled, finishing her sentence.
She nodded. “Yeah. But… why do we remember and no one else? Heather doesn’t seem to. I didn't die so I remember, but still. The other people who didn't die don't recall anything which just makes no sense.” “Neither does Ram.” Kurt added, sitting down on a desk. "Have you talked to JD?” He asked, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. She shook her head. “No… but I don’t think he remembers either for some reason.”
“Huh…” Kurt tried to think, crossing his arms. “So what are we gonna do about it? Just pretend it never happened? For some reason, everything seems too perfect. It makes me uncomfortable.” Veronica let out a hum of agreement. “Yeah, you’re right, me too. I don’t think we should... have it stay like this. Fucked up and know one knows.”
Kurt got up off the desk, cursing under his breath at their lack of an action plan. “Look, I gotta head to gym class, but after school, meet me under the bleachers. We gotta do something.”
Veronica nodded. As he was about to leave, she hesitantly- very hesitantly- grabbed his wrist. He turned to her. “Yeah…?”
...
“…just making sure you were real. I've seen enough ghosts...” She murmured.
He paused, before smiling. “Real enough to bleed, dude. Team?”
He held out his hand.
...
She hesitated, something about the thought of touching Kurt's hand, or really Kurt at all, not feeling right. Slowly, she fit her hand in his and shook. “Team.”