A/N: As some of you know, I took off last week from posting because I needed some time to think about things and I just didn't have inspiration because my muse was on vacation... or something. Anyways, this came to me a few days ago and avalanched a writing frenzy. So this won't be the last thing you see from me this week. Keep your eyes open!

This one is weird and not what you're expecting... and just a dash of comedy.

Warnings: Season 2 AU, BadBoy!Blaine, Shooting Star AU, Kurt angst

Triggers: I'm not really sure what to call them, but Shooting Star should give you an idea.

Enjoy!

He had just been washing his hands.

Brittany had decided that after lunch was the perfect time to attack Kurt with glitter and ribbons, a surprise for his birthday that was still three weeks away. Luckily the glitter was much less tossed at him as it was handed to him in handfuls as she pulled it out of her purse; which, she explained, was the most sensible place to hide glitter when surprising someone.

Kurt was no less surprised that her logic made sense; Brittany had this amazing way to show her brilliance that not a lot of people understood... unless you thought about it like Kurt did. He had plenty of time to do so. Considering she and Santana were the only ones that seemed to be talking to him right now, and because he talked less now it gave him plenty of time to observe and think. The more he thought about Brittany and her, seemingly crazy, statements-the more she began to make sense and reveal what a truly observing she was.

So yes, Kurt was surprised by her glitter attack, and a little annoyed at how much effort it was taking to get it off. Glee club was going to start without him and he would be stuck sitting in the back row again, a place that seemed to plague him no matter if it was in the music room or on stage—it was rather frustrating. His pace was hurried but he tried to remain thorough, the last thing he needed was to be teased further by literally spreading "fairy dust" because the glitter would not come off.

It also did not help that the bathroom smelled of cigarette-smoke, car-grease and leather.

Kurt was all too familiar with those combined scents and what—well, who it entailed was also in the bathroom, holed up in one of the stalls. Though he was curious to see if he was correct, Kurt refused to acknowledge the want to see the boy defined in Kurt's mind by those smells... and so much more.

But Kurt was only human and his slight (read: huge) obsession (read: crush) on the boy caused him to look for the tell-tail signs of smoke from the top of the stalls as he dried his hands. It was kind of hard to tell with how much sun-light was bleeding into—

BANG

His whole body jolted, nerves lighting up all over his body, readying him for pain. Blue-eyes snapped to the bathroom door when he realized the loud noise came from the hall. It sounded almost like the locker-slams he was so familiar with.

Hence, his readiness for pain.

Could some jock be working his way through people on his way to class? Sounds plausible enough. Maybe they are even working their way to the bathroom, because that was loud enough that it sounded close to—

BANG

His body was moving even before he could process that that sound was not a locker-slam. Just as he was closing and locking the stall door, he realized how utterly stupid he was for hiding in here when that was gunshot he just heard. There was no trying to even reason his way through what the sound might have been, because it was a gunshot. Now he was trapped in a bathroom that did not have a lock on the main door, so all that was protecting him was a flimsy metal door with clear gaps around it.

"Kurt?"

Never the less, Kurt climbed onto the toilet seat, crouching so that his footing was more stable on the slanted seat.

"Kurt."

The screams from the hall were making his knees shake, so his hands shot out to brace himself on the stall walls on either side of him.

"Kurt."

He snapped up, back straightening when he realized that someone was calling his name... from the stall on his left. "Y-yeah?" he stuttered back, his voice cracking and not quite cooperating.

"Just wanted to know you're with me," the other boy, Blaine, whispered back.

Before Kurt could respond (or think of the implications of Blaine's statement), the bathroom door slammed open and quick paced feet rushed through the bathroom; his whole body just about gave out. Blue eyes quickly welled up with tears, and he pressed a hand to his mouth as someone began to check the stall doors, but he could not stop the whimper in his throat.

First stall door shook—locked.

His vision blurred completely, This person could be the gunman!

Second stall door shook—locked.

Tears began to slip unbidden down his cheeks as the person grew closer, Don't cry... Don't cry...

Kurt's stall door shook—it remained locked... and he was proud of himself for remaining quiet; not even caring that his muscles ached slightly from how tightly he had locked up.

Feet quickened to the fourth stall, and the someone could be heard muttering "Come on, come on, come on". The stall opened and then closed even quicker and locked, the person in the stall next to Kurt shuffled around before finally the seat clanked, signaling they too were perched on the toilet.

He choked back a sob, the sound almost seemed to echo in the now silent room; rationally he knew that he was exaggerating—but this was not a rationally situation. Kurt pressed his hand tighter to his mouth, bending over in an effort to keep any more sound from escaping.

Daddy, he let himself think—let himself call out to the man that would be unable to hear him...

His phone!

Plip

Blue eyes widened as he realized that his phone was in his bag... that was just on the other side of the stall door... and if it went off... the shooter would hear and come here.

But Kurt was too petrified to move, to either get his phone and put it on silent or call his dad.

Plip

He wanted to talk to his dad. He wanted to tell him he loved him. He wanted to be wrapped up in his arms and be held so tightly that it became undeniable that he was loved back. He wanted to be called "Kiddo" and "Buddy" and "Son" a million more times. He wanted to go to the garage and come home covered in grease and complaining about customers and how he needs a longer face moisturizing routine. He wanted to pretend to watch a football game with his dad while actually reading a magazine or watching Project Runway on his phone. He wanted to sneer at his dad's flannel while hearing him grumble about how many clothes he received in the mail that day. He wanted to cook his dad healthy food and hear him complain.

He just wanted his dad.

Plip

...but his phone was on the other side of the door.

Plip

Kurt could not make himself move to get it because—what if the shooter came in just as he was and shot Kurt? He would never get the chance to say goodbye to his dad.

Plip

...he would never get the chance right now either.

Not unless he went for his phone.

Plip

What is that stupid dripping sound?! Kurt looked around wildly, as if he could see through the stall walls and find the source of the sound (and tell it to "Shut up!"); as he blinked in his search, he felt the tears slip easily down his cheeks before falling... dripping into the bowl below him.

He choked back another sob... this time it was definitely echoed...

His eyes widened further, looking up at the stall wall he was braced against in shock.

...he was not the only one here... the only one crying.

I'm not alone, he looked around himself again, willing the power of x-ray vision to be suddenly bestowed on him; so that he could actually see these people in here with him. Blaine's here too.

Despite the supposedly comforting thought... it did not make him feel any better.

BANG

"Ah!" someone cried out in the bathroom, echoing sniffles and other types of cries in the wake of the third shot.

It seemed further away than the last two, but no less frightening—because now they knew that the shooter was, in fact, moving around the school.

Plip

Kurt closed his eyes, the only thing he could find himself doing to prevent more tears. He refused to move his hand from his mouth, knowing (however irrationally) that it was the only thing stopping him from making unnecessary noises. His other hand was the only thing keeping him standing up right, with how weak his knees were at the moment... So obviously, he could not spare a hand to wipe his own damn tears.

The whole being quiet thing—could not be said for the newest edition to the bathroom, though.

While initially she had been as quiet as the other occupants, this girl was quickly turning hysterical.

"I don't want to die, I don't want to die—" she chanted, the toilet seat clanking and squeaking under her shifting feet.

As her cries grew louder, the distress of the other occupants grew, Kurt included. While his deeper breathing was the only noises he was letting out, Kurt felt like he was being the loudest one—

"Shh," a boy shushed from the other side of Kurt. "Do you want them to hear you?"

Blaine... Blaine's here... He's really here.

Everyone quieted immediately, frozen in their own breaths as if the shooter was on the other side of the bathroom door—which was quite possible...

So they all remained quiet, only the quiet sniffs and occasional shuffles were heard for—

How long has it been? Did the shooter get anyone else? How many did they hurt... kill? Kurt shuttered, before wincing as his knees moved, pain throbbing from his prolonged position. I want to get out of here! I want my dad!

The bathroom door opened... and someone stepped in.

Whoever entered the bathroom stayed just as silent as everyone in the stalls, their footsteps light and slow—almost like a predator stalking prey (which Kurt chose to ignore as what was really happening). Cautious, but alert and ready. They continued to move into the room, facing the stalls as if they were playing a game on which stall to choose.

Eeny...

The person walked by the first stall, their footsteps growing louder as they moved toward Kurt—or maybe that was just his heart?

Miny...

Definitely his heart.

They walked by the second stall to the point Kurt could see them—him through the crack in the stall. Kurt clenched his eyes closed, though, not wanting to see him any more than he wanted to open the stall door himself. But Kurt forced his eyes back open... because what if he went away, Kurt would need to be able to describe him to the police when—

The man stopped in front of the stall Kurt was hiding in, head swiveling—Kurt closed his eyes again, hand pressing harder to his mouth so that he did not sob aloud.

Moe.

"Kurt?"

It took only a second for his brain to register exactly who was on the other side of the stall door.

"Mr. Schue?" Kurt stumbled off the toilet and unlatched the lock, throwing open the door to find his music teacher on the other side of it. There was such a sense of relief that he could not help but throw himself at the man, clinging to him as Kurt was wrapped up in kind. He tried to form more words, even managing to move his mouth, but nothing was coming out. So Kurt remained silent, holding onto Mr. Schue.

The other occupied bathroom stalls opened, three other teens stepping out cautiously before recognizing the adult standing before them. Kurt stepped away from the teacher as they came out, but looking directly at Blaine as Mr. Schue began to talk in quiet tones, telling all of them about where they were going and how close and silent they all needed to be. Hazel eyes continued to hold Kurt's own and they could both see how shaken and shocked each other was; how utterly destroyed they both felt. That they were both in this together... still.

Mr. Schue took Kurt's hand before walking quietly back over to the door and surveying the hall before he made his way out of the bathroom, four teenagers trailing closely behind him.

But Kurt felt disconnected from it all. It seemed a little too surreal to him anyways. He had just been locked in a bathroom stall with someone with a gun running around the school, the boy of his dreams trapped right next to him... then all of a sudden his Glee club teacher comes in to get him? Specifically him? With all the shit he has had to deal with this whole year, now someone pays attention? Now Blaine looks at him like that? Holds his hand?

Kurt's eyes, which had been fixated on the back of Mr. Schue's head up until this point, trail down to his once free hand, now being held firmly in Blaine's. He can't bring himself to look up at Blaine though, because the sense of reality began to bleed back into his mind through their touch.

They were exposed. Out in the middle of the hallway, sneaking off to the choir room, while at any second the person who had been shooting a gun off could be just around the corner?

Or a cop, dressed in full black, which scared the crap out of everyone in the small group just as they reached the classroom door. After a few knocks they all shuffle in and the door is barricaded behind them.

Kurt's unsure what to do now that he was in the choir room. He knows he should sit down, out of the way of the windows, but where? With who? He is pulled into a boy's side before he could think any further on it, pulled down alongside him by the piano and backs against the front cabinets.

"Kurt," the boy (Blaine, Kurt realized), whispered into his ear, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, "I was so pissed I couldn't hold you while we were in those stalls."

The blue eyed teen ducked his head as a jolt of fear ran through him, his own arms slipping around Blaine's waist as he pressed his face into the other teen's neck, the scent of leather, cigarettes, and grease filling his senses. But again, his voice escaped him and all he could bring himself to do in response, was nod.

"You were crying and I couldn't comfort you," Blaine growled lightly, his arms tightening, "and I was so scared that I would never get to tell you I liked you, or ask you out on a date, or get to kiss you... or see my parents or brother again."

They clung to each other harder, not wanting to think too hard on what could have been.

Though the tension of the situation still hung heavily in the air, Kurt could still feel the curious gazes directed at him and Blaine... because it was Blaine. Blaine Anderson, the guy that took shit from no one, the guy that was openly gay and made anyone pay for just looking at him wrong, the guy that skipped French and History to smoke under the bleachers but still passed with flying colors, the guy that punched Karofsky in the face first day he arrived for slushing him, the guy that keyed Kurt's Navigator for parking too close to his bike, the guy that inspired the school's prom with his 60's retro bad boy look, the guy that got caught fighting with Noah more than anyone else... the guy that stopped Kurt's bullying and unintentionally began his school-wide isolation.

Kurt could care less. Blaine had eventually apologized for the wrongs he did Kurt and they talked every once and while after, but there had never been too much interaction between them other than those few times. Likes were discussed, hates at one point, what they wanted to do with their lives and where it would be, family once and never again... Kurt had always thought that he had been singular in his attraction. Just because they were both being openly gay did not mean that they would date or anything, there was a much bigger world than Lima, Ohio; and even more gay men in it. So it really did not mean anything, just another thing that they had in common.

But he could dream and fantasize and wonder.

That Blaine actually felt the same way had never even crossed Kurt's mind, and now that it was out in the open, how could he not think about it?

"All clear!"

As that sentiment echoed throughout the halls, Kurt seemed to disconnect from himself again. Everyone in the room was in a group circle and hugging, then separating and on their phones, then they were walking outside and there were cops and teenagers and parents all over the place. It was cluttered and confusing and fuzzy and Kurt felt like he just might float away, except the hand that was holding his tightly kept him grounded as the stood among the chaos.

"Kurt! Buddy!" an all too familiar voice called from just ahead of them, mixed in with all the other cries and shouts of the mass of people, but standing out all on its own. When Kurt looked up and saw his dad making his way through everyone, like he was fighting his way through a forest of unmoving bodies, the whole situation came slamming down onto his shoulders in an avalanche.

He bolted forward, hand released, "Daddy!" and the thing that he wanted the most not too long ago happened, he was wrapped up in his dad's arms and it felt like coming home. Burt picked his son up off the ground and held him tightly; letting Kurt cry into his shoulder as the teen felt the tears from his dad wet his shirt.

"You're okay. You're okay," whether it was said in order to assure Kurt or to be assured, neither parent nor child could tell as it could be taken by both and it was true either way. "I've got you."

"I love you, dad! I was so scared I wouldn't get to tell you that again and I—"

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Kiddo," Burt rubbed his son's back as much as he could while still holding him up. "You don't need to worry about that, I know you do. I would rather you worry about yourself... Actually, no. It's not your job to worry, that's mine." The large man set the teen down onto his feet, pulling back to look down at his son while holding him close, the fear of losing him beginning to ebb away, "Let's go home and you pretend to watch a football game while I complain about the salad you'll make me eat. Sound good, Buddy?"

Kurt choked on a sob, cheeks warm from tears and his dad's flannel covered shoulder, "Sounds amazing."

With Burt's arm draped across his shoulders and an arm stretched out across his dad's back in return, Kurt was ushered through the swarm and out towards the parking lot while he gently wiped his eyes and cheeks free of tears.

That was until someone called out to him... again.

"Hey, Hummel!"

Kurt turned to find Blaine walking up to him, two finely dressed adults hot on his heels. Blaine's parents, Kurt assumed, looked absolutely as wrecked as Kurt felt; but his view of them was quickly blocked by Blaine—holding his messenger bag.

"Oh, my bag," he whispered, reaching out to accept it and jumping slightly when their hands met in the exchange. When Kurt looked up, the "Thank you," even quieter than his last words, Blaine looked shy and smiled slightly before turning to the side, hands shoved into his jeans. Thinking (however disappointedly) that Blaine was done talking, Kurt turned back towards the parking lot.

"Hey, Hummel," Blaine went on to say, looking at the taller boy shyly before a cocky smirk came over his lips, mask of the bad-boy firmly in place, "You owe me a date."

Just as quickly as the shock of the comment came, so did some of Kurt's sass, "If you ask properly, I just might think about it."

"Baby," Blaine responded with a dirtier smirk, shoulder lifting in a slight shrug, "if we did things properly, it wouldn't be half as fun." With that said, Blaine fully turned towards his parents, their arms slipping around him as they walked to their own car.

Kurt bit his lip and looked down at his hand holding his bag's strap, purposely ignoring the look his dad was sure giving him over the exchange, because he just was not ready to deal with that kind of back-lash right now.

...and Blaine was right. It would be boring.

But Blaine better be prepared how not boring it was going to be getting Kurt to say "Yes" to that date.

A/N: So that's that. Like I said, it's a little weird... and I don't do this normally, but this one is out there enough that I'm actually asking you to tell me what you think.

Anyways, that's it for this.

Until next time,

Anjel Starlight