Alex In the City by BymagaJones 3/16: Same As It Never Was
Chapter 2: Home Is Where You Hang Your Hat
Chapter 3: Same As It Never Was
After about twenty minutes of just sitting in the middle of his room - his room! - Alex smiled, a crack in his chapped lips tearing a bit. He barely felt it as he looked at the naked cot, making mental notes. He needed at least two blankets, one to serve as a sheet of sorts and one to put over his body. He could use his sweatshirt for a pillow, and he still had his toiletries the Salvation Army had given him in his bag. He had a small, thin piece of material he used as a washcloth, but he thought maybe he could find a real washcloth in the donation pile at the shelter. He could also maybe look for a towel.
Just the thought that he could sleep tonight stretched out on a bed almost made him laugh out loud, and he looked down at the keys in his hand. He’d clutched them so tightly that they had made small imprints on his palms, and part of him wished he could press so tightly that they’d forever become a part of him.
Then he remembered that he had somewhere else to be, and he was probably already extremely late. Because he’d used up all of the money he had, he was going to have to jump the turnstile to get into the train station, so he had to walk to one that had less police presence and no working cameras.
He stood and looked around his room. He wanted to leave something behind, to mark that this place was now his, but he couldn’t stop the worry that he had kept with him so long, the one that told him that anything he left wasn’t going to be there when he got back. He dug into his bag and pulled out his thin washcloth. He placed it gently on the counter by the sink and backed away slowly, committing the sight to memory before unlocking the door, exiting the apartment, and relocking the door from the outside.
It took him longer than he’d hoped to get to the train station he needed, but fortunately, the cops weren’t around, and he slipped into the station with a minimum of fuss. It was good that he hadn’t had to go anywhere else, because his head was aching again, his face and ears burning from the cold. He was worried about getting sick, but he reminded himself about the hooded sweatshirt he had waiting for him at the shelter.
He tried to act like he belonged as he clutched his bag and kept his eyes downcast, and soon he was at his stop and back out into the cold.
He bypassed the front where the mass of people would have stomped on him had he tried to make his way to the door and headed for the back, where he knocked until Marcel came to the door.
“You’re late,” he said. “Where’s your hat?”
“It’s gone,” Alex said, stepping inside.
Marcel placed a big hand close to Alex’s chest, knowing not to touch him. “You know the rules.”
Alex backed up a bit, feeling crowded even though he knew Marcel wasn’t going to do anything to him. He let go of his bag long enough to pull his makeshift shiv from inside his right sleeve and placed it carefully in his bag. He then reached inside his jeans to a small pocket he’d fashioned and pulled out the razor blade. Bending down, he lifted the right pants leg and carefully pulled out his large piece of glass. He put those with the shiv and exhaled a moment before handing Marcel his bag, which contained pretty much everything that held importance in his life.
Marcel had been there himself, and Alex knew he understood. He took the bag, asking, “That all?”
Alex nodded, his eyes taking in the kitchen. “Everything ready?”
“Yes.” Marcel put Alex’s bag in a box on the top shelf, one that could only be reached by a ladder or one of Momma Cass’ sons.
“You do the thing?”
For a second, Alex was confused. Then he remembered the conversation they’d had the day before about Chase. “I saw him, and he said he might come.”
“Where’d you find him?”
“Washington Square Park,” Alex said reluctantly, knowing that Marcel would understand the full implications of the location. He fidgeted a little, always having to fight the feeling of wrongness when he didn’t have his bag with him.
Marcel sighed and opened his mouth, but he was interrupted.
“You’re here!” Momma Cass said. “Where’s your hat?” She walked up to Alex, clasping her hands together.
She always did that when she saw him. The first time they’d met, she’d drawn him into this huge, tight hug, and he hadn’t been prepared, hadn’t been touched like that since his dad - in so long. He’d freaked, writhing and crying and embarrassing himself so much that she’d never tried touching him again, and they’d never mentioned it. There’d been times since then when he’d ached to have her to touch him, even just a hand on his shoulder, but he’d already ruined it, and he knew he didn’t deserve it anyway. So he just shoved the thought deep inside like he always did and tried to make it up to her by helping any way he could.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“Did you do it?”
He nodded, his eyes on her chin. He dug a hand into his pocket and came out with the keys.
“That’s wonderful!” She gushed, and he felt pinpricks on the back of his eyes. He hadn’t been so emotional in a long time, and it was exhausting him. “Remind me to give you your stuff before you leave tonight, and I’m sure we can find a few things from the donation bin you can use too. For now, though, come eat. You have a few minutes before we open the door.” She handed him a plate. “Tell me about the place.”
Shoving the keys deep inside his pocket with his free hand, he said, “it has a sink and a bed.” He knew it wasn’t much, but it was still everything.
“It’s clean?”
“Yes,” Alex said, although he couldn’t remember. It hadn’t been filthy, but Alex hadn’t really been interested in whether there had been dust bunnies underneath the bed or spiders in the sink. “There are three locks on the outside and four on the inside, and the window has bars.” He heard the excitement in his voice and wondered at the foreign sound of it.
He was mulling over the newness of everything and wasn’t prepared when he turned around to run straight into his past.
GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE
Puck barely had a moment to process the voice when he ran into a small body that seemed to bounce off him. He looked into the eyes, those eyes, and couldn’t speak.
Mercedes was losing one of the forks in her left hand, and she was trying to edge it back up into her grasp with the edge of one of the cups in her right hand, so she wasn’t prepared when Puck stopped short. “Don’t stop like that!” She said, shifting to catch his eye. She saw him staring, transfixed, and automatically followed his gaze, everything falling from her hands at what she saw.
Having spent the better part of two years suppressing any and all memories of what Chase had always called “the previous life”, Alex couldn’t handle having it thrust upon him in one instant. He exhaled sharply and did something he’d learned never to do on the streets: he looked someone straight in the eyes - and he saw the measuring and knew he’d been found wanting.
The eyes were dimmer, less sparkling and snapping than he remembered, the dark circles underneath prominent, but they were still that blue green that seemed to look right deep inside him. The cheeks were sunken, but it was still Kurt. Kurt fucking Hummel standing right in front of him!
She tried to take it all in, the skin, once pampered, now looked red and chafed. His lips were chapped and cracked, one corner looked like it had been bleeding recently. His hair! The beautiful locks he meticulously brushed back so often were now just tufts drifting around his pale head. He looked so much like her boy yet so unlike him that she wanted to hug him yet feared touching him.
A smack on his back forced air into his lungs, but the loud rasp that accompanied it burned his throat. His hands went to grab his bag, his fingers scrabbling vainly against the rough fabric of his jacket. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t think, everyone was getting closer, and he couldn’t think. He heard another gasp, felt that fire in his throat, and the next thing he knew, he was pushing open the door, only to find a dark wall in front of him. Using all his strength, he pushed through, that second door finally giving way, and then he’s free, and it’s him in the night, in the cold. He’s running, and it’s getting difficult to see, the sweat blurring his vision, until his legs stop working, his throat screaming, his lungs aching, burning with the cold.
GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE
Mercedes watched as Marcel smacked Kurt’s back, making him shudder and suddenly inhale, gasping. She knew her mouth was hanging open, but she had no words. There were no words…
She’d held out hope that he was okay for a few months after she’d gotten the postcard of something called the Monongahela Incline in Pittsburgh, with just four words written in Kurt’s handwriting: “Don’t worry; I’m fine.” She’d waited for him to contact her again, even after his Uncle had blown into town threatening everyone, saying that Kurt had run away and that he knew they’d helped. But she’d never heard from Kurt again, and while she’d hoped he was somewhere safe and happy, a part of her knew that the odds were against it. Sure, Kurt was übersmart, but how much of a chance did a sixteen year-old who had barely stepped foot out of Lima, OH and whose only parent had just died have out in the world? Plus, he had to hide from his mother’s brother, a man Kurt had never spoken to in his life and who just looked angry each of the three times Mercedes had seen him.
As time went by, she tried not to think about her best friend maybe starving somewhere, maybe dead. She couldn’t watch those reality shows that dealt with human trafficking and teenage prostitution, the homeless, unidentified male bodies found. She avoided the news, choosing to get her daily information from syndicated entertainment news programs.
She realized now that she had come face to face with her best friend that a small part of her had thought he was dead.
Now she knew he was alive, and suddenly a burst of hope started deep in her belly and rose through her until it poured out of her in an excited peal of laughter as she grabbed Puck’s arm. “Puck! He’s alive! My boy’s alive!”
And then the reality hit her, his wasted condition, the restrained look in his eyes, the poor skin condition and lack of fashion. He might look like her boy, but how much of him still remained?
She looked at Puck, who still hadn’t moved. “Puck?”
Slowly, his head turned toward her. “It wasn’t just me, right?” He whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “That was Hummel, right? You saw him too?”
“I did!”
She pulled at his arm, and suddenly they were hugging each other so tightly that she could barely breathe, but it still wasn’t close enough for her.
After a moment, she felt Puck’s arms loosen around her, and she forced herself to let go. She looked up at his face and saw him focused beyond her. Turning, she saw that Momma Cass stood there, Marcel beside her. She was saying something, but Mercedes had completely missed it.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Momma, I totally missed what you just said.”
The older woman smiled at Mercedes. “I can imagine.” She turned to her eldest. “Marcel, take them upstairs after your brothers arrive, and I’ll come up after I get things started here.”
“We’re here, mom,” another tall, dark man said, walking up and giving Momma Cass a hug.
“What’s going on with Alex?” Another guy, just as large, took his turn hugging Momma Cass. “He pushed past us like he’d had some sort of attack.”
“I wish you’d held him here,” she sighed.
One of the men snorted. “We were here when you tried to hug him that one time; we know how he doesn’t like to be touched.”
“I know,” she said, turning back to Mercedes and Puck. “Mercedes, do you remember my other two sons, Marcus and Malachi? Boys, this is Mercedes, Jemma’s girl from Lima, and her friend Noah. Evidently, they know Alex.”
Mercedes frowned. “Who’s Alex?”
“It’s the name your friend goes by now,” Marcel said, taking her arm with one hand and Puck’s with another. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Taking a step, Mercedes stepped on a fork and remembered the dishes she’d dropped. “I need to clean up…”
“We’ll take care of it,” Aunt Momma told her. “Just go on upstairs with Marcel.”
Mercedes nodded, feeling another laugh bubbling in her chest. She had to lean forward to see around Marcel, but she grinned at Puck, who smiled back at her, for once all his normal reserve gone.
“Marcel, can I get my phone?” She turned to Puck, excited. “I have to call everyone - Finn, Rachel, everyone!”
“Before you do that, let’s have a talk,” Marcel said, seating them on one of the sofas in the living area and returning quickly with four bottles of water, handing one to each of them and opening one for himself, placing the extra one on the floor by his feet. “Okay,” he said, sighing as he sat in a chair across from them. “Alex is your friend.”
“His name is Kurt,” Mercedes corrected him. “Kurt Hummel.”
“That was his old name,” Marcel said.
“What does that mean?” Puck asked.
“Maybe we should wait until mom gets here,” Marcel muttered, but Mercedes felt she had waited enough.
“Just explain to us what that means,” she said.
Sighing again, Marcel looked up at the ceiling for a moment, absently scratching his chin, before he returned his gaze to hers. “You know I was homeless for a few years, right?”
Mercedes nodded, turning to Puck and watching him nod as well.
“So I know a few things from experience. Because most of us are running from something or someone, and we don’t want to be found, we tend to adopt a fake name.”
“What was yours?” Mercedes asked curiously.
“Victor,” he said, smiling briefly. “How long has Al- your friend been missing?”
“About two years,” Puck offered.
“So for about two years, he’s been Alex, and he’s been living on the streets. He’s going to have seen a lot of stuff, had to do a lot of stuff to survive.”
Mercedes could tell by his intense stare that he was trying to impart something important, more than what he was saying. She considered herself a fairly intelligent person, but she just wasn’t getting it. She turned to Puck, who seemed to have the same expression she felt was probably reflected on her face as well.
“Just tell us what you’re trying to say,” Puck said. “We can handle it.”
“What I’m saying is that your friend, as you knew him, is gone. Kurt Hu… whatever has been replaced by Alex.”
“Hummel,” Mercedes and Puck said simultaneously, sharing a smile.
“Hummel,” Marcel repeated.
“I know you’re trying to tell us something, but I think you’re just going to have to say it, because I don’t think either of us are getting it.”
“What he’s saying, Mercedes,” Aunt Momma said from behind them, “is that your friend, the way you knew him, is gone, and you need to prepare yourself that he might be gone forever.”
“What do you mean, the way we knew him?”
“In order to survive out there, you kind of have to…” Marcel paused, obviously thinking of how to explain it. “Okay. Imagine you’re an animal who’s been living in the zoo all of your life. Your food’s catered, you don’t have to worry about inclement weather, animal attacks don’t even exist in your world. Suddenly you’re thrust into the jungle, alone, where you have to figure out how to survive. You have to forget everything you’ve known - everything - because nothing you’ve been taught before has prepared you for this. Everything around you is a potential danger, and the only person you can rely on is yourself. That kind of thing changes a person.”
“Sure,” Mercedes said, trying not to roll her eyes. Of course Kurt had had a tough time of it, and of course that would have changed him. “But we’ve found him now. He can stay with us, right?” She turned to Puck, who nodded slightly but looked a little thoughtful. “Right, Puck?”
“Sure,” Puck agreed slowly, “but I think what Marcel’s trying to tell us is that it’s not going to be that easy.”
“We’ll give him a place to stay, feed him, and we’ll be there to support him,” Mercedes said.
Marcel was shaking his head. He scooted forward in his chair, reaching out to take Mercedes’ hands in his. “What if he doesn’t want to go with you?”
Mercedes had to blink. “You saw him. He’s wasted away to nothing, and you said yourself that he’s homeless. Why wouldn’t he come stay with us?”
Marcel turned to his mother, and Mercedes watched them have some sort of conversation with their eyes. Finally, Momma Cass said, “You can’t explain it to her, Marcel, just like they couldn’t explain it to me.”
Marcel nodded, turning back to Mercedes. “Know that I’m here, if you have questions are just need to talk.” He looked at Puck. “I’m here for both of you.”
“We’re here for you,” Momma Cass corrected, a hand on Marcel’s forearm.
Mercedes felt herself getting a little angry at their placating tones, like she was some innocent who didn’t understand the situation. She totally did. Her boy had been living on the streets for nearly two years, alone and scared, and it was going to take time and probably lots of patience to help him work through that, but he had her now, so eventually he’d be the best friend she remembered, just more experienced about life. Pulling her hands from Marcel’s she said, “I don’t know why you don’t think I understand what you’re saying. He’s messed up, just like anyone would be who’s gone through what he has, but with his friends around him, he’ll work it out. He’s tough.”
“Sometimes tough doesn’t cut it,” Marcel said.
“But yet here you are, looking healthy and happy,” Mercedes said, not able to control the snarky edge to her voice. “Kurt’s just as special as you are.”
“I’m not saying he’s not,” Marcel said, sitting back in his chair and grabbing his water. “But you don’t know how difficult, how long, how much work it took for me to get to where I am. And you have no idea how many issues I’m still dealing with. I still go see my shrink twice a week.”
GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE
Puck knew he hadn’t seen much more of the seedier life than Mercedes had, but he thought he was getting a better idea of what they were trying to say. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been as close to Hummel, so he didn’t have so much emotion to cloud his vision.
Now that he’d had time to think back on it, to reflect - and yes, he did a lot more of that since he’d graduated - he realized that nowhere in Kurt’s expression had he seen any sort of relief or happiness at seeing them. He’d seen shock, of course, but he was pretty sure he’d seen fear there as well. It wasn’t a look he was used to seeing in Hummel’s eyes, at least not without being tempered with a haughty disdain and accompanied by that I’m-better-than-you-could-ever-hope-to-be chin lift.
He could imagine someone as pretty as Kurt, stepping off of the bus at Penn Station. In fact, he’d had a kid on his bus, someone probably about sixteen or so, who’d looked so lost as they’d stepped down the stairs, and he could remember wondering absently what would happen if no one came to pick him up. He’d heard the stories, ones that felt more like urban legends, about pimps and drug dealers hovering around the bus and train stations, waiting to descend upon the runaways who swarmed to the city, but he hadn’t really believed it. Now that he’d been living here for a short time, though, he could see it happening. He just hoped that it hadn’t happened to Hummel.
“How well do you know him?” Puck asked, cutting off Mercedes’ rant. “How’s he doing?”
Momma Cass sat beside her son, taking the bottle of water on the floor and twisting open the cap. “He’s doing okay, actually, for being a runaway.”
“He’s doing better than I was,” Marcel added while his mother drank. “He’s not hooked on drugs.”
“He’s not selling his body,” Momma Cass added, “and he just got his own room at a halfway house. He has a job of sorts.” She smiled faintly and looked at her son, who shook his head wryly.
“What are we missing?” Mercedes asked.
“Just a private joke,” Momma Cass said, looking back at them. “Let me just say, having been where you are now, that finding him is the easy part. Now you have to get to know him all over again, forget what you used to know about him and get to know him the way he is now. The kid you used to know is completely different, and the way you can lose him again is to try to shoehorn him back into your idea of who he should be.”
“What do we do then?” Puck asked, trying very hard to understand and remember everything she was telling them.
“Take your cues from him,” Marcel said. “Let him guide you.”
Puck looked over at Mercedes, recognizing the stubborn set of her chin, and he stifled a sigh. He could already picture himself between the two of them, trying to get Mercedes to stop forcing Kurt into his old role and trying to keep Kurt from running.
Even so, he couldn’t help but be excited about seeing Hummel again.
GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE
Alex awoke, shivering, at the end of an alley, his body curled up against the wall. It wasn’t the ideal location; in fact, it was probably one of the most dangerous situations to be in, because he would be without an escape route should anyone try to mess with him. Fortunately, it was too cold for many dangerous types to be out, and he slightly relaxed his guard as he stood, wincing as his shivering body protested having been on the ground for so long.
Automatically, he reached for his makeshift weapons and his bag, belatedly remembering that all of his worldly possessions were locked at the shelter. He felt a chill sweeping over his body, one totally different than the cold tremors. He’d never been this long without his bag - he knew that it was someplace safe, but what if something happened? What if the shelter caught on fire? What if the shelf broke, and his stuff fell on the floor, to be snatched up by anyone passing by the entrance? He felt tears prick at his eyes, and he pressed his palms against them as he tried to calm himself. There was nothing he could do about it now, and one thing he’d learned early on was not to waste energy on things he couldn’t change.
And then he remembered that he hadn’t given up everything at the shelter. Digging in his pocket, he fished out his two keys, still amazed that he had his own room waiting for him right at that very minute. Shoving the keys back into his pocket, he carefully made his way out of the alley and took a moment to get his bearings.
Once again, he snuck into a subway station and managed to get to the place - his place! - fairly quickly. He used his key to get into the building, slowly climbing the stairs to his room. He figured he should probably go to the restroom first, and he took out the bathroom key, sliding it into the lock.
“It’s occupied,” a deep, male voice said loudly.
Shrugging, Alex turned to his room. He figured he could always pee in the sink if he became desperate in the middle of the night. After all, he’d peed in worse - and less private - places. Slowly unlocking the door, he sighed quietly at the loud click it made. He took his time turning the door knob, picturing the room the way he’d left it, remembering that feeling of it being all his, before he entered and turned on the light.
He had to smile as he looked around. He’d known that everything was supposed to be the way he’d left it, and logically it made sense. But he’d learned for so long not to take things for granted, and all that was his could be taken away before he’d taken a breath. Absently, he brushed his fingers over the washcloth he’d left there, that was exactly where he’d put it earlier. He tried to think to a future where he’d once again take for granted small things like this, and he just couldn’t picture it. But then again, how long had it been since he’d really thought of any future past the next few days? He supposed he must have, since it had taken him quite a while to save up enough for his room, but he hadn’t really thought that it would actually happen, that there would come a time when it would really come true.
But here he was, in his room, with his washcloth and his keys. Absently, he grasped for his bag against his chest and stared at his bed. It didn’t feel right to sleep on it, not without a sheet or a towel or something to lay on top of it, so he turned out the light and curled up on the floor, reveling in the tingling he felt throughout his head as it warmed.
Master post with chapter breakdown here
Chapter 4: A Butting Of the Minds
Chapter 3: Same As It Never Was
After about twenty minutes of just sitting in the middle of his room - his room! - Alex smiled, a crack in his chapped lips tearing a bit. He barely felt it as he looked at the naked cot, making mental notes. He needed at least two blankets, one to serve as a sheet of sorts and one to put over his body. He could use his sweatshirt for a pillow, and he still had his toiletries the Salvation Army had given him in his bag. He had a small, thin piece of material he used as a washcloth, but he thought maybe he could find a real washcloth in the donation pile at the shelter. He could also maybe look for a towel.
Just the thought that he could sleep tonight stretched out on a bed almost made him laugh out loud, and he looked down at the keys in his hand. He’d clutched them so tightly that they had made small imprints on his palms, and part of him wished he could press so tightly that they’d forever become a part of him.
Then he remembered that he had somewhere else to be, and he was probably already extremely late. Because he’d used up all of the money he had, he was going to have to jump the turnstile to get into the train station, so he had to walk to one that had less police presence and no working cameras.
He stood and looked around his room. He wanted to leave something behind, to mark that this place was now his, but he couldn’t stop the worry that he had kept with him so long, the one that told him that anything he left wasn’t going to be there when he got back. He dug into his bag and pulled out his thin washcloth. He placed it gently on the counter by the sink and backed away slowly, committing the sight to memory before unlocking the door, exiting the apartment, and relocking the door from the outside.
It took him longer than he’d hoped to get to the train station he needed, but fortunately, the cops weren’t around, and he slipped into the station with a minimum of fuss. It was good that he hadn’t had to go anywhere else, because his head was aching again, his face and ears burning from the cold. He was worried about getting sick, but he reminded himself about the hooded sweatshirt he had waiting for him at the shelter.
He tried to act like he belonged as he clutched his bag and kept his eyes downcast, and soon he was at his stop and back out into the cold.
He bypassed the front where the mass of people would have stomped on him had he tried to make his way to the door and headed for the back, where he knocked until Marcel came to the door.
“You’re late,” he said. “Where’s your hat?”
“It’s gone,” Alex said, stepping inside.
Marcel placed a big hand close to Alex’s chest, knowing not to touch him. “You know the rules.”
Alex backed up a bit, feeling crowded even though he knew Marcel wasn’t going to do anything to him. He let go of his bag long enough to pull his makeshift shiv from inside his right sleeve and placed it carefully in his bag. He then reached inside his jeans to a small pocket he’d fashioned and pulled out the razor blade. Bending down, he lifted the right pants leg and carefully pulled out his large piece of glass. He put those with the shiv and exhaled a moment before handing Marcel his bag, which contained pretty much everything that held importance in his life.
Marcel had been there himself, and Alex knew he understood. He took the bag, asking, “That all?”
Alex nodded, his eyes taking in the kitchen. “Everything ready?”
“Yes.” Marcel put Alex’s bag in a box on the top shelf, one that could only be reached by a ladder or one of Momma Cass’ sons.
“You do the thing?”
For a second, Alex was confused. Then he remembered the conversation they’d had the day before about Chase. “I saw him, and he said he might come.”
“Where’d you find him?”
“Washington Square Park,” Alex said reluctantly, knowing that Marcel would understand the full implications of the location. He fidgeted a little, always having to fight the feeling of wrongness when he didn’t have his bag with him.
Marcel sighed and opened his mouth, but he was interrupted.
“You’re here!” Momma Cass said. “Where’s your hat?” She walked up to Alex, clasping her hands together.
She always did that when she saw him. The first time they’d met, she’d drawn him into this huge, tight hug, and he hadn’t been prepared, hadn’t been touched like that since his dad - in so long. He’d freaked, writhing and crying and embarrassing himself so much that she’d never tried touching him again, and they’d never mentioned it. There’d been times since then when he’d ached to have her to touch him, even just a hand on his shoulder, but he’d already ruined it, and he knew he didn’t deserve it anyway. So he just shoved the thought deep inside like he always did and tried to make it up to her by helping any way he could.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“Did you do it?”
He nodded, his eyes on her chin. He dug a hand into his pocket and came out with the keys.
“That’s wonderful!” She gushed, and he felt pinpricks on the back of his eyes. He hadn’t been so emotional in a long time, and it was exhausting him. “Remind me to give you your stuff before you leave tonight, and I’m sure we can find a few things from the donation bin you can use too. For now, though, come eat. You have a few minutes before we open the door.” She handed him a plate. “Tell me about the place.”
Shoving the keys deep inside his pocket with his free hand, he said, “it has a sink and a bed.” He knew it wasn’t much, but it was still everything.
“It’s clean?”
“Yes,” Alex said, although he couldn’t remember. It hadn’t been filthy, but Alex hadn’t really been interested in whether there had been dust bunnies underneath the bed or spiders in the sink. “There are three locks on the outside and four on the inside, and the window has bars.” He heard the excitement in his voice and wondered at the foreign sound of it.
He was mulling over the newness of everything and wasn’t prepared when he turned around to run straight into his past.
GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE
Puck barely had a moment to process the voice when he ran into a small body that seemed to bounce off him. He looked into the eyes, those eyes, and couldn’t speak.
Mercedes was losing one of the forks in her left hand, and she was trying to edge it back up into her grasp with the edge of one of the cups in her right hand, so she wasn’t prepared when Puck stopped short. “Don’t stop like that!” She said, shifting to catch his eye. She saw him staring, transfixed, and automatically followed his gaze, everything falling from her hands at what she saw.
Having spent the better part of two years suppressing any and all memories of what Chase had always called “the previous life”, Alex couldn’t handle having it thrust upon him in one instant. He exhaled sharply and did something he’d learned never to do on the streets: he looked someone straight in the eyes - and he saw the measuring and knew he’d been found wanting.
The eyes were dimmer, less sparkling and snapping than he remembered, the dark circles underneath prominent, but they were still that blue green that seemed to look right deep inside him. The cheeks were sunken, but it was still Kurt. Kurt fucking Hummel standing right in front of him!
She tried to take it all in, the skin, once pampered, now looked red and chafed. His lips were chapped and cracked, one corner looked like it had been bleeding recently. His hair! The beautiful locks he meticulously brushed back so often were now just tufts drifting around his pale head. He looked so much like her boy yet so unlike him that she wanted to hug him yet feared touching him.
A smack on his back forced air into his lungs, but the loud rasp that accompanied it burned his throat. His hands went to grab his bag, his fingers scrabbling vainly against the rough fabric of his jacket. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t think, everyone was getting closer, and he couldn’t think. He heard another gasp, felt that fire in his throat, and the next thing he knew, he was pushing open the door, only to find a dark wall in front of him. Using all his strength, he pushed through, that second door finally giving way, and then he’s free, and it’s him in the night, in the cold. He’s running, and it’s getting difficult to see, the sweat blurring his vision, until his legs stop working, his throat screaming, his lungs aching, burning with the cold.
GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE
Mercedes watched as Marcel smacked Kurt’s back, making him shudder and suddenly inhale, gasping. She knew her mouth was hanging open, but she had no words. There were no words…
She’d held out hope that he was okay for a few months after she’d gotten the postcard of something called the Monongahela Incline in Pittsburgh, with just four words written in Kurt’s handwriting: “Don’t worry; I’m fine.” She’d waited for him to contact her again, even after his Uncle had blown into town threatening everyone, saying that Kurt had run away and that he knew they’d helped. But she’d never heard from Kurt again, and while she’d hoped he was somewhere safe and happy, a part of her knew that the odds were against it. Sure, Kurt was übersmart, but how much of a chance did a sixteen year-old who had barely stepped foot out of Lima, OH and whose only parent had just died have out in the world? Plus, he had to hide from his mother’s brother, a man Kurt had never spoken to in his life and who just looked angry each of the three times Mercedes had seen him.
As time went by, she tried not to think about her best friend maybe starving somewhere, maybe dead. She couldn’t watch those reality shows that dealt with human trafficking and teenage prostitution, the homeless, unidentified male bodies found. She avoided the news, choosing to get her daily information from syndicated entertainment news programs.
She realized now that she had come face to face with her best friend that a small part of her had thought he was dead.
Now she knew he was alive, and suddenly a burst of hope started deep in her belly and rose through her until it poured out of her in an excited peal of laughter as she grabbed Puck’s arm. “Puck! He’s alive! My boy’s alive!”
And then the reality hit her, his wasted condition, the restrained look in his eyes, the poor skin condition and lack of fashion. He might look like her boy, but how much of him still remained?
She looked at Puck, who still hadn’t moved. “Puck?”
Slowly, his head turned toward her. “It wasn’t just me, right?” He whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “That was Hummel, right? You saw him too?”
“I did!”
She pulled at his arm, and suddenly they were hugging each other so tightly that she could barely breathe, but it still wasn’t close enough for her.
After a moment, she felt Puck’s arms loosen around her, and she forced herself to let go. She looked up at his face and saw him focused beyond her. Turning, she saw that Momma Cass stood there, Marcel beside her. She was saying something, but Mercedes had completely missed it.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Momma, I totally missed what you just said.”
The older woman smiled at Mercedes. “I can imagine.” She turned to her eldest. “Marcel, take them upstairs after your brothers arrive, and I’ll come up after I get things started here.”
“We’re here, mom,” another tall, dark man said, walking up and giving Momma Cass a hug.
“What’s going on with Alex?” Another guy, just as large, took his turn hugging Momma Cass. “He pushed past us like he’d had some sort of attack.”
“I wish you’d held him here,” she sighed.
One of the men snorted. “We were here when you tried to hug him that one time; we know how he doesn’t like to be touched.”
“I know,” she said, turning back to Mercedes and Puck. “Mercedes, do you remember my other two sons, Marcus and Malachi? Boys, this is Mercedes, Jemma’s girl from Lima, and her friend Noah. Evidently, they know Alex.”
Mercedes frowned. “Who’s Alex?”
“It’s the name your friend goes by now,” Marcel said, taking her arm with one hand and Puck’s with another. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Taking a step, Mercedes stepped on a fork and remembered the dishes she’d dropped. “I need to clean up…”
“We’ll take care of it,” Aunt Momma told her. “Just go on upstairs with Marcel.”
Mercedes nodded, feeling another laugh bubbling in her chest. She had to lean forward to see around Marcel, but she grinned at Puck, who smiled back at her, for once all his normal reserve gone.
“Marcel, can I get my phone?” She turned to Puck, excited. “I have to call everyone - Finn, Rachel, everyone!”
“Before you do that, let’s have a talk,” Marcel said, seating them on one of the sofas in the living area and returning quickly with four bottles of water, handing one to each of them and opening one for himself, placing the extra one on the floor by his feet. “Okay,” he said, sighing as he sat in a chair across from them. “Alex is your friend.”
“His name is Kurt,” Mercedes corrected him. “Kurt Hummel.”
“That was his old name,” Marcel said.
“What does that mean?” Puck asked.
“Maybe we should wait until mom gets here,” Marcel muttered, but Mercedes felt she had waited enough.
“Just explain to us what that means,” she said.
Sighing again, Marcel looked up at the ceiling for a moment, absently scratching his chin, before he returned his gaze to hers. “You know I was homeless for a few years, right?”
Mercedes nodded, turning to Puck and watching him nod as well.
“So I know a few things from experience. Because most of us are running from something or someone, and we don’t want to be found, we tend to adopt a fake name.”
“What was yours?” Mercedes asked curiously.
“Victor,” he said, smiling briefly. “How long has Al- your friend been missing?”
“About two years,” Puck offered.
“So for about two years, he’s been Alex, and he’s been living on the streets. He’s going to have seen a lot of stuff, had to do a lot of stuff to survive.”
Mercedes could tell by his intense stare that he was trying to impart something important, more than what he was saying. She considered herself a fairly intelligent person, but she just wasn’t getting it. She turned to Puck, who seemed to have the same expression she felt was probably reflected on her face as well.
“Just tell us what you’re trying to say,” Puck said. “We can handle it.”
“What I’m saying is that your friend, as you knew him, is gone. Kurt Hu… whatever has been replaced by Alex.”
“Hummel,” Mercedes and Puck said simultaneously, sharing a smile.
“Hummel,” Marcel repeated.
“I know you’re trying to tell us something, but I think you’re just going to have to say it, because I don’t think either of us are getting it.”
“What he’s saying, Mercedes,” Aunt Momma said from behind them, “is that your friend, the way you knew him, is gone, and you need to prepare yourself that he might be gone forever.”
“What do you mean, the way we knew him?”
“In order to survive out there, you kind of have to…” Marcel paused, obviously thinking of how to explain it. “Okay. Imagine you’re an animal who’s been living in the zoo all of your life. Your food’s catered, you don’t have to worry about inclement weather, animal attacks don’t even exist in your world. Suddenly you’re thrust into the jungle, alone, where you have to figure out how to survive. You have to forget everything you’ve known - everything - because nothing you’ve been taught before has prepared you for this. Everything around you is a potential danger, and the only person you can rely on is yourself. That kind of thing changes a person.”
“Sure,” Mercedes said, trying not to roll her eyes. Of course Kurt had had a tough time of it, and of course that would have changed him. “But we’ve found him now. He can stay with us, right?” She turned to Puck, who nodded slightly but looked a little thoughtful. “Right, Puck?”
“Sure,” Puck agreed slowly, “but I think what Marcel’s trying to tell us is that it’s not going to be that easy.”
“We’ll give him a place to stay, feed him, and we’ll be there to support him,” Mercedes said.
Marcel was shaking his head. He scooted forward in his chair, reaching out to take Mercedes’ hands in his. “What if he doesn’t want to go with you?”
Mercedes had to blink. “You saw him. He’s wasted away to nothing, and you said yourself that he’s homeless. Why wouldn’t he come stay with us?”
Marcel turned to his mother, and Mercedes watched them have some sort of conversation with their eyes. Finally, Momma Cass said, “You can’t explain it to her, Marcel, just like they couldn’t explain it to me.”
Marcel nodded, turning back to Mercedes. “Know that I’m here, if you have questions are just need to talk.” He looked at Puck. “I’m here for both of you.”
“We’re here for you,” Momma Cass corrected, a hand on Marcel’s forearm.
Mercedes felt herself getting a little angry at their placating tones, like she was some innocent who didn’t understand the situation. She totally did. Her boy had been living on the streets for nearly two years, alone and scared, and it was going to take time and probably lots of patience to help him work through that, but he had her now, so eventually he’d be the best friend she remembered, just more experienced about life. Pulling her hands from Marcel’s she said, “I don’t know why you don’t think I understand what you’re saying. He’s messed up, just like anyone would be who’s gone through what he has, but with his friends around him, he’ll work it out. He’s tough.”
“Sometimes tough doesn’t cut it,” Marcel said.
“But yet here you are, looking healthy and happy,” Mercedes said, not able to control the snarky edge to her voice. “Kurt’s just as special as you are.”
“I’m not saying he’s not,” Marcel said, sitting back in his chair and grabbing his water. “But you don’t know how difficult, how long, how much work it took for me to get to where I am. And you have no idea how many issues I’m still dealing with. I still go see my shrink twice a week.”
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Puck knew he hadn’t seen much more of the seedier life than Mercedes had, but he thought he was getting a better idea of what they were trying to say. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been as close to Hummel, so he didn’t have so much emotion to cloud his vision.
Now that he’d had time to think back on it, to reflect - and yes, he did a lot more of that since he’d graduated - he realized that nowhere in Kurt’s expression had he seen any sort of relief or happiness at seeing them. He’d seen shock, of course, but he was pretty sure he’d seen fear there as well. It wasn’t a look he was used to seeing in Hummel’s eyes, at least not without being tempered with a haughty disdain and accompanied by that I’m-better-than-you-could-ever-hope-to-be chin lift.
He could imagine someone as pretty as Kurt, stepping off of the bus at Penn Station. In fact, he’d had a kid on his bus, someone probably about sixteen or so, who’d looked so lost as they’d stepped down the stairs, and he could remember wondering absently what would happen if no one came to pick him up. He’d heard the stories, ones that felt more like urban legends, about pimps and drug dealers hovering around the bus and train stations, waiting to descend upon the runaways who swarmed to the city, but he hadn’t really believed it. Now that he’d been living here for a short time, though, he could see it happening. He just hoped that it hadn’t happened to Hummel.
“How well do you know him?” Puck asked, cutting off Mercedes’ rant. “How’s he doing?”
Momma Cass sat beside her son, taking the bottle of water on the floor and twisting open the cap. “He’s doing okay, actually, for being a runaway.”
“He’s doing better than I was,” Marcel added while his mother drank. “He’s not hooked on drugs.”
“He’s not selling his body,” Momma Cass added, “and he just got his own room at a halfway house. He has a job of sorts.” She smiled faintly and looked at her son, who shook his head wryly.
“What are we missing?” Mercedes asked.
“Just a private joke,” Momma Cass said, looking back at them. “Let me just say, having been where you are now, that finding him is the easy part. Now you have to get to know him all over again, forget what you used to know about him and get to know him the way he is now. The kid you used to know is completely different, and the way you can lose him again is to try to shoehorn him back into your idea of who he should be.”
“What do we do then?” Puck asked, trying very hard to understand and remember everything she was telling them.
“Take your cues from him,” Marcel said. “Let him guide you.”
Puck looked over at Mercedes, recognizing the stubborn set of her chin, and he stifled a sigh. He could already picture himself between the two of them, trying to get Mercedes to stop forcing Kurt into his old role and trying to keep Kurt from running.
Even so, he couldn’t help but be excited about seeing Hummel again.
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Alex awoke, shivering, at the end of an alley, his body curled up against the wall. It wasn’t the ideal location; in fact, it was probably one of the most dangerous situations to be in, because he would be without an escape route should anyone try to mess with him. Fortunately, it was too cold for many dangerous types to be out, and he slightly relaxed his guard as he stood, wincing as his shivering body protested having been on the ground for so long.
Automatically, he reached for his makeshift weapons and his bag, belatedly remembering that all of his worldly possessions were locked at the shelter. He felt a chill sweeping over his body, one totally different than the cold tremors. He’d never been this long without his bag - he knew that it was someplace safe, but what if something happened? What if the shelter caught on fire? What if the shelf broke, and his stuff fell on the floor, to be snatched up by anyone passing by the entrance? He felt tears prick at his eyes, and he pressed his palms against them as he tried to calm himself. There was nothing he could do about it now, and one thing he’d learned early on was not to waste energy on things he couldn’t change.
And then he remembered that he hadn’t given up everything at the shelter. Digging in his pocket, he fished out his two keys, still amazed that he had his own room waiting for him right at that very minute. Shoving the keys back into his pocket, he carefully made his way out of the alley and took a moment to get his bearings.
Once again, he snuck into a subway station and managed to get to the place - his place! - fairly quickly. He used his key to get into the building, slowly climbing the stairs to his room. He figured he should probably go to the restroom first, and he took out the bathroom key, sliding it into the lock.
“It’s occupied,” a deep, male voice said loudly.
Shrugging, Alex turned to his room. He figured he could always pee in the sink if he became desperate in the middle of the night. After all, he’d peed in worse - and less private - places. Slowly unlocking the door, he sighed quietly at the loud click it made. He took his time turning the door knob, picturing the room the way he’d left it, remembering that feeling of it being all his, before he entered and turned on the light.
He had to smile as he looked around. He’d known that everything was supposed to be the way he’d left it, and logically it made sense. But he’d learned for so long not to take things for granted, and all that was his could be taken away before he’d taken a breath. Absently, he brushed his fingers over the washcloth he’d left there, that was exactly where he’d put it earlier. He tried to think to a future where he’d once again take for granted small things like this, and he just couldn’t picture it. But then again, how long had it been since he’d really thought of any future past the next few days? He supposed he must have, since it had taken him quite a while to save up enough for his room, but he hadn’t really thought that it would actually happen, that there would come a time when it would really come true.
But here he was, in his room, with his washcloth and his keys. Absently, he grasped for his bag against his chest and stared at his bed. It didn’t feel right to sleep on it, not without a sheet or a towel or something to lay on top of it, so he turned out the light and curled up on the floor, reveling in the tingling he felt throughout his head as it warmed.
Master post with chapter breakdown here
Chapter 4: A Butting Of the Minds