(I do not know Latin. I am using Google Translator. If you know Latin and read this and go "that's…not how that goes…" I apologize in advance. If you know Latin and want to tell me the error of my ways, please do. I will love you forever.)
Reducens consorte meo sanguine.
(Bring back the one who shares in my blood.)
Things ripped and tore and reformed. Threads twisted and snapped and broke and it was tears and screaming and pain and blood.
Reducens consorte nomen meum.
(Bring back the one who shares my name.)
Ice spread through dry veins and there was screaming and laughing and despair – howdareyou howdareyou heismine heismine I'll kill you – and dust made marrow and bone mended and muscles seared into being. And drums sounded and light and dark and-
Tolle nomen ejus.
(Take his name.)
And wild joy and happiness and youareforgiven youareafool heisstillmine alwaysmine youareafool and I will see you broken and he is mine always and victory screeches and power and laughing. It's too much, and with a crack and a creak there is a beat. And then, another.
And with a kiss too late and too short, eyes fluttered open. And the dead saw once more.
Kurt – who both was and was not Kurt; he was just a little extra – looked down at his father. The man was asleep, his heart weak and strained from performing the ritual to bring him back. The night was so much more, now; so much brighter and louder. Whispers from the wind came to his ears and he could see so much, so much.
Always mine. Should kill him, you should. He's made you unhappy again.
"Hush." Kurt whispered, not taking his eyes off his father. He hadn't missed him, not really. How could you miss someone when time flowed differently between you? Besides… he had his mother to keep him company.
She's a funny woman. I think we should give her a body again. Won't that be fun?
"Perhaps later. If she wants one." Kurt was nothing if not indulgent of his mother. Odd how things worked out.
Come to bed.
"There's no point in me sleeping."
Who said anything about sleep?
Kurt felt his lips curl up and wondered if his face remembered how to smile just yet. He drifted down to his room in the basement, which had remained untouched, things still lying on his desk as if he had just left for a brief vacation or sleepover. He stood still and felt the time around him, wondering what the day was, now that such a thing was important again.
Later, later. To bed, mine, to bed.
"Soon." Kurt responded, still feeling the time and comparing it to what his feeble old mind had understood time as. It made the process harder and less exact, but it would work. Kurt would will it so.
From his reckoning, it had been seven months since he had been murdered – and it was murder. Regardless of what the humans said it was, he was murdered.
You think so loudly, mine. Come to bed. You can have revenge later. I want you now, come.
And the pull and want from those words was too much for him to ignore. He fell into them and was caught and held and loved and pressed against sheets and bitten and soothed and flooded with thoughts and emotions and it was too much but he wanted more and-
Living looked like it had some perks, after all.
Kurt hummed softly as he waited for the pancakes to turn brown. The wind whispered to him, telling him where people were and what they were doing. The shadows in the house cooed at him, inching forward to caress his bare feet and ankles. He felt Burt wake up and start down the stairs. Kurt shooed the shadows away and flipped the pancakes.
"Kurt?" Burt whispered from the doorway. Kurt plastered a smile on his face and turned around.
"Hi, Daddy." He said, because he knew that's what Burt wanted to hear. His father – if his mother is still his mother, then surely his father is still his father – walked forward in a daze, wrapping Kurt in a hug when he gets close enough. And Kurt breathed out and melted against him because that's what Burt wanted and Kurt is nothing if not attentive to the things his father wants.
"It worked, it worked, of course it worked. I was so scared…" Burt murmured into his hair. Kurt stayed in his arms for a few more moments before detaching himself with his smile still plastered on.
"Breakfast will be ready in a few seconds. And then we can spend the day together." Kurt said before turning back to the pancakes. "What happened to Carole and Finn?" He asked, more to just let Burt hear his voice than out of any curiosity.
"Things got pretty hard, after you… It didn't work out, that's all." Burt said. Kurt pulled out some plates and loaded food on them before putting them on the table. He had already set out the syrup and butter and silverware, so he just sat down across from his father and waited for the other man to eat.
Food wasn't strictly necessary for Kurt anymore, but at least it didn't taste like ash or dirt. They ate in silence, Burt looking at Kurt and Kurt trying to emulate the way he used to eat. When they were done, Kurt cleaned up and tugged Burt into the living room so they could watch television. Burt fell asleep as the sun started to set and Kurt remained curled under his arm for a time, waiting.
Why are you still there, mine? He's asleep, come play.
"Oh, so you're back. Was everything… alright?" Kurt asked, extracting himself from Burt's loose hold.
Of course it was alright, why wouldn't it be? Come, let's play.
Kurt sighed as he got up and turned to his companion.
"Not until you tell me where you went."
It's not important, mine. Stop being difficult.
"Not important? Well then, I guess you can go back across the ocean and wait till I come back? After all, this isn't important either."
You are mine. Mine. I will not leave you here, I will not. I stay or you come back across the ocean with me. This shore isn't yours anymore. I have your name, mine. I have everything you are, you gave it to me.
"I might as well stay here, if you're going to be this way." Kurt responded, heading towards his old room in the basement.
They made it to New York, you know. Without you. They tied at Sectionals, because your Berry couldn't sing for weeks after you died.
"Why are you telling me this?"
They won Regionals though. Your Berry and some of the others wrote you a song. It broke people's hearts and won them a nice trophy. And then they went to Nationals, in New York. Your Berry and Mercedes broke into a theater and sang for you. They dedicated the performance to you.
"How do you know this?"
That's where I was, mine. I was visiting my other half, the one with our heart. He told me these things.
"Your human half? You went to see your human half and didn't even tell me?" Kurt hissed, hurt and angry and the ice running through him seemed to burn, as if it wanted to become fire. The thought of another sharing emotions and thoughts with his companion…
Don't be like that, mine. I just wanted to see him again, I haven't since he was a little boy. The humans that bore him don't like him much; he gets lonely. And he shares our heart…
"Fine." Kurt hissed out before turning and gathering the shadows around him to get him away from his companion and out of this house.
Maybe it was time to visit one of the idiots that killed him.
Kurt looked up at the house of one Aaron Delenski, football jock and longtime hater of anything that was outside his comfort zone. Before, Aaron was just some kid that threw slushies in his face and shoved him into lockers, but now he was one of the people who helped beat Kurt half to death and then left him to die, alone, in the woods.
And how lucky for him, as it looked like Mommy and Daddy Delenski weren't in. The shadows opened the front door for Kurt and the "Welcome to our home!" sign above the door made Kurt chuckle quietly. He had never really considered how dangerous signs like that were – you were literally inviting anyone who could read English into your home by placing it there of your own free will.
The entry hallway opened into a living room, where Aaron was camped out in front of the big screen T.V. playing a video game. To the left of the television was a hallway that presumably led to the bedrooms, and to the right of the television was an archway that opened to the kitchen and the backdoor. Kurt saw his shadows swirl around the backdoor and knew that if the boy ran to open it, it would not budge.
"Hello, Aaron." Kurt said. The boy jumped and whirled around to face him. Upon seeing who it was, all the blood drained from his face.
"No, no, it's not…"
"Oh, it is." Kurt cut the boy's denial off, walking towards him with a smile on his face. The boy leaped to his feet and ran towards the kitchen and, more importantly, the backdoor. Kurt laughed and followed after him at a more sedate pace. Aaron reached the backdoor and tried to open it, but Kurt's shadows held it closed.
"Darling, I couldn't get away so neither can you." Kurt said.
"Please, please, don't kill me! I didn't mean to! Dave made me, please; it wasn't supposed to go that far!" Aaron pleaded, back pressed against the door.
"Dave made me!" Kurt mocked, truly amused now. "I didn't mean to kill you; I just meant to beat you!" He continued. "Poor baby, incapable of making his own choices; but don't worry, honey, you won't have to make your own decisions now, not when I'm done with you." Kurt said, smiling at the other boy.
The shadows surged forward to wrap around the boy, dragging him down as he screamed in terror.
"You have a good set of lungs on you, boy." Kurt said, opening drawers looking for a suitable knife. Aaron continued to scream and writhe on the ground, trying to get away from the things holding him down. Kurt found the knife drawer and gave an excited squeal.
The shadows held Aaron still as Kurt settled down on the boy's stomach. The knife near whistled as Kurt drove it down into the base of the boy's neck. Blood spurted out and Kurt lifted the knife again to drive it home in both of Aaron's shoulders. Blood was everywhere, pooling on the once pristine floor.
"Honey, your body is going to die, but don't worry – that's not the end of you. I'm going to give you what you want – a chance to always have other people making your decisions for you." Kurt said, dragging the knife out and dropping it on the floor. Aaron made a pained gurgle and his eyes screamed how much pain he was in.
The shadows compressed and spat out a doll – nothing fancy, just a cloth doll with short hair and beads for eyes. Kurt smiled and dipped his fingers in Aaron's blood, writing symbols previously lost to time and memory on the doll's and Aaron's heads. They didn't match, that wouldn't make much sense; no, what Kurt wrote was a poem that started on one and ended on the other. An old poem that his mother had taught him, that first timeless sweep of moments when they were finally together again, before Kurt's companion re-found him and things changed.
Old bones and old threads and new threads and new bearings. What was once flesh shall not be and what was once not shall be.
Simple. The translation wasn't exact, English being such a horrible language for magic in the same way that it's a wonderful language – it was horrible if you were on one end, but wonderful if you were on another. English made it so much easier for curses to hold, made it so much easier to trap people, to own people, which made it a wonderful language. But it was also imprecise: full of double meanings and half meanings, didn't have enough words, and was too new, which made it a horrible language. But that was neither here nor there.
The symbols on both doll and boy glowed and the air turned sharp and heavy, the ting before the first drop of rain hit and when the glow faded, the symbols on the doll faded with the it into nothing. The shadows laughed and Kurt stepped away from the empty husk that was once Aaron Delenski.
"Here, sweets, I'm sure the poor child you took this from is missing it. Best give it back." Kurt said to his shadows before tossing the doll to them. They swallowed it and Kurt knew it was being returned to whomever they had taken it from – he hoped it was some poor disturbed child that liked to rip their dolls apart. It would serve Aaron right.
He left the body bleeding out on the kitchen floor.
A few more days passed. Burt didn't go to work and spent all day with Kurt, watching television and listening to Kurt sing haunting songs that made the shadows sway on the walls. They talked and Kurt would dance, and sometimes Burt was sure that he could hear whispering when he slept, but he ignored it. He ignored a lot of things, because his son was back.
But that didn't mean the world ignored him.
It was a Sunday when police knocked on the door. Kurt drifted into his basement and let his father deal with them. They asked questions – where was he on this date, was he aware Aaron Delenski had been murdered, can he prove where he was the day the boy was murdered – and Burt answered calmly and rationally. They left suspicious but with no way of proving anything.
And Kurt drifted back up the stairs, smile plastered on his face and asked if maybe it would be a good idea for Burt to return to work tomorrow.
"I'm back now, so that means you have to get back into the swing of things. You can't let the bills stack up like this; if you lost the house, you'd never see me again." Kurt pointed out, talking quietly. Burt paled and promised he'd go back to work come Monday. And Kurt continued to smile.
Monday dawned and Burt woke up, showered, got dressed, and left to attend to his shop for the first time since his son died.
He's out of the house. Why did you get him out? What are we going to do today, mine?
"You didn't get to come with me when I dealt with dear Aaron; I figured you'd want to tag along this time." Kurt responded, reaching for his companion. His companion coiled around him, arms clutching close and lips pressing against his.
And what are we doing, mine?
"A bunch of them are at the lake today." Kurt said, turning to his shadows. "I figured we could go swimming."
And they were gone.
It was so easy to deal with them. His companion shifted and lengthened and bent itself into a fish of some sort with bulging eyes and sharp, sharp teeth while Kurt picked one of them – out of the five that they dealt with, Kurt picked the one who carved words into his original body. His companion ripped the other four apart quickly, tearing arms and legs off and waiting for the bodies to either drown or bleed out, which ever happened first. And the boy Kurt was focused on thought himself lucky when he made it to shore, throwing himself onto land and throwing up, crying.
"What's the matter, Jamie?" Kurt asked, coming to stand in front of the boy, smile plastered onto his face. Jamie Fleming was just one of the nameless jocks that stood by when Puck used to throw him in dumpsters; a nameless jock that used to throw slushies in his face and call him names. Until one night he drank too much and offered his car for a rousing game of "kidnap and beat the gay kid in the woods just outside of Lima". Then he transitioned from nameless jock into prey, because he was always going to get payback for his actions.
Jamie was looking up at him now, horror showing in his features and shaking.
"Are you scared, Jamie?" Kurt asked, crouching down to be level with the other boy. The boy made a sound, but didn't move, too scared to even think about fight or flight. Kurt laughed and reached out to gently touch the boy's face.
And Jamie scrambled to his feet and dashed around Kurt. Kurt stood up slowly, let Jamie run, let him think he had a chance to get away. His companion lifted itself out of the water, shifting again to a dark silhouette with two legs, two arms, and a head. Kurt's companion didn't particularly like to use its natural form on these shores; not when its human counterpart was alive and walking around.
This is fun, mine. Did you hear them scream when I bit into the first one? When they saw me coming for them and realized they couldn't make it to shore? You should have tasted their fear, mine, it was delicious.
"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." Kurt said, turning to follow after Jamie.
You let that one run?
"My darlings went ahead of him." Kurt responded, turning onto a trail seemingly at random. This lake was where most, if not all, of the jocks and Cheerios used to hang out – it was the make-out spot, the summer hang out spot, the party spot. Kurt had never really understood what made this lake special, the one he and his old friends used to hang out at was much prettier and more secluded, but he didn't make the rules of social gatherings.
Jamie was running in place up ahead, not even realizing that he wasn't getting any closer to his destination.
"Jamie, what's the rush?" Kurt called out, mocking him and laughing when he saw Jamie seemingly pick up the pace. Of course, he didn't move, but it was so adorable to watch him tire himself out like that. A few steps later brought Kurt close enough to grab the back of the boy's neck and yank him backwards.
Jamie's back hit the ground with a thump and Kurt's shadows swarmed the boy, holding him down. Kurt smiled down at him and his companion laughed wildly from next to him. Jamie screamed and cried and tried to wiggle away.
"Shhhh, Jamie, shush. No one can hear you, honey." Kurt cooed. He plopped himself down onto Jamie's stomach, smiling down at the boy.
"Get off of me, you dead fag!" Jamie shouted, trying to roll Kurt off. Kurt rolled his eyes.
"Honey, honey, please, don't be ridiculous. I'm only on top of you so I can do some carving, not because I find you in any way attractive. Because, darling, you really aren't. You're worse than ugly, Jamie, you're forgettable. Plain. So, get those ideas out of your head and shush so I can work." Kurt said. His shadows coiled and pressed a wicked switchblade into Kurt's hand and Jamie eyed it warily.
It was a beautiful blade, really; green and black handle, pretty weaving designs on the blade itself. Much prettier than the steak knife Jamie had used to carve the words fag and worthless into Kurt's once pristine skin.
"Please, please, I didn't mean to. Please don't kill me. Please. I didn't mean to. I have a family!" Jamie begged. Kurt leaned down, pressing the blade against Jamie's chest.
"So did I." Kurt said sweetly and then pressed the blade down into Jamie's chest. Jamie howled and cried and begged and Kurt ignored him. He sliced down Jamie's chest, the blade going deep enough to hurt and made Jamie scream, but not deep enough to make him bleed out. The blade came up and out and it did look gorgeous, dipped in red.
Mine, look at his eyes. I bet they'd look good in a doll's head.The voice made him look up to find that his companion was hunched over, looking down into Jamie's face.
"Go ahead." Kurt said and handed his companion the switchblade. While his companion was working on getting Jamie's eyes out of their sockets in tact, Kurt swirled a few of his shadows together over his right hand, letting them pull and harden his fingers into blades. He clicked his new fingers together, before plunging them into the flesh right above where the boy's heart was rapidly beating.
Jamie jerked and somehow found the strength to scream louder, which was rather impressive really, before Kurt felt his fingers pierce the boy's heart in several places. Kurt pressed his fingers together and yanked upwards, bringing blood and pieces of gunk and flesh in a handful out of Jamie's body.
His companion was just pulling the last eye out of Jamie's head when Kurt stood up and shook his hand a few times to both get the assorted mess off of it, and to turn his fingers back into flesh and bone.
"Do you have a doll in mind for those?" Kurt asked.
Not particularly. I'm sure we'll find one though.
Kurt was still laughing as the shadows come together to whisk them away.
Burt was taken away on a Wednesday. Kurt stayed out of sight and had his shadows hide the door to the basement, and the police didn't even look twice at where it should be. The police were sure that Burt was responsible for the recent deaths of the idiots who killed Kurt – after all who else had the motive for killing a bunch of "upstanding" American teenagers? Kurt remained in his old room, listening to the humans move above him like ants.
The police searched the house high and low and find nothing. Kurt stayed out of their way and listened to the wind rattle the floorboards and whisper to him.
Are you going to do anything about your father, mine?
Kurt gathered his shadows around him and went to find David Karofsky. By this time, the fool should know what was coming to him.
It was a Friday when David Karofsky's head was discovered neatly placed on a shelf in McKinley's locker room, in place of where his helmet usually was kept. In the resulting chaos it was relatively easy for Kurt to slip into the waiting student body, all gathered in the parking lot, shaking and exchanging whispers.
Kurt came to a stop near Rachel Berry, who was watching the school with an expressionless face and cold eyes. Mercedes Jones and Tina Cohen-Chang stood next to her, almost flanking the girl, and they look older. Tina for once had no highlights and was wearing something half gothic-half punk, and it's all dark colors and covered up skin. Mercedes had short hair and was skinnier than he remembered her being; she was wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans with a killer belt and nice hat. Rachel's hair was in a braid and she was wearing skinny jeans and a nice, knee-length jacket with small buttons. He thinks it's an outfit he himself would have approved of her wearing and something inside him almost warms.
The wind curled around Rachel, tugging at her clothes and moving her hair. Rachel turned her face away, flicking some stray bits of her hair away from her eyes, and Kurt felt the string between them pull taut and tug at the girl. He thought to move, thought to leave, and then Rachel looked up and their eyes met.
"Kurt?" Rachel whispered, so quietly that he didn't actually hear her say his name, just saw her lips move, and he turned to leave. He heard her break away from Mercedes and Tina, heard her boots clicking against the ground, and he moved quicker, putting more people in between them.
"Kurt! Kurt! Wait, Kurt!" And Rachel was shouting, pushing people and trying to get to him and people were whispering more and Tina and Mercedes were calling after Rachel, trying to grab her. He could feel her crying and for once was thankful that he didn't live long enough to let this connection become any stronger than it already was. The shadows swirled around him and he was gone.
And, thankfully, his connection to Rachel turned back into ice and he felt her no more.
What shall we do now, mine?
Kurt's companion asked. Kurt continued to look at the pretty porcelain doll in front of him – its pink dress had just the right amount of lace and fluff to make it look pretty and its shoes were tasteful. The doll's mouth was turned up in a smile and painted a soft pink. The only real flaw was the thing's eyes – the things were damn hideous.
The shopkeeper was sitting at the front, leafing through a magazine. If Kurt were still fully human, he'd dismiss the old man as nothing, but Kurt knew better now. Kurt picked up the doll and felt magic thrum through his fingers.
"Find everything you wanted okay?" The shopkeeper asked, much closer now that Kurt was holding one of his creations. Kurt hummed in response while his companion hissed angrily from nearby.
"Not sure if you'll be able to afford that, kid, it's expensive." The shopkeeper continued.
"I wanted to trade something for this." Kurt finally said, turning to look up at the... 'man'.
"Trade? Well, I suppose that doesn't shock me… yes, yes, come on into the back and we'll talk."
The shopkeeper walked to the back, peeling back a drapery and waving Kurt inside. Kurt's shadows quivered and twisted in excitement, giggling, even as they pulled into existence the rest of David Karofsky's twisted and broken body.
The boy begged and pleaded and screamed longer and louder than any of the others. Kurt made sure he was alive long after his body desperately tried to turn off – that he was alive as Kurt carved symbols into his chest and stomach, as Kurt ripped his small and large intestines out – and that he was only allowed to die, finally, when Kurt got bored of him. Kurt ripped the boy's head off as more of an afterthought.
"Your work, I presume? Yes, yes, this is a good trade. I can make a nice, new doll with these materials and have something to eat while making a new one… yes, this is a good trade." The shopkeeper said from where he was kneeling. "Pleasure doing business with you, youngling, pleasure." The shopkeeper waved him away.
Kurt wondered if his companion would be willing to let Kurt use Jamie's eyes to make this doll perfect.
They released Burt on a Thursday, more than a week after they first arrested him. The same day, Mercedes Jones found a porcelain doll wearing a pretty pink dress waiting for her in her closet. She didn't need a card to know who it was from.
Burt read and Kurt wondered if he should visit any of his old friends, check up on them. Seeing Rachel woke something inside him and as much as his companion tried to distract him, he could not stop thinking about music and dancing and warmth.
Isn't it enough that you let your Berry see you and that you gave that doll to Mercedes?
"I do not know."
When Kurt sat down next to Burt, he ignored how the man hesitated before wrapping him close.
Redde mihi quod ego
(I give back that which I took)
Kurt screamed and writhed as threads attempted to unravel and ice half melted and reformed, painfully quick.
Mendacium quod semel laesit
(Mend what was once torn)
His companion screamed in rage and there was blood.
Abrogare mihi magna
(Undo my transactions)
Everything stopped and the pain was less. Liquid poured down Kurt's face, who stood still in the center of the room, eyes nailed to his once father. Blood dripped into Kurt's eyes and off his chin and his fingers were more knives than bone and cartilage. His companion – more visible now than ever before – hovered close, magic beating around its body like a hurricane.
The book Burt had been reading from tumbled to the ground as the man's legs gave out. Kurt took a measured step forward, lips twisting into a smile.
"Did I do something to upset you, Daddy?"
"You're not my son. The police showed me the pictures of what you did to those kids! My son wasn't a monster. I know what you've been doing. I should never have brought you here." Burt says gruffly, tears in his eyes.
And Kurt can't help it, he really can't: He starts to laugh. Loudly. And Burt starts to cry and Kurt's companion lets out a victory screech before diving at Burt. Kurt's still laughing as Burt starts to scream and Kurt doesn't stop laughing for a long time.
People forgot about the house after that. Water and electricity were still routed there, but no bills came. People glossed over it when they looked at the neighborhood, and it became a neighborhood joke that whoever did the numbering for the houses must have wrote something down wrong because they skipped a number. Mail addressed to the house vanished somewhere between the sender and the post office with no one the wiser until eventually all mail to the house stopped.
Life went on.