Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They belong to Ryan Murphy and FOX.

"blah" – talking

'blah' – thinking

blah – dream/flashback/etc

When Trent experiences his first storm, he is three years old. It is the middle of the night, and his parents have long since tucked him into his bed and retired to their own room. The distant rumbling of the thunder wakes him. It stops him from falling back asleep when it sounds every few minutes, growing progressively louder.

'Footsteps. Big monster footsteps,' Trent's childish mind supplies. 'Getting closer'.

He buries his head under the sheets and makes sure his feet are tucked up, away from the edges of the bed. He clutches the sheets tight between his chubby, baby hands and holds his breath as he waits for the next footstep. Maybe a giant's. Maybe a dinosaur's. Maybe a monster's.

He doesn't want to poke his head out to check. He considers shouting for his parents, but doesn't want to make any noise in case the monster hears him.

The footsteps are sounding closer together now. The monster must be running. Towards what, though? He stays huddled under the covers, not moving an inch, not speaking a whisper.

It starts to rain a few minutes later, and then the lightning strikes several minutes after that. Trent is familiar with the sound and smell of rain. This rain is heavier than anything he's ever experienced before, if the violent drumming of the droplets against his window is anything to go by. Lightning, though, is foreign to him.

He doesn't know what makes it. All he knows is that the room lights up for a few seconds following the loudest footstep yet. For those few seconds, everything is clearly outlined – the lamp on the bedside table, the large desk, the ornate rocking chair near the foot of his bed, and the claws and spikes and slithery tails peeking out from behind the furniture – even through the sheets. When the light disappears, he doesn't move; afraid that if he does, the creatures lurking in the dark and the monster outside his room will see him. The room lights up again, and he can see through the gap of the closet door, dozens of glowing, staring eyes. The flash has barely disappeared before the room is bright again, and this time, Trent can see misshapen bodies stalking out of the shadows.

He doesn't move, doesn't even blink. He doesn't make a sound, not even a whimper. He stays awake that night, unable to fall back into sleep. He listens to the giant's footsteps, and imagines the raindrops dashing the glass panes are the giant's tears. He doesn't know what to make of the brilliant, bright flashes that occasionally light up all of the lurking nightmares, but he knows he doesn't like it. He muffles his sobs as best he can, biting his lips till it bleeds.

Trent has never recovered from that night. He knows now what thunder and lightning are, knows the science behind them. His imagination doesn't conjure up shadow creatures anymore. Sun showers, day time storms don't bother him too much; they make him fidgety and tense, nervous, but they don't interfere with his day much. Night is a different story. He remembers the feelings he felt that night; the fear, the loneliness, the paranoia. Every time, the lightning strikes, he is afflicted with the feelings again.

The thunder precedes the lightning, warns him. There's not much he can do to prepare though. He can't stop Mother Nature. He used to have a dorm to himself. Every time he heard the thunder, he'd pack up his duvet and pillow and trudge 3 doors down the hallway to Wes' and David's room. Wes never minded if the younger boy slept out on the small couch situated in the far corner of their double dorm. Wes even left the lamp on for the entire night. Trent felt better just knowing that there were other human beings in the room with him. He didn't ever manage to fall completely asleep. His rest was fitful and he did little more than fall into a doze before he was startled awake by a clap of thunder or bolt of lightning. Still, it was better than sitting up, fully awake and alone in his own room.

But now, he's getting a roommate. Trent's heard the rumours; new student transfer mid-term, from public high school. Another bully case, he assumes, just like too many who come to Dalton, seeking safety and acceptance within the school's walls. Apparently, the new kid's name is Flint. He's a sophomore, just like Trent.

Trent is excited to meet him, but at the same time, anxious because he doesn't want anybody else to know about his stupid, little fear. All of the Warblers know, but he made them promise not to tell anyone else. Logically, Trent knows that everyone is entitled to fears, but none-the-less, he feels ashamed that at the age of 16, he still feels the need to pull the covers over his head and hide from the world every time the wind so much as howls.

Flint turns out to be something of a gentle giant. Towering over Trent – and most of the students at Dalton – broad shoulders, muscular arms. But a winning smile and warm eyes. An approachable face, and an easy laugh.

Trent and Flint find common ground in their music interests, and Trent invites him to audition for the Warblers when he finds out the larger boy was part of his old school's choir. Trent takes him on a tour of the school, and then leads him to the dining hall when it comes time for dinner. He introduces him to Wes, David and Thad, and Blaine, and Nick and Jeff, and all the other Warblers. By the time all of the plates are cleaned of food, everybody has grown attached to Flint. He's everyone's friend, and Trent finds it hard to imagine this impossibly-friendly boy as anyone's target.

Trent and Flint make their way back to the dorm together, a comfortable silence settling between them. Trent inadvertently freezes when the first clap of thunder resounds throughout the hallway.

'It's so close'.

The monster must be right above them. He wants to crouch down, right then and there, in the middle of the hallway; wrap his arms around his head, cover his ears with his hands, close his eyes, pretend he's hiding from the monster, just like he used to do when he was five.

He wants to run down the hallway, twist and turn around the corners, never stopping to look behind, until he reaches his dorm. He wants to slam the door shut behind him, and jump into bed and hide underneath the covers.

Instead, his body freezes, and even if it's just minutely – even if it's just a stutter in his step before he regains control – Flint notices.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asks, face a picture of concern.

One large, calloused hand reaches out, as if to steady him, but Trent is already moving forward again, anxious to make it back to the dorm before the storm starts in and he becomes too terrified to leave his room. Where he'll be forced to spend the night, alone, awake, distraught.

"Y…yeah, I'm fine," Trent is quick to reassure his friend, attempting to smile, though he's sure it comes out looking more like a grimace. "Just tripped, is all".

"Oh, ok".

They continue walking in silence. When they make it back to their dorm, Flint excuses himself to use the small ensuite attached to the room. Trent doesn't mind. He just wants to be on his way to Wes' room. He slips off his shoes and quickly trades the stiff Dalton blazer for more comfortable clothing. Before he can gather up his duvet and pillow though, a booming dissonance of thunder rings out and the hard rain starts to fall. He jumps and almost screams, but claps his hands over his mouth before more than a yelp can escape him. He rushes for his bed and scrambles under the covers, clutching them in white-knuckled hands.

He stays there as the thunder clashes and the wind howls and the rain crashes, battling against each other. And then, the lightning starts, and Trent knows he won't be able to make it to Wes' and David's room. He can see everything clearly through the sheets covering his head when the lightning brightens up the room. He is taken back to that first night – the night of his first storm – and the same, old feelings cloud his mind, rendering rational thought impossible. He screws his eyes shut tight, when the thunder and lightning attack in sync, and squeezes his hands over his ears.

He is still huddling under the sheets, trembling and whimpering, when Flint exits the bathroom. Trent can see the bigger boy's silhouette when the room lights up every few seconds. This is one of the worst storms Trent has ever experienced, and the lightning strikes and thunder claps follow each other almost instantly. There's a branch tapping against the glass window, or at least, he hopes it's only a tree branch. He tries not to move or make a sound as he watches Flint walk towards the bed, before he stops, hovering uncertainly.

Then, the thunder booms and the lightning strikes, and the room seems to reverberate. Trent whimpers and his trembling starts anew. He is beyond controlling his reactions, and he is past caring what Flint thinks of him. He wishes he could just fall asleep and sleep through the entire, horrible storm. He can feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, seeking an escape. They gently roll down his cheeks.

When the lightning illuminates the room next, Flint is closer, and his hand is reaching out towards the sheet that is Trent's only protection from the wild elements above. Trent's panicked mind mistakes his roommate for a monster; a giant monster reaching out with long talons to rip away his shelter. He cries out, twisting the sheets tighter in his grip and curling up, bracing for this new attack. The sheets are being tugged out of his hands, gentle fingers working Trent's own out of the knots he's made. Trent's breathe hitches and he freezes as the sheets are ever-so-slowly pulled back to reveal his upper body. It takes him a moment for his brain to wake up and recognise Flint before Trent rolls over and clenches his eyes shut, not wanting to see the judgement on his new friend's face.

"Trent," Flint sighs. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

Trent doesn't reply, only flinches violently and bites his bottom lip to stop the sob from escaping when another rumble of thunder sounds and lightning strikes. He wants his sheet wall back, so he can hide from the storm. And so he can hide from Flint, who knows now. Knows Trent's most shameful secret.

"You're afraid of storms," Flint summarises.

The larger boy doesn't say anything else after that, just waits for Trent to either confirm or deny, even though it's pretty obvious that he's come to the right conclusion. When Trent doesn't reply, only tries to bury his face deeper into his pillow, Flint reaches a hesitant hand down to rest softly upon the trembling boy's shoulder. Trent startles so badly that his knee knocks against the wall. Flint pulls back quickly.

Tears are escaping from Trent's lids now. Shoulders shaking more violently. He wants to help his roommate – he really does – but he has no idea what to do. Trent won't talk to him and Flint's never been in this sort of situation. Feeling guilty, Flint hops back into his own bed.

Trent's still crying. It's barely audible; muted hitches of breath and muffled sobs. Flint feels worse, just lying there and listening to his new friend hurting. He doesn't last more than a minute before he's out of bed again, hovering over the trembling mass of boy in the opposite bed.

He has no idea what to say – Trent hasn't responded to anything he's said yet. He's saved when Trent mumbles something into his pillow.

"What?" Flint questions, eagerly grasping at any sort of conversation starter; now that's Trent finally started to open up, Flint doesn't want to miss a single word. Trent's next words are barely more than a whisper, and Flint has to lean close to hear them.

"It's true…I'm scared of storms…".

Flint's never really had to comfort anybody before, especially a 16 year high school boy.

"…Well, everyone's scared of something, right?"

Trent hiccups, and Flint's relieved to see that he isn't trembling as much anymore. He's rolled onto his back, one leg bent at the knee and tucked up, and arms crossed over his stomach. He still won't look at Flint, though. Flint notices that the thunder and lightning seem to have lessened.

"Yeah, but I bet not everyone hides under the covers like a scared, little kid".

Trent's not making this easy, but Flint's not giving up either.

"Well, no, but I'm sure you're not the only one. You know what I'm scared of? …Blood".

Trent peeks at him disbelievingly, and Flint is careful not to look away.

"Yeah, I'm serious. I can't stand the sight – or smell – of blood. If someone was bleeding in front of me, I'd probably run away instead of help them. I just can't stand it".

A shudder runs through his body just at the thought of it. He thinks he must be taking Trent's mind off the storm because the other teen hasn't done more than subconsciously flinch at the last few claps of thunder.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is…it's okay to be afraid, and you don't have to be embarrassed…" he trails off, unsure of what else to say.

Trent hesitantly sits up, sniffling.

"You're a really good distraction" he murmurs as he rubs at his blotchy face. "Usually, I go to Wes' room, but…".

Trent shrugs, and Flint guesses he's not so distracted anymore.

"I didn't want you to find out. Only Wes and David know, and that was by accident".

"I told you, it's nothing to be ashamed of," Flint tries to reassure the other teen, but he can tell he's losing this battle.

"Sorry Flint, but that doesn't really help".

Flint can almost feel the bite in his words. Before he can reply, there's a deafening boom overhead, and Trent's whole body jerks before he hunches up, looking like he's ready to burst into instantaneous tears.

"Just go back to bed, Flint. I'll try to keep it down".

Trent curls up underneath the covers again, back to the rest of the room, and Flint knows that he's being shut out. He considers going back to his own bed, but he knows Trent's not going to sleep tonight if the storm keeps up.

So, before he can even think about it, he lifts up the covers of his roommate's bed and hops under. His chest presses against Trent's back because the bed is only built for one person, or maybe two small people. He can feel Trent jump, and he wraps his arms around the other boy before he can escape.

"FLINT! Wh…What are you doing!?"

Trent's squirming. And crying. Flint just wants him to feel safe.

"Quit moving around".

"Well then explain what you are doing in MY bed! You're not gay –

"That's not what this is about… …It's just…when I have to get shots, I always feel better if someone holds my hand. I thought you might feel better if…you looked like you could use a hug".

Trent sighs, and he's still crying, and Flint wonders why he hasn't dried out yet and died from dehydration. At least he's stopped struggling.

"You're not leaving, are you?" Trent asks, sounding resigned, but almost hopeful? Flint thinks.

"Nope," Flint chuckles, knowing that the tides of battle have turned.

"Whatever," Trent huffs, and Flint can hear a hint of the famous sass the other Warblers warned him about.

The storm rages on outside the room, and Trent flinches at almost every crash of thunder and burst of lightning. Flint just holds him tighter every time, and eventually Trent seems to calm down, lulled into sleep by Flint's excess body heat and the protective cocoon he's created.

It's quiet for several minutes, except for the rain still drumming against the roof tiles and window panes, but then a small voice breaks the silence, just before Flint's about to drift off.

"You're a really good distraction".