Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.
Finn shifted uncomfortably in the back middle seat of the Lincoln Navigator. "Why do I have to do this?" he asked, his voice spiraling up into a whine.
Mercedes scowled. "Because Kurt has worked himself up into a hissy fit over his algebra test tomorrow, that's why," she said.
Brittany frowned thoughtfully. "I don't like algebra," she said.
"Britt, you're not even in algebra. You're still in pre-algebra."
"No, I don't mean that," Finn said. "I mean why do I have to sit in the backseat, in the middle, with my feet on the hump?"
Quinn leaned over the center console into the backseat. "Because I called shotgun first, that's why," she said.
"But…the middle," Finn protested.
Kurt bolted across the school parking lot and vaulted into the driver's seat. "Okay, let's go," he said. He glanced around feverishly. "Where's my keys? Ohmigod, my keys, I can't-"
Mercedes cleared her throat and held them out, jingling them slightly. Kurt sagged in relief and grabbed them. "How else did you think we got into your car?" she said.
Kurt jammed the key in the ignition and roared away. "I don't know, you people have bobby pins, maybe you picked the lock," he said.
"Is it even possible to do that on a car?" Mercedes snorted.
Quinn grabbed Kurt's thigh. "Brakes, brakes, brakes," she said. "You're going sixty-two in a thirty-five. And put on your seatbelt." He slammed on the brakes, making his passengers lurch forward drunkenly, and fumbled with the belt. Quinn reached around him and clicked into the lock. "Take a breath."
"I don't have time for breathing," Kurt said absently. He drove like a maniac, nothing like his usual chill, law-abiding habits.
Brittany sat up. "Kurt, if you don't breathe, you're going to die," she said.
He rolled his eyes and took an exaggerated inhale, then blew it out between his lips. "There. That better?" he said.
Finn squirmed uncomfortably. Mercedes on his right and Brittany on the left was making for an awkward ride. Besides, there was absolutely no room for his legs. "So what's with the spazz act?" he asked.
"A certain someone forgot that he has his algebra midterm tomorrow," Mercedes said.
Brittany leaned over. "She means Kurt," she whispered in Finn's ear. Finn nodded sagely.
"And that's why we all have to come over," Quinn said.
"You don't understand," Kurt said. "I hate algebra. Absolutely hate it."
"But you have an A in that class, dude," Finn protested.
"Yes! Because I study!" Kurt said. He turned a hard right onto his street, making everyone slide across the car. Quinn steadied herself on the dashboard and Brittany giggled. "I haven't studied! At all! I have a system. I start studying a week in advance. Now I have less than twenty-four hours!" He paused. "No! I have nineteen hours!"
He slammed on the brakes in the driveway and parked. "You're gonna be fine, honey," Mercedes said. "We'll all help you study."
"Then why is Brittany here?" Finn asked.
Brittany shimmied out of the backseat. "I was told there would be cookies," she said.
Finn perked. "Cookies?" he said. He unfolded his half-asleep, prickling legs and followed them into the house. "Is this one of those stressbaking things again?"
"No!" Kurt said. "Yes! Well, maybe. I did promise Brittany cookies."
"And that's why I'm here," Mercedes said. "We are not having a repeat of the Pink Vomit Debacle of 2010."
Quinn wrinkled her nose. "I don't even want to know," she said.
Kurt unlocked the front door. "Trust me, you don't," he told her. He dumped his messenger bag on the kitchen table and dug through it frantically until he found his algebra notebook. He plunked down on a chair and kicked off his shoes. "Okay, can we start now?"
"Calm down," Quinn said. She sat down beside him and opened her binder. "What are you most concerned about?"
"Everything we've studied so far this semester," Kurt said, his eyes huge.
Mercedes sat down on his other side. "Chill, white boy," she said, handing him a pencil and a calculator. "It isn't as bad as you think it is."
Finn rummaged through the kitchen cabinets and pulled out a box of wheat thins. He scowled. "What happened to the Doritos?" he asked.
Kurt pointed at him, his eyes still glued to his algebra notes. "No, no, bad Finn," he said. "Those things are disgusting."
Finn shook the cracker box. "So are these," he argued. "I want my Doritos and queso dip!"
"There's hummus in the fridge," Kurt said absently.
Mercedes rolled her eyes and got up from the table. She opened the fridge, pulled out a clear plastic tub, and handed it to Finn. "Just take it and go downstairs, okay?" she said. "You're not helping anything."
Finn glanced from the hummus to Mercedes as she sat back down. "How did you know where it is?" he said.
"I come here a lot."
"You have a snack, now go away," Quinn said, making a shooing motion with her hand. Finn rolled his eyes and stomped downstairs.
He turned on the TV, plopped on the couch, and turned on his Xbox. It whirred to life while he pried the lid off the tub of hummus. Warily he dipped a wheat thin into it. It wasn't that bad, all things considered, but it wasn't like his mega nachos.
He crammed a couple more crackers into his mouth and picked up his controller. Kurt never let him have snacks when he was playing video games- something about crumbs in the couch cushions and his controller becoming a cesspool of filth- but hey, if Kurt could fill his house with girls and take away his Doritos and queso, then he could have a couple of stupid wheat crackers and taupe-colored paste.
Two hours passed, and a handful of crackers turned into three-fourths of the box and the entire tub of hummus. He looked into the empty container with dismay. "I'm still hungry," he mumbled to himself.
He heard the garage door close and a new set of footsteps above his head. Wiping his hands off on his jeans, he paused his game and headed upstairs. "Oh, there you are, Finn," his mom said. He bent over so she could kiss him on the cheek. "How was school?"
"It was school," he shrugged.
Carole walked over to the little study group at the table. "Hi, girls," she said. She stood behind Kurt's chair and put her hands on his shoulders. "Hi, Kurt. How's the studying going?"
"Dreadful," he said. "I can't remember anything."
"You're doing fine," Quinn reassured him patiently.
Kurt dragged his hand through his hair. By the way his hair was sticking up, Finn guessed he'd been doing that more than a few times. "Oh, I'm going to fail," he mumbled under his breath.
Carole kissed the top of his head. "Don't say that, honey," she said. "You're a very smart boy. I'm sure you'll do fine."
"I'll believe it when I can remember how the quadratic formula works," he said.
"Well, you guys keep working," Carole said as she turned towards the stove. "I'll get dinner started."
"Oh, good," Finn said. "I'm starving."
Mercedes looked him up and down. "I hate you and your metabolism," she said.
Brittany sidled over to Kurt and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Kurt," she said, drawling out his name.
"What, boo?" he asked absently, rubbing his eraser across the page. Quinn pointed to a different formula and he started over again.
She trailed kisses along the side of his neck. "I'm bored," she said. "And you promised me cookies."
Kurt squirmed. "Uh…ick, that tickles…Brittany, stop it," he said.
She pouted, apparently used to boys enjoying her kisses. "But Kurt, you promised," she said. She slid her hands under his button-up shirt and buried her face in the crook of his neck, smooching his collarbone.
"Oh, ew, Britt," Quinn said.
"We should not be able to hear you making out!" Mercedes said.
Kurt dropped his pencil, screwing up his face. "Brittany, Brittany, brit-NEE!" he yelped. "This needs to stop! No means no!"
She pulled back, frowning. "But you haven't said no," she said.
He buttoned his shirt all the way up to his neck. "Okay, first of all, Britt, I'm gay," he said. "Completely gay. Totally gay. So, so gay. That's the story, the end. Also, never grab anyone's nipples in public. It's very awkward for everyone involved."
Quinn tugged on the collar of Kurt's shirt. "Did she give you a hickey?" she said.
"Aw, baby, your first hickey," Mercedes teased as he turned beet red. "Congratulations."
"Yeah, so glad I was here for this," Finn said.
"So…cookies?" Brittany said hopefully, all thoughts of kisses (and rules about kisses) already forgotten.
Kurt plucked at the cuff of his shirt. "It would make me feel better if I started baking," he mused.
"Wait until after dinner," Carole said. "I'm going to make chicken pot pie. How does that sound?"
"I like the sound of cookies," Brittany objected.
"You can wait," Quinn said.
Brittany frowned and draped herself over Kurt. "Brittany! Your tongue stays in your mouth! Not in my ear!"
"I think I'm going to need therapy after this," Finn mumbled. Carole laughed.
"You're going to need therapy?" Kurt snorted. "I'm the one getting licked by a cheerleader."
"I can think of a dozen straight boys who would kill to be where you are now," Quinn mused.
"If it means they can take my algebra midterm for me, then I'm fine with switching," Kurt said.
Finn slid into an empty chair. "Are you seriously this freaked out?" he said. "Dude, it's just a test. If you bomb it, you've still got half the semester to make it up. And you could always do extra credit."
"Hm…no," Mercedes said. "Obviously you also missed the Fantastic French Debacle of 2009. And let me just tell you…the 'fantastic' is completely sarcastic."
"Now hush, Finn," Quinn said. "And Brittany…go count how many windows are in the house."
"Okay," Brittany said, smacking one last kiss on Kurt's cheek before meandering out of the kitchen.
"That'll keep her occupied. She has the memory of a goldfish," Quinn said. "Now, look at your formula again. Where does the X go?"
Kurt groaned loudly. "I'll never get this right," he complained.
"Yes, you will," Mercedes said. "Stop panicking and focus." The front door slammed. Kurt jumped about a foot in the air. "Hi, Mr. Hummel," they heard Brittany say.
"Hi, Brittany. You here to hang out with Kurt?"
"Yes. But he didn't like me grabbing his nipples, so Quinn told me to go count the windows."
"Mm-hm. And Mercedes. And Finn. But he lives here, so I don't think he counts."
"Uh…yeah. Hm. Well, you have fun counting windows."
"Thanks, Mr. H."
Burt walked into the kitchen, staring suspiciously at his son. "Hi, Kurt," he said. "You, uh…having fun?"
Kurt's face had turned a charming shade of fire engine red. "Yeah, Dad," he said, squeaking.
"We're just having a study session," Quinn said.
Burt leaned over his son's shoulder. "Algebra, huh?" he said. "Good luck with that."
"Yeah, I'm going to need it," Kurt said. "I forgot about it until this afternoon."
"And the test is tomorrow?"
"See, you do take after me," he said. "Hey, kids. How's it going?"
"Pretty good, Mr. H," Mercedes said. "We're just trying to get him to calm down and focus."
"It's harder than it looks," Quinn said.
"And it looks pretty hard," Finn added.
Carole put her arm around Burt's waist. "Well, dinner's ready," she said. "How about you guys take a break to eat? Then you can go back to studying and Kurt can bake something."
Kurt dropped his pencil and flexed his fingers. "That would be great," he sighed.
"Finn, can you set the table?" Carole asked.
"I'll go find Brittany," Quinn said.
Mercedes cleared aside the algebra pages while Kurt dropped his head forward and smacked his forehead on the table. "Don't do that," she scolded, taking him by the collar and pulling him back up into a sitting position.
"I'm never going to pass this test," Kurt complained, leaning back in his chair and pouting while Finn reached across him and dropped silverware at the place settings. "Finn, forks go on the left."
Finn frowned. "They are on the left."
"No, your other left."
"Calm down," Carole said. She ruffled Finn's hair, then smoothed Kurt's. "Just sit down and eat. Stop thinking about algebra for a little bit."
"I'll try," he mumbled.
Dinner was a nice break. Mercedes kept up a steady stream of non-algebra-related conversation, while Quinn added in snarky comments and Brittany dropped in her deadpan one-liners. Kurt didn't say much. He just picked at his dinner, listening to everyone talk while he stared blankly at the wall behind his dad's head. Finn was pretty sure he was envisioning algebraic equations.
When dinner was over, Quinn helped Carole clean the dishes off the table while Mercedes distracted Brittany. "Can I start baking now?" Kurt whined. "I need to do something. I can't stand just sitting around staring at my notebook."
"Yes, you may," Carole said as she closed the Tupperware lid over the leftovers. "Your dad and I'll be in the den if you need us."
"Hey, Finn, wanna watch the game?" Burt asked.
Finn's eyes gleamed as he watched Kurt hop up from the table, roll up his shirtsleeves, and pull a giant bag of white chocolate chips. "I think I might stick around," he said.
"Kurt, do a double batch," Mercedes called. Kurt flashed a thumbs up.
"Just save some for us, okay?" Carole said. "Have fun studying."
Quinn and Mercedes sat at the kitchen table, taking turns with quizzing Kurt on various facets of algebra while Kurt mixed up his cookies. Brittany sat on the kitchen counter, obediently handing him measuring cups when he asked for them.
"Dude, you're making a mess," Finn snickered.
Kurt had flour all over his dark wash skinny jeans, brown sugar on his shirt, and vanilla extract across the bridge of his nose. "The bigger the mess, the better the final product," he said.
"Then these cookies are going to be amazing," Quinn said dryly.
The doorbell rang as Kurt shoved a cookie sheet into the oven. "Finn, can you get that?" he said. "I'm a little busy."
Finn loped over to the front door and pulled it open. "Oh," he said. "Hey, Santana."
"Hey, Jolly Green Giant," Santana said. "Why are you staring at me?"
"Uh…I don't think I've ever seen you wear anything but your Cheerios uniform," Finn stammered.
She held out her arms, showing off her jeans, Uggs, and purple hooded jacket. "Stare all you want," she said. "But you're going to have to let me in. I have to take Britt home."
"Uh…sure," he said, holding the door open to let her in.
Santana readjusted her bag over her shoulder as she strode into the kitchen. "Hey, Brittany, I'm…" Her voice trailed off.
Kurt screwed up his face. "What are you looking at?" he asked.
Santana smirked, looking from his mussed hair to his ingredient-splattered clothing to his argyle socks. "You amuse me," she said.
He rolled his eyes and turned back to his bowl of cookie dough. "Any reason you're here?" he asked.
"I'm here for Britt," Santana said.
"I can't go," she objected. "I came for the cookies."
Quinn glanced at the timer over the stove. "Wait eight more minutes," she said.
"Fine," Santana huffed. She sat down in Kurt's vacated seat and crossed her legs. "I guess I can wait that long."
Mercedes leaned around her. "Kurt, are you putting that cookie dough onto the cookie sheet where it belongs?" she demanded.
"Yesh," he mumbled, his back still turned to her.
Quinn got up, took him by the shoulder, and whirled him around. He stared at her, eyes huge, with a spoon in his mouth. "Kurt Hummel!" she scolded. "You promised!"
"We told you you could bake cookies if you didn't eat all the dough," Mercedes said. "Remember the strawberry cupcakes? Remember?"
He swallowed. "Yes, but I want it," he wailed.
"I remember the strawberry cupcakes," Mercedes said darkly.
Quinn pried the spoon from his hand and tossed it into the sink. "Sit," she ordered. "I will finish the cookies. You have lost your cookie privileges."
"But it makes me feel better!" Kurt complained.
Quinn propelled him to his chair and forced him to sit down. "You can have some cookies when you've finished that page of practice questions," she said.
"Yes, Mommy," Kurt grumbled. He rested his cheek in his hand and huffed loudly. "I can't focus. I'm tired. And I want my cookies, dammit."
Santana rolled her eyes. "How old are you, four?" she said. "Cookies aren't going to solve your problems." She picked up her bag.
"Neither can drugs, alcohol, or promiscuous sex," Quinn said as she pulled one cookie sheet out of the oven and popped in the other.
Brittany peered into Santana's purse. "You have sex in there?" she asked.
Santana pulled out a four-pack of Red Bull. Finn's eyes bugged a little. "Whoa, how'd you fit it in there?" he said.
"Girls can put anything in their purses," Mercedes said.
Kurt raised an eyebrow skeptically as Santana slid the package across the table. "Red Bull? Really?" he said. "You're offering me a can of pure sugar and caffeine."
She pried one out of the cardboard and thrust it in his face. "Just drink it, babyface," she said. "It'll keep you awake. I swear."
Quinn moved the can aside and set a plate of white chocolate macadamia cookies and a glass of milk beside Kurt. "I'd rather he ate the cookies," she said. Kurt bit into a warm cookie eagerly.
Brittany had a cookie in each hand and her cheeks were puffed out. "These are yummy," she mumbled.
Santana got up and grabbed Brittany by the arm. "You've had your cookies, now it's time to go," she said.
Brittany swallowed. "I want more," she said.
"You have enough," Santana said.
Brittany pouted and kissed Kurt on the tip of his nose. "You taste like vanilla," she commented.
"Bye, boo," Kurt said.
Brittany waved as Santana dragged her away. Finn pried a hot cookie off the sheet before Quinn could slap his hand away. "Y'know, if Broadway or fashion never works out for you, you could always start a bakery," he suggested.
"I need to live in a house full of baked goods like I need a hole in the head," Kurt said, shoving a cookie in his mouth.
Mercedes nudged his algebra study guide a little closer. "Go back to work," she said.
Finn's pocket vibrated; he pulled out his phone and squinted at the number. "Yeah, have fun with that," he said. "Rachel's calling."
Quinn quirked an eyebrow. "Seriously?" she said. "You spent all day with her at school."
"Yeah, but we have a standing phone date on days when we don't go out on a real date," he said.
Mercedes snorted. "Yeah, I'd rather deal with our resident panicky fashionista and his algebra issues than have a 'standing phone date' with Miss Berry," she said.
"Hey, the air quotes are totally unnecessary," Finn protested. He flipped his phone open. "Hey, Rachel." He frowned. "Yeah, I know that you told me what nickname I should call you, but…"
Mercedes, Quinn, and Kurt all grinned up at him with Cheshire cat smiles. He turned away, whispering into the phone. "Hi, Princess Pooky," he mumbled. The trio promptly burst into howling laughter. "What's that sound? Oh, nothing. Just my manhood crashing and burning."
"Have fun with Princess Pooky," Kurt said, snickering loudly.
Finn stomped down the stairs. He loved Rachel, he really did, but she had more power to embarrass him than anyone else he knew. Even his mother. And that was saying something.
He listened to Rachel while playing Call of Duty with the sound muted. Occasionally he added in the appropriate "no way"s and "uh-huh"s. Rachel liked talking, a lot more than he did. And he didn't mind listening. It was actually sort of nice to hear her talk.
But then he realized that it was almost midnight and his phone was beeping at him because the battery was drained dry. After several goodnights and couple of embarrassed kisses blown through the receiver, he hung up and headed back upstairs to check on the study group.
"Kurt Elijah Hummel! Stop it! Stay awake!"
"Not going well, huh?" Finn said.
Kurt had his head down on his folded arms. "Stop yelling," he said. "I'm sleepy."
"Sit up and eat a cookie!" Mercedes said.
"No, no more cookies, or he's going to toss them," Quinn said. "Kurt, sit up."
Finn picked up another cookie. "Have you let him try the Red Bull yet?" he asked.
"Is that safe?" Mercedes asked.
"Probably not, but we'll never get him to stay awake without it," Quinn sighed.
Finn popped the top and set the silver and blue can down in front of Kurt. "Wake up, little brother," he singsonged.
"Mmrph," Kurt mumbled into his arms.
Quinn tilted his chin up and waved the can in front of his face. "Sit up and drink the Red Bull," she said.
He picked it up and took a sip. "Whoa," he said, wincing. "Wow, that's strong. It tastes like…like liquid Smarties." He took another sip. "Uh…yeah. Liquid candy."
"Are you more awake now?" Mercedes asked.
Kurt hunched in his chair, tucking his legs under him and gripping the shiny can with both hands. "Uh-huh," he said. "It's working."
Finn grabbed a couple more cookies and sat down at the table. "This I have got to watch," he said.
He munched on cookies and watched the study session as avidly as he would the Super Bowl. Kurt kept drinking the Red Bull, getting more and more agitated as time went on. His handwriting got progressively messier and messier, but he was finally starting to keep up with the math principles that Quinn and Mercedes had been trying to drill into him.
A few hours, two and a half cans of Red Bull, and a dozen cookies later, Mercedes reached over and grabbed the silver can out of his hands. Kurt looked like a six-year-old whose balloon just floated away. "That was mine," he protested.
"Kurt, it's three in the morning," Mercedes said. "You understand this stuff. Finally. Now it's time to sleep."
Kurt fidgeted. "I don't think I can sleep," he said.
Quinn closed his folder. "Oh, you're going to sleep," she said. "Come on. Let's go."
Finn yawned. "You guys are sleeping over?" he said.
"Kurt drove us here. We don't really have a choice," Mercedes said.
"You know, I really don't think I'm tired," Kurt said. "Can I keep working? I think I can keep working."
Quinn sighed. "Finn?" she said.
"Allow me," he said. He took Kurt by the collar, pulled him forcibly out of his chair, and lugged him down the stairs.
"Finn…Finn…Finn…I'm not tired, I'm not tired," Kurt protested, half-tripping over Finn's shoes. "Really! Not tired! I wanna keep studying!"
"No, I think you're done," Finn said. He dragged Kurt over to his bed and plunked him down. "You'd better go to bed. If you don't, Quinn and Mercedes will force you."
Kurt paused and nodded, rolling off his bed towards his dresser and pulling his pajamas out of the top drawer. Finn smirked as he changed and plunked into his unmade bed across from Kurt's. Usually Kurt always had the upper hand; it was fun to finally see someone else boss him around.
Mercedes and Quinn marched down the stairs with their bags in tow. "Wait, you're sleeping in here?" Finn said, pulling the sheets above his shoulders.
"Oh, don't freak out, Hudson, it's nothing I've never seen before," Quinn smirked.
"Besides, where else are we supposed to sleep?" Mercedes said. "Quinn has to sleep with Kurt, though."
Quinn scowled. "No way. He kicks," she argued.
Kurt raised a hand. "That's true," he said.
"How does she know that?" Finn wondered to no one in particular.
"You got to ride shotgun and I had to sit in the back with Captain Longlegs," Mercedes said. "No, you've got to sleep with Kurt."
"Does this mean you have to sleep with me?" Finn said. "I don't know if I'm okay with that."
"Oh, no, I'm taking the couch," Mercedes said.
Quinn opened the bottom drawer of Kurt's dresser and pulled out some clothes. "Fine, but I get the bathroom first," she said, tossing a tee shirt and pajama pants at Mercedes.
"Wait, you guys have your own drawer?" Finn said.
Kurt flopped backwards on his bed, his arms outstretched. "They come here a lot," he said.
"You know, I'm not sure what Rachel's going to do about this," Finn mused.
"She'll get over it," Quinn said, her voice muffled by the closed bathroom door. She emerged a few minutes later with her face clean of makeup and her hair pulled into a loose braid. "Okay, Kurt, scoot over. And if you kick me, I swear I'll kick back."
He obliged, but he kept staring at the ceiling and drumming his fingers on the side of his bed. "I'm really not going to be able to sleep," he warned. "I can't. I can't. I won't. There's no way. No way on earth. Too awake."
Quinn clamped a hand over his mouth. "Be quiet and close your eyes," she said. "At least pretend to sleep."
Mercedes turned off the lights when she left the bathroom and Finn slid under the covers. It was a little weird to know that two girls were having a sleepover in his bedroom, but it was three in the morning, after all, and he was tired, so he conked out after a minute or two.
Sunlight was barely peeking through the windows when he woke up groggily at the strange feeling that someone was staring at him. He blinked, squinting into the darkness.
"Good morning, Finn Hudson."
He rubbed his eyes. There was a face perilously close to his, and he could smell chocolate, shampoo, and liquid candy. "Whaaa?" he mumbled.
"Good morning, Finn Hudson," Kurt repeated. His blue-green eyes were immense and his smile could only be described as manic. "I baked cookies. You should have some."
"Yeah, I remember," Finn said. "And I had like eleven. Go back to sleep, Kurt."
"Can't," he whispered loudly. "I had more Red Bull, and I feel fantastic. Come eat cookies."
He propped himself on his elbows. "Cookies for breakfast?" he said. "Who are you, and what have you done with Kurt Hummel?"
"No, no, it's okay, they're oatmeal chocolate chip cookies," Kurt said, shaking his head. "And it's oatmeal, which is a breakfast food, which is okay." He grabbed Finn by the arm. "Come on! C'mon, c'mon, c'mon."
"Kurt…no," Finn said, pulling his arm away.
Quinn sat up in Kurt's bed. "Stop yelling," she scolded. "Kurt, you have another hour before your alarm goes off. Come back here."
Kurt scrambled away from Finn and jumped onto his own bed, nearly bouncing Quinn off of it. "No, no, get up!" he said. "I made cookies. They're awesome."
Quinn pressed her hands to her forehead. "Yes, I know, we ate them last night," she sighed.
"No, I made new ones," Kurt said. He grabbed her by the hand and dragged her out of the bed.
"Finn, if he's dragging me, you have to come too," Quinn said.
Finn rolled his eyes and got out of his nice warm bed. He followed them up the stairs and then stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the kitchen. "Holy crap, Kurt," he said.
Kurt bounced to the table and picked up a plate. "Eat them! You should totally eat them!" he said.
Quinn surveyed the wreck of the kitchen. "Kurt, honey…" she said slowly, "what have you done?"
"I make cookies and I studied for my algebra test and I organized the spice cabinet in alphabetical order," Kurt rattled off. "And I went to Kroger for milk. Did you know we were out of milk? Because we so were."
"And you got more Red Bull, didn't you?" Quinn accused.
Kurt squirmed. He was already dressed for school and his hair was damp from his shower. "It's made me really productive," he said.
Finn counted the empty cans littered across the messy kitchen table. "Did you really have five Red Bulls?" he said.
Kurt whirled around, another can in his hand. "I'm on number seven!" he chirped. "I had one in the car when I drove to Kroger. Did you know that Kroger is open 24/7? I so didn't know that!"
"Oh, you should not be allowed behind the wheel of a car," Quinn said. Kurt smiled and took another swig. "That stuff is gross and it's going to rot your teeth."
"It tastes pretty good when it stops stinging," he shrugged.
Quinn picked up the remaining full cans. "No more," she warned. "And no more cookies, either, because…Finn! Get it away from him!"
"Which one, the cookie dough bowl or the Red Bull?" he asked.
"I think the cookies are more dangerous at this point," Quinn said. Finn wrestled the mixing bowl out of Kurt's hands; Kurt licked the remaining dough off his fingers and chased it with a swig of Red Bull.
"I feel so great right now, you guys," he sighed.
"Yeah, you're the only one," Finn said. "Geez, Kurt, you trashed the kitchen."
"The cookies were worth it," Kurt defended.
"Kids, what on earth are you doing?"
Finn and Quinn whirled around guiltily. Carole stood in the doorway in her bathrobe, frowning at the mess. Kurt slurped at his Red Bull. "Kurt…is sort of…hyper," Finn said.
"Carole, Red Bull is amazing," Kurt said. "I have more if you want to…hey! Where'd they go?" He walked around in a circle. "I had like…six more cans….I thought…"
"Kurt, honey, it's almost six o'clock in the morning," Carole said. She cupped his face in her hands. "Baby, how much sleep did you get last night?"
"None," he said, beaming. "Isn't this stuff awesome?"
"I wondered why he never kicked me awake last night," Quinn mumbled under her breath. "He wasn't even there..."
Carole sighed. "I hoped I never had to deal with this again," she said.
"Again?" Quinn said. "Has Kurt done this before?
"Not Kurt. That one," Carole said, pointing at her son.
Finn slunk against the cabinets. "Mom! You promised you wouldn't tell anyone!" he complained.
"He and Puck somehow managed to get an entire case of Mountain Dew when they were nine and drank all of it in the span of several hours," Carole said. "I had to lock them out of the house before they destroyed. Then…they crashed."
"Oh, yeah," Finn said, smiling fondly at the memory. "That was epic."
Quinn glanced at the empty bowl of cookie dough and the emptied cans of Red Bull. "Oh, no," she said. "Oh, no. Kurt's sugar crash is going to be like the human equivalent of the Titanic."
"So what's the iceberg?" Finn said.
Carole shook her head. "Look, just get him to school and give him just enough Red Bull to get him through," she said. "He can sleep when he gets home."
"I don't think I'll ever sleep again," Kurt said.
"Oh, you will," Carole said.
"We'll clean up the kitchen after school," Quinn promised. "I'd make Kurt do it now, but I think he might break something. Or start baking something else."
Kurt perked up. "I've always wanted to try flan," he said.
"Oh, no," Carole said. She steered Kurt to the kitchen table. "Sit and keep looking over your algebra notes. And don't move until you to leave for school."
"Mm-kay," Kurt said, sipping at his Red Bull.
"This is going to be a terrible day," Quinn sighed.
"Or an awesome day," Finn said, flipping open his phone to film Kurt, who was somehow managing to drink Red Bull, work out algebra problems, whistle the score to "Oklahoma" under his breath, and swing his legs back and forth like he was skiing.
Somehow they managed to get Kurt in the car- Finn had to drive- an hour and a half later. Mercedes was in an awful mood, seeing as how Kurt had managed to slip out from under their watchful eyes and wake her up by singing "Tomorrow" from Annie at the top of his considerable voice.
Quinn dragged Kurt through the parking lot to the front doors. "You may have one more Red Bull," she said. "One more. Just one. No more, no less, and it's only because we can't let you fall asleep until school is almost over."
"I'm not going to fall asleep," he said.
"Give it a few hours, you will," Mercedes said. "And then I'm gonna bust into your room and start singing something from South Pacific!"
"I hate that show," Kurt whined.
"Yeah, well, I hate Annie," Mercedes snapped.
"Children, quiet," Quinn said. "Kurt, I'll see you at lunch. Don't do anything stupid."
"Bye, Q," he said cheerfully. Quinn just shook her head.
Mercedes grabbed Kurt by the arm. "Come on, white boy, let's go," she said. "See you later, Finn."
He grinned and waved goodbye, feeling even more excited about lunch than usual.
Sure enough, when lunch rolled around he found Kurt sitting on their usual table. Not at the table, on it. He was babbling a mile a minute with a can of Red Bull in his hand. Tina, Artie, and Sam were all cracking up, but Quinn and Mercedes both looked exhausted.
"Finn, has he been like this all day?" Rachel whispered.
"Oh, yeah," he said. "Since last night, actually."
"How much Red Bull has he had?" Rachel asked.
"Probably about a gallon and a half, at this point," Finn said. "Oh, and about a bowl and a half of cookie dough."
Rachel shook her head. "May God have mercy on his sugar-doused soul," she said.
"Finn! Finn! Finn!"
He grinned. "Hi, Kurt," he said. "Still high?"
"I don't know, I feel pretty normal, I'm just really awake," Kurt said.
"How'd the algebra test go?" he asked as he sat down and opened up his brown paper lunch bag.
"It was amazing," Kurt bubbled. "I aced it. I completely aced it. It was the most thrilling mathematical moment of my life."
"You have mathematical moments?" Artie snickered.
"Well, at least last night had a point to it," Quinn sighed.
Kurt tilted his head. "Hm, I have to pee again," he said.
"Please get off the table," Tina said.
Kurt scooted off. "I don't know what's wrong with me, but I've had to pee like every ten minutes," he said.
Sam held his arms up in an 'O' shape above his head. "Oversharing, dude," he said. Kurt made a 'W' with his hands, his thumbs together, and flounced off.
Mercedes lunged for Kurt's messenger bag. "Merciful baby Jesus, somebody take those Red Bulls away from that boy," she said. She pulled out two unopened cans and three empties.
"I am going to kill Santana," Quinn muttered.
"It could be worse," Finn shrugged.
"Not by much," Rachel said. "That much sugar and caffeine could destroy his digestive system."
"He's never done anything like this before," Finn said. "Usually all he eats is rabbit food. One day of sugar overdose won't kill him." He took a massive bite of his sandwich. "The only thing I'm worried about is the crash."
Quinn shuddered. "If I hadn't promised your mom that I would help clean the kitchen, I would dump Kurt on your hands and run," she said.
Rachel frowned. "She gets to come over?" she said. "Well, if Quinn gets to come over, I get to come over."
Artie glanced over his shoulder at Kurt, who was skipping back over to them. "You really want to deal with that barrel of gay sunshine?" he asked. "Especially when he's coming down off this?" Rachel blanched. "Finn, I have…um…a voice lesson after school," she said. "If you would like your ex-girlfriend to come home with you, I trust your judgment."
"Gee thanks, man-hands," Quinn snorted.
Kurt waltzed over to them. "Hi, everybody," he sang. "Did you miss me?"
"Sure, Kurt, we missed you," Mercedes said. "You and your sudden sugar addiction."
"This crash is not going to be pretty," Tina mumbled.
"Oh, there won't be a crash," Kurt said. "I think I've managed to create a perfect, complete personality change for myself. I may never have to sleep again!" He picked up his messenger bag and sashayed away.
"Should we tell him we took the Red Bull away?" Quinn asked.
"No, I think we should just let him find out for himself that the happy juice is gone," Artie snickered.
Tina patted Finn on the shoulder. "Good luck getting him home," she said.
"It shouldn't be that bad," he said.
He was wrong.
At three o'clock he closed his locker door and found Kurt slumped against the lockers beside him. "Hi," Finn said. "Y'okay? Still bouncing off the walls?"
"I am so tired," Kurt complained.
"I thought you were never going to be tired again," he said innocently.
"I lied," Kurt said. "Can we go home? I just want…to go to sleep…for like…forever."
"Hold on, we have to wait for Quinn," he said.
"Why are we waiting?"
Finn glanced down. "Oh, hey, Quinn," he said. "Okay, Kurt, now we can go home."
Kurt dragged himself behind them. "Slow down," he whined. "You're going so fast."
Quinn took him by the hand. "Come on," she said. "You can't crash now."
"No, crash now," Kurt said. "Crash now would be nice."
Finn unlocked the Navigator and helped Quinn stuff Kurt into the car. "Don't sleep," Quinn commanded.
"But I'm tired and my tummy hurts," Kurt said, lolling across the backseat.
"I see that getting tired turns you into a five-year-old," Quinn said as she buckled herself into the passenger seat. "I hope this has taught you some valuable lessons."
"What kind of lessons?" Kurt asked as Finn started the drive home.
"Like…remember when you have an algebra test," Quinn said.
"Don't eat a bowl of cookie dough," Finn added.
"Don't drink anything Santana gives you."
"And never have Red Bull, ever. Ever ever ever."
Kurt sighed heavily, crossing his arms over his stomach. "Fine," he said. "Whatever. Can we go home?"
"Just about there," Finn said. "I would say 'don't hurl till we get home,' but it's your car, so I know you won't do it."
"I never want cookies again," Kurt whimpered. "Or Red Bull."
"Good," Quinn said firmly.
Finn parked in the driveway of the Hummel-Hudson house. "Look, Kurt, we're home," he said.
"Thank goodness," he mumbled, stumbling out of the car and into the house.
"Kurt, you left your-" Quinn started to call. "Oh, never mind. I'm already doing your chores for you. I'll carry your stupid bag in too."
Finn waited until she had picked up Kurt's messenger bag and her cheerleading duffle before he locked the car. "Thanks for helping out again," he said.
"Yes, well, your mom has sort of been mad at me since Babygate," Quinn said. "That whole…I cheated on her son thing."
"Oh," Finn said. "Yeah."
"I figured I might as well suck up as much as I can," she sighed.
Finn opened the front door and laughed. "Well, there's the crash," he said.
Quinn smiled. Kurt was sprawled out on the couch, one foot still lying on the floor and the other propped up on the armrest, and his arms curled up under his chest. "Aw, look how cute he is," she said.
"Cute? You were about to kill him a minute ago," Finn said.
"Yes, but now he's asleep and adorable," Quinn said. "And quiet. Very quiet. And not bouncing off the walls."
She bent over him and kissed his forehead. Finn shook his head. "I will never understand girls," he mumbled.
Quinn got up and dragged him towards the kitchen, which still looked like a bomb containing flour, chocolate, and eggs had gone off. "Let's get started," she said. "This is going to take a while."
"Wait, I have to do this too?" Finn said. "But I-"
"Let's get started, Hudson."
The dishwasher was stacked, the table was cleared, and they were just starting on the washing-and-drying part when it happened. Finn put down his towel and the wet spatula Quinn had just handed him so he could listen better- although, in retrospect, he didn't know how that would work.
"What are you doing?" Quinn said, hands on her hips. Finn held his finger to his lips and pointed towards the living room.
"It's the…square root…of…mmm, oatmeal."
Quinn tilted her head. "Is he doing what I think he's doing?" she whispered.
They peeked into the living room. Kurt was still flopped over the couch, but he was rolling around and mumbling under his breath.
"Yeah, yeah, he is," Finn said.
"He's talking in his sleep!" Quinn giggled.
They crept closer. Finn pulled his phone out of his pocket and started recording.
Kurt frowned. "Quadratic equations," he mumbled. "Square root of…something…over two…and…a….a…twelve ounce bag of chocolate chips."
"I think he's combing his algebra homework with his cookie recipe," Quinn whispered. Finn flailed his hand to make her be quiet.
Kurt rolled across the couch, his cheek marked in red lines from the couch pillow. "Barium…cobalt…Einstein…kool-aid," he sighed.
Quinn was choking in her attempts to keep from laughing out loud. Finn tried to keep his phone from shaking.
"Chocolate…no more chocolate…or…liquid candy…I don't want it…anymore," Kurt moaned. "Brittany, stop it. Stop it, Brittany!" "I really don't want to know what he's dreaming," Finn whispered. Quinn elbowed him sharply in the side.
Kurt kept moving around. "I don't wanna…no…" he mumbled as he rolled completely off the couch and onto the floor.
Quinn and Finn jumped back in surprise. "Kurt, are you okay?" she asked.
He opened his eyes sleepily and stared up at the ceiling. "Blue," he said clearly. "Blue, blue…everything is blue."
"He's still asleep," Finn hissed.
Quinn hoisted him back onto the couch. "Close your eyes, Kurt," she said. "Go to sleep."
"Everything tastes like Smarties," he murmured.
Quinn draped a blanket over him. "Should I keep filming?" Finn whispered.
"Oh, definitely," she whispered back. "Next time he ever wants to have a Red Bull…all we have to do is show him this."
"And we can put this on Youtube."
"We have to have Youtube."
So...as mentioned in chapter three of "Interfering"...here is Kurt high on cookie dough and Red Bull.
There's really not much else to say, I suppose.
Although you might want to read "Stressbaking" if you haven't yet. It sort of explains the Strawberry Cupcake Debacle of 2010.
I don't think I wrote this very well, but I hope you still had fun!
This is a terrible AN, but I'm watching the new episode right now and Kurt is breaking my heart. Augh.