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“John, it's time,” an insistent voice spoke from somewhere around John's left shoulder.
John turned away from the wall he was facing and looked down to where a teenaged boy was standing next to him, wearing what John could only describe as a cowboy outfit that was probably stolen from the set of Brokeback Mountain.
“Mr. Schuester is going to kill us if we're late. The other group has already started.” The boy reached up and began adjusting John's hair.
Looking down, John realized that his outfit was a twin to the one the boy was wearing. “What's going on? Who are you?”
The boy made an odd sound and turned John so that he was looking in the mirror, still fussing with a particularly recalcitrant strand of John's hair. “Kurt, dummy. I know you're panicking. It's only natural. But you've got to hold it together. Everyone is counting on you.”
John stared, unable to help himself. He hadn't looked like this for twenty years, and even then he would have died before he stepped out of the house looking like this. Or, more to the point, his father would have killed him before letting him out of the house like this.
“There, fixed. Let's go.” Kurt closed the cap of the gel he'd been plastering in John's hair.
Reflexively, John dug his heels into the bathroom tile and clutched onto his P-90, unaware that he'd been holding it until that very moment.
“You won't need that, I promise.” Without much effort, Kurt plucked the gun from John's hands and set it on the bathroom sink. He picked up a guitar and put the strap over John's head so that it hung where the gun used to rest.
Kurt slipped his hand tightly in John's and pulled him from the bathroom, walking too quickly for John to get a good luck at their surroundings. “Where are we going?” John asked.
“Backstage. They're waiting for us,” Kurt said. They stopped outside a pair of blue double doors, a vaguely circular and swirling pattern painted on them that was somehow familiar.
Kurt put his hands on John's shoulders and leaned up to kiss John. John paused only for a moment before he leaned into the kiss, Kurt's touch surprisingly comforting. They were there only for the briefest of moments before Kurt was pulling him through the doors and into the darkness of backstage.
A group of people were waiting, all in costumes of various sorts. Ronon stood closest to the stage, looking surprisingly comfortable in the cowboy getup with his gun out and his finger on the trigger. John felt Kurt's fingers thread through his as John approached the stage.
“They're almost done,” Ronon said, nodding toward the curtain.
John leaned forward, his hands reaching for the gun and finding only his guitar. A group of Wraith were on stage, dancing to something that was disturbingly reminiscent of Michael Jackson's Thriller.
“You'll take care of them, right?” Rodney asked, coming up behind them with his tablet computer tucked tightly against his chest. He looked anxiously to John before looking back down at the tablet. “It's almost time.”
“I'll take care of them.” John said firmly, turning to take in the rest of the group.
“We're right here with you.” Teyla came up next to John, followed by two girls in cheerleading outfits.
“Alright, gather around,” a man called out, and the entire group moved forward to circle around him. John followed, Kurt and the rest of his team close by.
“We're all here now, Mr. Schuester,” Kurt called out, sparing a moment to smile up at John.
“Thanks, Kurt,” Mr. Schuester responded, nodding at John. “Now, the competition has been tough this year. They've already taken out the last team to go out on stage.”
John looked to the side and saw a pile of corpses that the Wraith had already drained of life. He shuddered and pulled Kurt closer, double checking that Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla were behind him.
“But, now that John is here, he's going to go knock them dead.” Mr. Schuester looked to John again and John smiled nervously. He wasn't sure how much damage he could do with just a guitar, but he knew that he couldn't let the Wraith go anywhere near the rest of the glee club. If only he could convince Ronon to let him borrow the awesome gun he carried.
“We're all counting on you,” Mr. Schuester finished, folding his arms as the entire group turned to look at him.
“I'll do my best,” John managed to say.
“McKinley High, you're on.” Chuck called from the side of the stage, his hand up to his ear piece.
John clutched the neck of his guitar and walked toward the curtain, almost certain that the Wraith were still out there just waiting for him to walk into their hands completely defenseless.
“We're right behind you,” Kurt told him, giving him a quick kiss.
John blushed, but none of his team seemed to mind. They all stood together and waited, ready to provide back up when John needed it. A little reassured, John took a deep breath and pushed past the curtain.
The stage lights were bright, he couldn't see into the audience, but there were no Wraith on stage with him. He walked out to where a microphone was standing center stage, right up front. John settled his fingers on the guitar frets and began the opening notes to one of the only songs he knew all the way through.
“Melinda was mine,'til the time that I found her...”
*****
“Wait, so that was it?” Rodney asked, his mouth half full of pancake.
“That's it.” John shrugged. He had left a few key parts out, particularly the pieces about Kurt kissing him and messing with his hair. And the cowboy outfits. “Pretty weird, huh?”
Teyla frowned as she looked down into her cup of tea. “Do you think it means that the Wraith are coming?”
Rodney snorted. “Unless John's suddenly developed a talent for sensing the Wraith, I don't think we have anything to worry about. And really, that's nothing. One time, in grad school, after I'd been up for finals week for about four solid days, I passed out at my lab desk and dreamt that whales had suddenly mutated legs and fangs and were trying to convince me to build them a nuclear bomb, which I clearly told them that I could do in my sleep, but I wasn't going to do it for a bunch of whales. Then they ate me.”
Ronon and Teyla exchanged a look that John had come to learn meant 'Earth people are weird'.
John shrugged. “I just never thought that singing was a weapon against the Wraith.”
“Your singing, maybe,” Rodney commented.
Teyla got up from her seat. “We should go, we're going to be late for our meeting with Dr. Weir.”
John stood up as well, dumping his tray at the drop-off point. “Sure. Just as long as I never have to see a Wraith dance again. Ever.”
“Traumatizing, I'm sure.” Rodney followed, grabbing one last muffin before catching up to them in the hallway.
“I still don't know why you let that kid take your gun,” Ronon said.
John frowned as he thought of the odd boy who had held hands with him. “That's a good question, buddy.”