Chapter One - "It's Been A Really Really Messed Up Week"

The 2011 William McKinley High School Junior Prom was over.

Thank God.

Hand in hand, Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson walked through the school's darkened hallways. Kurt still wore the crown he'd received when his fellow students had "honored" him by electing him Prom Queen. His expression was impassive; only his tight-set lips betrayed the feeling of utter humiliation he kept bottled up inside.

It had taken all Kurt's inner strength for him not to have puked on the spot when, after opening the envelope, Principal Figgins had regretfully announced his name as the winner. Though he'd run from the gymnasium, Kurt refused to let the haters win; in the end, he'd drawn on Blaine's love and support, gone back in there and accepted that crown with all the dignity he could muster.

Exhausted, Kurt leaned his head on Blaine's shoulder and squeezed his boyfriend's hand.

Blaine automatically squeezed back. Haunted by his own demons, he couldn't wait to get the hell away from this school. Only his feelings for Kurt had gotten him through the night. (That and the four swigs of liquid courage he'd secretly taken from the silver flask tucked away in his breast pocket. Just before leaving Dalton Academy that afternoon, his roommate had slipped it in there; more than anyone, Jeff had known how hard this night was going to be for him.)

He'd done it. No one—not even Kurt—knew how he'd felt tonight. A natural performer, Blaine had put on a good act. He'd never been swept up in Kurt's pie-in-the-sky enthusiasm; he'd always known something bad was gonna go down tonight.

A chill prickled through his body. Better a secret hate-ballot, than having the shit kicked outta—

And before his overactive mind could finish that thought, Blaine focused on singing the last song he'd performed tonight in his head to block it out:

We're goin' at it tonight, tonight
There's a party on the rooftop, top of the world
Tonight, tonight
And we're dancin' on the edge of the Hollywood sign

I don't know if I'll make it
But watch how good I'll fake it
It's all right, all right
Tonight, tonight

The other kids of New Directions walked with them, forming what someone might think was a protective circle around the pair.

Leading the pack, Puck and Lauren Zizes marched like soldiers who'd taken point. Both scowled as they scanned the shadows for any random dickwad stupid enough to say one word to their boy Hummel. Any fool could tell they were itching to get their hands on whoever had rigged the vote.

They were the last group to leave. Not wanting to give those knuckle-dragging haters the satisfaction of chasing him off (or risk encountering them in the dark parking lot), Kurt had insisted on staying until after the prom was over. So the others had stayed, too, to give their friend what support they could.

Blaine cracked a small smile as he glanced around at the group of jocks, cheerleaders, geeks, divas and whatnot. At Dalton, he'd marveled over Kurt's stories on how music and the adversity of life at McKinley had welded this mismatched band into a real (though often dysfunctional) family.

As they made their way to the main entrance, the group was followed by Sue Sylvester. The abrasive Cheerios' coach was telling them to "shake their cans" so she could get back to the gym and watch—as she put it—"that assortment of clueless wetbacks Figgins had hired to clear up" before they could make off with "everything that wasn't nailed down or red hot."

Already seriously pissed at having lost the Prom Queen election and being abandoned by her so-called "boyfriend"—Thanks much, Karofsky, you asshole closet-case!—Santana Lopez whipped her head around. Before she could launch one of her signature cutting replies to Sue's racial slur, Brittany gently took her hand and murmured something in her ear. Santana's stormy expression softened as she listened to the blonde's calming words.

After a side-glance at Kurt, Santana let it drop and linked pinkies with the other girl. Instead, she channeled her anger on a scheme to flush out the bitches who'd masterminded this Carrie redux and attacked Kurt with those write-in votes. God knew she and Tim Gunn, Jr. weren't even the best of frenemies—let alone friends—but New Directions was family.

And Santana protected her family.

The group filed out the doors into the cool night air. Puck and Zizes still moved like they were doing recon in enemy territory. Sam Evans' inner dork couldn't help thinking how much they reminded him of Drake and Vasquez, the two badass Colonial Marines in Aliens; all they were missing were those wicked cool "smart-guns".

After flicking his way-too-long hair out of his eyes, Sam glanced at Kurt and Blaine. Kurt was putting on the brave face and everything, but Sam knew that Blaine was the one really on edge. Behind all the charm and the big show smile, it was obvious to him that the poor guy had been stressed and anxious all night.

Like he was gonna lose it any second.

Sam sighed. With the Evans family now broke and homeless and living in a shitty motel room, he knew all too well what that looked and felt like these days.

The boys who'd driven went to get their cars. Not surprisingly, Kurt had painstakingly educated the abysmally clueless New Directions men in prom etiquette—one: that a corsage shouldn't resemble a parade float...two: always open the door for your date...three: pull out your date's chair for her...and, most importantly, four: a lady must never ever be made to trudge across a parking lot to her ride.

When he noticed Quinn shiver in the night air, Blaine, ever the gentleman, draped his tuxedo jacket around her shoulders. He then jogged off, trying to catch up with the other guys—his stomach clenching at the thought of being caught alone in the parking lot.

No one wanted to hash over the whole Prom Queen incident in front of Kurt; to break the awkward silence, the girls began to gossip about who wore what (and what were they thinking?!) and who came with who (and who'd left with someone different). Pulling the jacket more closely around herself, Quinn exchanged a sad smile with the boy who'd unintentionally beaten her out for Prom Queen.

As Blaine pulled up to the curb in his red Jaguar convertible, both Kurt and Quinn saw a familiar blue pick-up drive up and park in the first row of spaces.

Finn.

Kurt watched Quinn's smile fade as his step-brother leaped from his truck, still wearing his now-rumpled tux. As he focused on Quinn, his face was a mixture of guilt and regret. Finn Hudson's emotions were always written all over his face; that's why the guys loved playing poker with him.

Kurt knew Finn was conflicted. After breaking up with Rachel, Finn had pursued Quinn and won her back. But for some reason he'd just totally lost it tonight after watching the extreme PDA between Rachel and her date, Jesse St. James. In the process, Finn's jealousy had cost he and Quinn the prom-royalty title she so desperately coveted—not to mention publicly humiliating her—when he'd taken a swing at Jesse and been ejected for fighting.

He was about ten feet away when Quinn stopped him in his tracks with a sharp stage-whispered "Don't...!"

Putting on her best ice-queen game face, she turned away, slipped her hand into the crook of Blaine's arm and allowed him to escort her to his car. Looking like a smacked puppy, Finn watched Blaine help Quinn into the back seat of the Jag.

As Kurt stepped forward, he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder. He flinched before remembering that Sue Sylvester was still standing behind him.

"Some prom, Porcelain," she muttered with something resembling sympathy in a voice only Kurt could hear. Before Kurt could look up, she'd stepped back into the school and closed the doors. "Caballeros, the taco break is over!" she shouted as she turned on her heel. "I once took three bullets for the director of the INS! He's on my speed-dial! So if you want to..." Her voice faded as she marched back toward the gym.

By this time, Quinn had carefully arranged her flowing skirts inside the car. Before Blaine could pull the front seat upright, Kurt quickly climbed in and sat beside her, taking her hand.

Blaine's heart melted. After all that had happened, Kurt could still comfort someone else who had been hurt tonight. Slamming the door shut, he walked around to the driver's side.

The other boys went over to check on Finn. After one last concerned glance at Blaine, Sam asked Finn if he had finished kicking Jerkoff St. Douchebag's sorry ass. Still staring at Quinn, it took Finn a few seconds to process that someone was talking to him.

Before Blaine could get in the car, Puck strode over to him. "Hey, Preppy McHairGel, we're all headin' over to Denny's now. My fine full-figured gal's got a serious hankerin' for a double steak and eggs. You in?"

Before Blaine could respond, Puck lowered his voice to say, "C'mon, dude. It'll be okay. We look after our own." The mohawked jock was clearly concerned.

Blaine shook his head. "Thanks, but I offered to drive Quinn home. Besides, I think Kurt just wants to be alone."

Suddenly, Puck was smiling. "I getcha, dude," he said, slyly winking.

Before Blaine could ask what he meant (though he already had a pretty good idea), Zizes lumbered over, clearly annoyed—but then Blaine could never remember not seeing her look annoyed. "Well, Pocket Prince, are you comin' or what?" she asked.

Blaine. Please, my name is Blaine," he silently pleaded. What is with these McKinley kids and nicknames? Before Blaine could say anything, Puck turned to her and smirked, "Hey, baby, it's cool. Warbler Boy and Hummel wanna go get their gay on and make a Prom Night memory."

Blaine choked. WHAT—?! Where the hell had that come from? Inside the car, Kurt's head snapped up, looking as embarrassed as someone's maiden aunt who'd unexpectedly discovered Skinemax.

Zizes narrowed her eyes. "Cool." She held out her fist, and it was just easier for Blaine to bump it than try to talk his way out of this misunderstanding. Then she wrapped an arm around Puck's neck in what looked to Blaine like an affectionate wrestling hold. "C'mon, Hebrew National. Mama needs her some protein."

As they swaggered away, Blaine slipped into the driver's seat, shaking his head. Kurt's friends were great guys, but...whenever they got together, it was one WTF moment after the next. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to actually go to school here...

The ride to Quinn's house was uneventful. Blaine lip-synched to his favorite Top-40 mix while Kurt and Quinn murmured together in the back seat. During a lull in the music, he could hear Kurt telling her "...I know he's utterly clueless and a complete Neanderthal, but he has a good heart."

"I know. I just wish I knew that heart belonged to me..." Quinn replied in a quavering voice.

Blaine turned the volume up to give them some privacy.

"—It's you and me and we're runnin' this town
And it's me and you and we're shakin' the ground
And ain't nobody gonna tell us to go
'Cause this is our show"

As he listened, Blaine bitterly remembered how he'd sung that verse to Kurt during his prom performance. Yeah. Right.

He jabbed the button to skip to the next song.

TO BE CONTINUED

A/N: I know, another "Prom Queen" spinoff story, right? Oh well. This was the first Glee fic I starting writing and the reason I came to FFN, (and I'm kinda blocked on "I Am" chapter two) so please bear with me. It's more than just a "missing scenes" piece. I promise.

"Tonight, Tonight" is from Hot Chelle Rae's album Whatever.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think...

This story is now also posted over on A03.