Set in the Anderberry Universe!

Rachel guessed she should have seen it sooner. With her brother's huge, puppy dog eyes and his heart-on-sleeve demeanor, it was just going to happen. He'd always sat next to Kurt when they watched Disney movies, he'd always share his popcorn, he'd always sing along once Kurt started humming. He was funnier, nicer, more enthused whenever she had her friends over.

But she didn't see it until Kurt tripped through her bedroom door sophomore year, his head cocked confusedly to the side and his fist pressed hard against his own lips.

"You're late!' She had said, running the brush through her hair for the ninety-ninth time. Kurt hadn't responded, which wasn't like him at all, so she'd looked up. "What's wrong?"

"Your baby brother…Your brother…The one with the…And then…Disney songs and the…Your brother—"

"Kurt, please stop babbling. You're wasting good vocal runs on –"

"Rachel."

"What? I get it! Blaine likes Disney songs. Despite the fact that I already know this, thank you for informing me of –"

"He kissed me."

That was probably the one time she hadn't been able to come up with anything to say. She had stared at him, her eyebrows raised into her hair. After a long moment of silence, of Kurt's chest heaving and Rachel holding her breath, she let out a ear-drum-erupting, blood-curdling, bloody murder scream that resounded through the whole house.

Later, when Kurt had summoned enough strength to walk back down the Berry stairs, he found Rachel sitting on Blaine's chest, screaming at the top of her longs about boundaries, Blaine! BOUNDARIES and Oh my god, you're so DEAD, Blaine, I swear.

It took both Finn and Kurt's valiant efforts to drag her off him, and another hour to get her to stop yelling. Blaine had snuck out the back door and, a few days later, went back to his boarding school.

Kurt, however, had never lived it down.

"Hey, remember that time that Rachel's little brother kissed Kurt?"

Kurt chokes on his mocha; Rachel kicks Finn from under the table. Everyone else barely contained their irrepressible sniggering.

"Totally. White boy called me at two in the morning, chattering about his first kiss or what-not." Mercedes tips her Lima Bean cup in his direction and winks when his cheeks flush bright red.

He hugs himself, arms wrapped tightly around his own chest, and snips, "I thought after two years you'd all be over it."

Rachel's apparently the only one who doesn't find this amusing, because Finn and Mercedes share a glance and, after bravely trying to hold it in, start laughing again. The brunette presses her lips into a thin line and averts her eyes from them, chirping quietly, "Let it go. Blaine has."

Kurt sits up a little straighter. "He has?"

"Of course! He's had about three boyfriends since that fateful night, Kurt. Don't be arrogant enough to believe that he'd still like you after all these years."

"What's not to like?" Mercedes pipes over Finn's laughter, rubbing a few circles into Kurt's shoulder as he timidly sips at his coffee. "This boy is a perfect countertenor, not to mention his ass."

Finn stops laughing immediately. "Can we not? That's my brother we're talking about. "

"I second that motion. Meeting adjourned. Time to go home, Finnegan." Kurt stands and pats the Frankenteen brusquely on the head, then leans to press a kiss to Mercedes awaiting cheek.

"Wait!" Rachel throws back her chair spectacularly and grasps the sleeve of Kurt's designer shirt. "I have something to say!"

He rolls his glasz eyes. "What is it?"

"You and your devilishly handsome brother," She pauses to eye Finn hungrily as he clumsily tries to shimmy into his jacket, "are invited to my second annual Glee Club Party! Oh, and you, of course, Mercedes."

Mercedes coughs. "You mean another Rachel-Berry-House-Party-Trainwreck-Extravaganza?"

"What? No. Wait, is that what –"

"We'll be there," Kurt cuts in hastily as Rachel's diva face starts to form on her confused face. He takes one last swig of his coffee and waves a hasty goodbye to a still fuming Rachel.

They make it halfway out the door, chatting quietly about the next song they'd sing in Glee, when Rachel yells after them, "Oh, and Kurt? My brother will be there."

Kurt doesn't remember exactly what Rachel's brother had said that night, or even if he meant it, but he knows that it had been very sweet. So he really can't help himself from blushing profusely when he rings the Berry doorbell. Finn's already grinning at him and, after seeing his red cheeks, shakes his head.

"Dude, we're not even inside yet and you're blushing!"

"Shut up, Finn, I can't help –"

But the door opens and Rachel's smiling widely at them, decked out in possibly uglier dress than the year before. Kurt swallows his words and pushes a responsive smile onto his lips instead, holding out the one bottle of wine that Finn was brave enough to steal from his mother's liquor cabinet. "Happy Train Wreck Extravaganza, Rachel!"

"Wh—"

But he just shimmies past her, slips down the stairs, and takes in the mess that was the New Directions.

Or, the Drunk New directions.

"Kuuuuurt. Holy shit, man. You got so taaaaaaall."

"Thank you, Sam. I'm just going to –"

"The gayby is here! The gayby is here!"

"Santana, good to see you t—"

"Can I read your fortune?"

"Um, I didn't know you knew how to do that, Brittany."

"Of course. I use the Fruit Loops."

"Ohhhkay, well –"

And they take their turns spinning around him, making comments about his current outfit (which, he grins, is rather more toned down than usual) and receives a few hugs and sloppy kisses to his cheek. Eventually, though, they peel away to dance to the music that's vibrating the in the soles of his expensive Italian shoes. Puck puts a drink in his hand and Kurt sips furiously at it as his eyes scan the room for something particular.

Or, more specifically, someone.

But he was the only one that seems to be missing from the train wreck of drunken teenagers, so Kurt downs the last of his drink and takes another from Puck's awaiting hand. Within thirty minutes, he's tripping over his own feet as he tries to sway to an upbeat Top 40 tune.

Rachel's beyond wasted; she's grasping at the front of Finn's shirt and yelling over the music, "Let's make out! Make ouuuut. On the floor! Ooh, that is soo dirty. I'm a baaad girl."

Finn kisses her once and pats her shoulder comfortingly. Kurt shakes his head and twirls again, stumbling a little as he goes. Mercedes catches him around the waist and says into his ear, "Kuuurt. Rachel is so wasted."

"And you're not?" He grabs her arm as she loses balance and her drink sloshes over her fingers. She lets out a little unappreciative whine.

"Do not make me cut you, white boyyy. Like you're any better." She swings him around in a drunken haze and puts her lips close to his ear again. "Blaineybear isn't here."

"So?"

"I was hoping for some hot drama."

"Wait another ten minutes, Brittany and Santana will be making out on the couch."

"Ugh." Mercedes tucks her head into Kurt's neck and sighs. "I want boy drama."

"Well, too bad."

So they dance and drink and at one point Rachel yells about spin the bottle, but Kurt's too drunk to care so he just kisses anyone that comes close enough to him. Everything's hazy and muffled and hilarious and he just can't stop laughing.

And then he's trying so hard to get up the basement stairs for a reason that he can't even remember anymore. His feet keep slipping and he's holding onto the rail, but it's not very helpful at all.

"Because you're not even holding it."

He'd said that aloud?

"Yes, you did."

Who was that?

"Your worst nightmare or your Knight in Shining Armor. You can choose."

"Stop reading my mind." There are hands under his armpits, pulling him upward, and then there's an arm under his knees. "Are you carrying me?"

"I doubt you'd be able to make it up the rest of the stairs."

"I bet you…I bet you twenty big bucks that I could! Twenty big bucks."

There's the sound of a door opening and closing, and then Kurt's being lowered onto something comfy and warm. The room he'd been carried into his dark, but he feels the weight of someone sitting down beside him. "Twenty big bucks, huh? Can you even fit a dollar bill into those incredibly tight jeans?"

"Probably…Probably not. Probably not. Hahaha, they're so tight, you know? I want to take them off. Take them off me, strange person that is a knight!"

"Or your worth nightmare. And I'm not taking your pants off." Kurt throws a hand out randomly and it comes in hard contact with a sculpted jaw. Fingers grab his wrist and pin it to his side; Kurt whines loudly in protest. "Stop flailing around, you're going to hurt me."

"Stop! Don't touch me there! This is my private square! R-a-p-e, keep your hands away from –"

"I'm not going to rape you. I'm trying to help you. And I haven't heard that song since Junior High." Kurt tries to sit up, but a hard hand on his chest pushes him back down. "Don't sit up, you might puke."

"Stop! Don't touch me there! This is my private square! You can touch inside the box, if you are a sexy fox!"

"…Well then."

"Not you, mystery person."

"I guessed."

Kurt struggles against the hand and, in a drunken moment of strength, manages it. He reaches up and catches the person's jaw in one hand, the other smacking the stranger twice on the cheek.

At least, he aimed for the cheek.

"Ow. That was my eye, Kurt." Fingers wrap around his wrist again, but they're gentler this time, and they only kind of pull his hand back downward.

"You know my name."

"Yeah." The voice is amused; Kurt doesn't find that fact amusing at all.

"Are you my stalker?"

"What? No."

"Whooo are youuu?"

"I've told you already."

He doesn't remember that. "I don't remember that."

"Yeah, well…You're drunk."

"Am not."

"You are wasted."

"Am not!" There's a heavy sigh and his fingers are being plucked one by one off the knight's (or worst nightmare's) chin. Kurt wiggles closer and breathes in. "You smell really good."

"Thank you."

He removes the last few fingers from the chin and instead grasped at the front of a thin button-down. He drags his stranger forward and presses his nose into a warm, good-smelling neck. "Like, so good."

"Kurt."

"So good."

"Can you stop nuzzling my neck, please?"

"It smells good." He stops, though, because the stranger's shifting uncomfortably away from him, and even a drunken-Kurt can tell when someone is discomfited. And then he had the best idea in the whole world. "Hey, wanna play Spin the Bottle?"

"I'm pretty sure you played that quite enough tonight."

"What? Did not."

"You were kissing a lot of people." There's something in the stranger's voice that Kurt can't place; he jumps forward and their heads knock together. "Ow! What are you –"

But his lips are drunkenly, sloppily, carelessly pressing into the stranger's and Kurt swallows the words that had started to be said. It's messy and quick and Kurt giggles in the middle of it. When he falls back, though, he says, "There! I kissed you! Spin the Bottle!"

"That's not how you –"

"I'm going to puke."

"Oh, j—"

He leans over and vomits on the Berry's Persian carpet.

And wakes up on the Berry couch with a washcloth pressed into his forehead, two aspirin sitting on the arm.

The sunlight streaming through the windows hurts his eyes; he shields them and tries to sit up, but a wave of nausea forces him to lie back down.

There's thumping that had to be feet, but is far too loud to be real. Then, a hand clapped on his shoulder and a far too thunderous, "Kurt! Get up, dude. We have to go home before Rachel's dads do!"

"I'm going to kill you if you try to talk to me again."

"Bad hangover?"

"What did I just say, Finn?"

"Okay, geeze."

There are lighter footsteps, and then a glass is being pushed into his hand. "Kurt, take the aspirin. There's coffee in the kitchen, but you both have to get going soon."

"Rachel." He peers out from under his hand and takes in her exhausted features. Sighing, he pulls himself into a sitting position. "I should be mad at you for letting me drink that much, but apparently you were worse."

She shrugs and rubs a pattern into his back, wincing when he swallows the pills dry and cradles his pounding head. "I'm sincerely sorry."

"It's fine."

"I'll go get you some coffee," Finn says hurriedly, big feet thumping across the carpet as he starts toward the kitchen. They both flinch.

Rachel sinks onto the couch beside him and glances around for broken objects. Finding none, she asks, "How did you get up here anyway?"

Kurt stares into his glass. "Someone helped me."

"Who?"

"If I remembered, I would have told you," He snaps, sipping irately at the water. Rachel recoils and presses a hand to her temple. Sighing, Kurt reaches over and pats her knee. "Sorry. I'm bitchy in the morning."

Finn ambles back in, clutching a mug of coffee in both hands like it's liquid gold, and they can't help but smile at his concerned expression. "Here you go, Kurt. Do you want s—"

"Yes, please." It's immediate, because Finn's voice is still too loud. They cover their ears until his footsteps fade. "So, you didn't throw up in my dads' bed, did you?"

Kurt sends a discrete glance in the direction of the Berry rug; it's vomit free. "No."

"Good."

Finn's back in a matter of seconds and he's pressing the coffee cup into Rachel's hands and saying quickly, "Time to go, Kurt," and he leaves without ever so much as giving his knight a second thought.

It's later, when he's curled in his dark room, sleeping off the night, when his phone vibrates on his bedstand and he grabs it before it starts playing that one Britney Spears song.

New Text

Kurt squints at the screen for a moment and, after a moment of consideration, opens it.

From Knight/Nightmare:

i bet youre sleeping off that awful hangover right now

To Knight/Nightmare:

You ARE stalking me.

From: Knight/Nightmare:

false. i just put my number in your phone.

To Knight/Nightmare:

But not your name. Suspicious.

From: Knight/Nightmare:

i figured youd appreciate the mystery

To Knight/Nightmare:

Not really.

From: Knight/Nightmare:

i think you doooo.

To Knight/Nightmare:

I'm not texting you again until you tell me who you are.

From: Knight/Nightmare:

Ttyl. :D

Kurt makes a face at the screen and tosses it away from him. He'd figure it all out later; now, he just wanted to sleep forever.

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