Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When Kurt was small, the ocean threatened to swallow the world whole.

Kurt had no memory of the flood itself, but his father had always said that it began with the earthquakes. Continents broke, the very earth shifted and deep fissures cracked the ground wide open. Water came rushing up, wreaking further havoc. The deaths were uncountable, unknowable, and everything had scattered and shifted so much that no effort had probably been made. A lot of communities had reverted back to the basics in the wake of surviving what was essentially the apocalypse.

Honestly, Kurt was grateful to remember nothing of the flood.

Most of his life is remembered on the network of islands he resided in now. What used to be about two or three towns were now spread out in archipelagos across a vast stretch of water, approximately since everything had been tossed about by the water. Kurt lived on the edge by the lighthouse, near the sea where the ground underwater dropped off to great depths. Now, the original names, the places, they were all muddied and distant memories.

No one could really agree on anything of the past, and often, the same could be said of the present. As long their future didn't end the way their past did, Kurt was fine with it.

“That useless buttchin,” Sue said, as Kurt approached her on the dock.

Her hands were on her hips, and she had that power stance on, the one she used when she was about to cuss out everyone within a mile radius. 

Kurt squinted into the morning fog, only barely making out the disappearing form of Will Schuester’s boat. “What is it now?”

“It’s only Schuester, the greasy barnacle I can never scrape off our sorry behinds.” Sue clucked her tongue, and her tone grew solemn. “He’s off after Figgins. It’s been four days.”

Kurt uncomfortably fiddled with his hair, brushing his bangs from his forehead. The sea breeze was especially strong this morning. “So it has.”

“I’m telling you, Porcelain.” Sue wagged a finger at him. “They killed him, God rest Figgy’s soul, and as acting captain my only possible move is to whip this place into shape. As our dear yet incapable friend would say: our hands are tied.”

Sue mimed winding rope around her hands and gestured her bound hands to the end of the dock. 

“You know, it couldn’t hurt to try.” Kurt shrugged. “Mr. Schue’s always been an idealist.”

“Which would be fine if he had a scrap of an idea in that bird’s nest on his head—“

“Coach, that’s not what an idealist means.”

“—of what it means to be a leader. Come on! Look at this place.” Sue spread her hands, making a show of looking around. “William’s only going to follow into Davy Jones’ locker on this suicide mission. What we should be doing is hunkering down, putting our heads together, and figuring out a new solution.”

“That makes sense, Coach, but I think Figgins set out because this was kind of a last ditch option in the first place . . . “

Kurt made no effort to hide the wry tilt to his mouth.

“I’m disowning you,” Sue said. 

“Sure,” Kurt replied. “I’m nineteen, I just live with you because it’s convenient. I’ll go live with Mercedes and Quinn.”

“I am throwing you into the sea.”

Kurt mockingly took a step towards the docks. Predictably, Sue’s arm shot out to grab onto his shoulder in a vice grip. “Ow!”

“Don’t be stupid, I need you for repairs.” 

“Finn can do that.”

“Nope, I broke down not even past the greenhouse.”

“That was six months ago,” Kurt said incredulously. “Finn’s over at Rachel’s right now, that’s—“ he made a flailing gesture in the vague direction of Rachel's house, not too far from their lighthouse.

“This tolerance for incompetency, Porcelain, is what kills people.” 

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Incompetency nor tolerance killed my dad . . . “

His gaze caught on something in the mist.

“Sure, use your orphan card on me! But mark my—"

In the distance, a great, shadowy mass was beginning to swell.

"—what the everloving fuck?" Sue finished.

Kurt heard her only faintly now. He was fixated on the swell. The water was thick and dark, rising from the mist like a great big bubble of ink. It seemed slow, strange—

—and then it burst and suddenly everything was happening too fast.

Kurt would’ve liked to say that the many tragedies in his life had numbed him to threats of danger, and that this made him quicker to the draw. But his body froze at the sheer magnitude of the approaching wave. He felt small, helpless, and as apathetic as he felt—seeing William Schuester’s tiny fisherman boat caught in it felt like a stab to the stomach.

“Kurt."

Sue’s hand was on his arm. She pulled him roughly, and Kurt stumbled backwards. 

“He—did you see?” He wanted to get closer to her, but his bones were still stiff with shock. 

“I’ll take care of it,” She said, and it was absolute bullshit but Kurt needed an anchor and he latched onto it. “Get Becky. Run up the lighthouse, high as you can.”

“What about you?”

“I’m behind you. Go!”

Sue shoved Kurt so hard he almost tripped, but he broke out into a run and all of a sudden the adrenaline kicked in. He dashed down the dock and up the steps, making a beeline for Becky’s usual spot at the base of the lighthouse. He’d only caught sight of her blinking at him, then staring behind him before the world was encased in darkness.

When Kurt opened his eyes, they were blurry and stinging. 

The ground beneath him was hot and damp and rough, and his hand slipped painfully on a jagged edge as he struggled to get up. He rolled onto his back.

The skies were clear, and the sunlight harsh. Kurt clamped his eyes shut, then turned his head away from the bright blue. 

Blinking away the sting and the tears, he managed to make out a shape in the distance. It was tall and tapered off towards the top, where it looked like a big lantern. It was red and white, atop a simple home. The lighthouse. 

Kurt’s heart was pounding, and his breath came in shallow bursts. He laid there for what could’ve been a minute or an hour, staring hard into the distance and tracing his eyes over the line of the dock, the steps, the top window of the lighthouse. He tried to make out any shapes. Any movements. Anything. 

But there were none.

Kurt swallowed the rising despair in his throat, and tried not to vomit it out. He inhaled deeply once, twice—then pushed himself up before he could get to three. His hand stung as it met the ground, but he ignored it in favor of assessing where he was.

He was on a rock, a little ways to the east. The water lapped mildly at the edges, barely the length of a ruler away from him. He was completely dry, also, and this made his stomach churn; how long was he out?

It was nerve-wracking to even try to get to his feet. He thought about taking his shoes off for fear of accidentally slipping off the wet rock.

Kurt ended up standing meekly in the center of a very sad excuse of safety, his scuffed sneakers dangling from one hand.

There was nothing but Kurt, the clothes on his back, and a freaking rock. Unless Kurt could break off the rock and float himself to the dock, or even the small beach by the lighthouse somehow, he was completely and utterly helpless. 

“I wish it just killed me,” Kurt said to no one in particular.

There was nothing to do but wait. Schuester was a goner for sure, and it was beginning to seem likely that Becky and Sue were as well. Kurt turned his head and squinted at the distant shape of Rachel’s home, at the dock of the island she lived on. Perhaps Rachel had survived—Kurt was not sure if the mass had even hit her—and if she did then Finn was alive too. They would check on him for sure, and so would Mercedes. If not Mercedes, then Tina. Brittany was more of a wildcard, he’d give it a day. 

After that Kurt could stand to wait a day or two more for any strokes of luck, then he would step into the ocean and drown himself.

Kurt nodded, curling his free hand into a fist and setting it on his hip. That seemed like a plan. Drowning would be horrid, yes, but it was more appealing than starving to death slowly. Or maybe Kurt would just faint from hunger and then drown, and he wouldn’t be conscious for the ugly parts. That seemed like the best case scenario.

As Kurt was weighing his options, he heard the water start to churn.

“Oh God,” Kurt muttered, looking around. There was nothing in the distance, no waves or ominous great bubbling mass, but— 

His heart jumped when he saw something move under the water, close to his rock. 

A shark? Sharks didn’t seek to eat people, that was a myth, his dad told him when he was younger. Kurt was out in the open, unaggressive, and he wasn’t even bleeding into the water. And there had never been any shark sightings near their lighthouse.

The thing was close now, very close. It was a dark shadow under the water, its shape vague and blobby. Kurt could not make anything out with the waves moving over it, but one thing was for sure: this was not a fish. 

Something flashed out at Kurt as it bordered the rock by his feet. It was a bright, brief spark of green, though it could’ve been a trick of the light. As the waves lapped at the edges of the rock, Kurt watched it reach out and curl shadowy fingers over the edge. 

Kurt was honestly at a loss. 

“Sue?” he tried. “Coach?”

A—it was probably a head, and it shook side to side. No.

“What—who are you?”

It disappeared into the water, sinking down far enough to be even more of a vague shape. Then—a foot popped out, shadowy and wispy. 

Kurt stared at it.

“What?”

Another foot. Then, it began to move up and down, left and right in succession, as if—as if cycling, or—walking. Upside down.

“I can’t,” Kurt told the shadow. “This rock is too small to even pace on.”

Its movements only grew more insistent.

“I don’t think you understand.” Kurt tried not to let his frustration show. “I will fall, and I will drown.” 

It paused. Then it repeated the motion.

“Are you telling me to kill myself?” Kurt asked it in disbelief. 

One foot kicked out, suddenly as if giddy, and it shook a little as it sank under. Bubbles broke the surface of the water.

Kurt gaped. It was laughing.

“You go kill yourself,” Kurt said, and he only felt a little bad. These were extenuating circumstances. He decided that he could say this to something that was making fun of his situation. He'd take time to feel worse about it later.

The thing wiggled its toes, then disappeared far down enough that the dark melted and faded into the depths. Then, it appeared, slowly, like ink rising to the surface:

Two dark footprints in the water, perfectly still. Almost like—

“Oh,” Kurt said. 

It was ridiculous, but Kurt stuck a foot out and tentatively made contact. 

Weird, Kurt thought. It felt fleshy, like any other foot. It wasn’t as slippery as it looked, and it wasn’t sticky, but there was something almost magnetic in the way his skin adhered to this thing. He placed more pressure and decided to take the plunge, planting his other foot on the marked spot. 

He was standing on water now. Kurt simply stared down for a moment, He saw nothing but a dark, distorted shape below. A shadow.

“Okay,” Kurt breathed out, and he looked at the expanse of water. Standing still, it was emphasized how the water undulated, swelling and dipping like it was alive. “What now?”

He felt the shadow push against his feet, forceful, and Kurt instinctively took a step forward. It cushioned him accordingly for that, and for the next step, and the next, and suddenly Kurt was just walking on water like it was nothing. Just . . . strolling back to the lighthouse.

Kurt wondered if he was dreaming.

He looked down into the dark depths, and decided to stop. It stopped with him. He stepped backwards; it did too. 

“If I run,” he asked, “Will you?”

It rose up against his feet like a challenge. 

Kurt took a deep breath, counted, one two three four—and began to run. 

Dream or no, it was surreal. This thing matched him step for step, perfectly in sync, and after a few paces Kurt was practically gliding on the water, skating. There was something thrilling about it, about the spray of sea mist in his face and the soft sounds of the water skimming against his feet. It felt like power. 

Approaching the dock, the force against his feet pushed once more, and Kurt jumped. It kicked him up higher, and Kurt felt his heart leap into his throat as he was catapulted up way too high, and he landed stumbling on the ground, running a bit and trying not to land flat on his damn face. 

He failed, yelping as he tripped and fell. 

Kurt felt himself burn with rage as got to his feet and glared over the edge of the dock. The shadow was there, and Kurt couldn’t make out any details but he was sure it was laughing at him again. The shape was wiggling in a telltale way, its movements going against the current and too fast for plain water distortion. There was that green flash again.

Kurt thought about cursing it out but refrained. It got him back to the lighthouse, after all, even if it clearly had an atrocious personality. He withdrew and looked back up towards the steps. 

The place was silent, the air still and dense with tension. Kurt felt a permeating sense of dread, but he walked on. He owed it to Sue and Becky as a survivor, even if it was just to retrieve and send off the shells of their bodies back into the sea. 

It occurred to Kurt that they may have even been swept off their small island completely, like him. 

There were puddles all around, and everything was still soaking wet. Kurt winced at the feeling and belatedly realized he’d lost his shoes. He must’ve dropped them in his shock. 

Lamenting this, Kurt paused, checking under his feet for grime.

“WHO GOES—PORCELAIN?”

Kurt recoiled. Sue was huddled on the ground with Becky, right there at the base of the lighthouse. It was the open area off the side of the house, a sort of workshop space. Sue and Becky were up against the corner of a wall and a beam, with the former bracing the latter with her arms around and hands gripped onto the edge of the beam tightly. 

“Coach,” Kurt said, dropping his foot and straightening up.

“Mother of God, you’re alive,” Sue said.

“So it seems.” Kurt shrugged. “Why are you wet?”

“Why are you dry?”

“Freak,” Becky said, though she sounded shaken.

“Thanks, Becky.”

“Are you actually Kurt?” Sue squinted up at him. “Prove to me you’re not some sort of changeling.”

Kurt frowned. “Um, well. When I was eleven and we still bothered to maintain your laptop, I broke into it and showed everybody your dance-workout video.”

He half-heartedly did the beginning of a move from it.

“What was the password?”

Kurt took a moment to remember it. “ThunderBolton69.”

“It’s him, Becky.” Sue sounded grave, groaning as she got to her feet. “This is Kurt Hummel, without a doubt.”

“What if it like, stole his memories?” Becky asked. 

“Then it might as well be as good as Porcelain,” Sue said. She turned to Kurt. “Be honest with me or I will kill you. Did you also steal his mechanic skills? We need that.”

“Coach, it’s me,” Kurt said flatly.

“How did you even . . . ?” Sue shook her head. “The wave swept you away, I felt you—I tried to grab you.”

Kurt opened his mouth to explain, then decided better of it. “I guess it’s more efficient to show you?”

“Why are we headed to the docks? Did you wash up on an island and build a raft?” Sue asked. "You couldn't have, unless we were huddled in fear for longer than I thought."

"Here," Kurt called her attention as he saw the edge of the low cliff, deciding to not bother with the rest of the way to the docks.

Sue turned her head back just in time to see Kurt stepping off the edge.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” She boomed.

“Coach he’s lost it!” Becky cried, the sound fading as Kurt dropped below.

The shadow caught him neatly, and Kurt hardly stumbled this time, his arms spread for balance. He rocked on the balls of his feet, turned, and looked up.

Sue and Becky were gaping at him. Sue’s eyes were bugging out; Kurt would’ve laughed if he wasn’t still shocked himself. 

“What in the name of—“ Sue closed her eyes, then opened them again. She spread her hands. “What the hell? How did this happen, Porcelain?”

Kurt spread his arms further helplessly, matching her. “You tell me. This thing showed up and just . . . boom. I’m walking on water.”

“Can you turn it into wine?” Sue had one hand cupped around her mouth. “God, I miss alcohol!”

“I’m gonna say no,” Kurt said.

“Boo, gay Jesus!” Becky called.

Their generator was busted, and the nearest place that would have the parts was a ways out past Rachel, and even Mercedes, near Tina’s. 

“Hey! Water Boy! Will you stop being weird and just get on the boat?”

Sue leaned over the railing, yelling at Kurt.

“I’m good!” Kurt yelled back, drifting close to the boat as he did.

He was beginning to really get the hang of it. Kurt skimmed over the waves, cresting a slope and landing on the balls of his feet, gliding over the water. It felt amazing to be so close to the water. Kurt couldn’t help but look around too, turning his head this way and that, just watching the light glimmer off the waves. The water was murky with depth, but the sun glinted off the surface of it. The glittering looked like daytime stars falling into the ocean.

The shadow pushed on his feet. Kurt snapped back to see an incoming rock ahead. He turned and skated around it, gliding farther from the boat and out of Sue’s earshot. He waved at her, and Sue just shook her head and pushed off the railing, walking back into the pilot's cabin to talk to Becky. 

After more than ten minutes, the initial shock had worn off and water-skating was more peaceful than it was thrilling. Kurt took to the rise and fall of the ocean easily, and it was almost like he’d synced up with the whole of it, not just his shadow in the waves. Kurt jumped and pushed down on it, wondering if it would let him sink under the water for just a bit. It would carry him safely, as far under as Kurt pleased, wouldn’t it? Despite its antics, Kurt thought he could trust it. It was hard not to.

The journey was smooth, and it was uneventful past the sights. If he was on the boat, Kurt would’ve started drawing to pass the time, or sleeping. Since he could do neither, he decided to sing.

He started off with a sea shanty that he liked to sing with Rachel, a jaunty tune that had him almost hopping off every wave he skated over—and he even dared a few clumsy, airborne twirls—then moved on to an old favorite of his dad’s. He switched midway to a song Mercedes had taught him a few weeks ago, then practiced his scales. When he got bored of that, he started humming an old lullaby. 

He felt his shadow push a little bit. There was no obstacle in sight. 

“My mother used to sing that to me,” Kurt said idly. He felt a crackling, light vibration against the soles of his feet, travelling upwards and outwards like a reverb against his insides. It started then stopped, long-short-short-short-long—Kurt took note of the lengths of its sounds for a good minute and frowned at the nonsensical morse code, before he realized that it was humming.

“You know it?” He asked, and his shadow hummed once. A long, drawn out note. Yes. “Huh. I guess it’s an older tune than I thought.”

The shadow hummed, one short, sharp burst. No.

Kurt took that in silently, an unease settling in his gut.

Sue continued to complain about Kurt being reckless and strange, but took advantage of the convenience and sent him out for errands while she and Becky docked the boat to talk to the Abrams family. 

Kurt rolled his eyes but tended to his tasks dutifully, skating from island to island to pick up this and that, talk to Ms. Pillsbury about books—he forwent telling her about Schue missing for now, a deep discomfort in his chest—and he caught up with Tina on his last trip out. 

“How does it feel?” She was oddly calm about the whole thing besides a slight widening of the eyes, curious as she crouched down on the ledge. 

Tina and Artie's island had a small cove that Tina liked to hang out in, or bring her friends to for private conversations. The water near the mouth of the cave was shallow enough to walk in, around waist deep, but Tina hardly ever ventured into it.

“Um, like—just like us, I guess,” Kurt said, tapping his foot. His shadow was still, initially, but began to mimic him, almost mockingly. “He’s got a bit of an attitude.”

Tina snorted, her eyes fixed on the dark shape under the water. 

“I almost want to touch it,” she said.

“I guess you could?” Kurt shrugged, looking down. His shadow was still, and silent. “You could try?”

Tina stared for a while, then started to reach her hand out. It barely skimmed the surface of the water before she pulled it back, hand twitching as she drew it close to her chest.

“Nah,” she said. “Heard enough stories.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Just . . . “ she looked up at Kurt, her mouth tilted in discomfort. “You know. Water spirits and stuff. Sirens, mermaids, whatever you wanna call them.”

“He has feet.” 

“Yeah. That’s kinda creepy, to be honest. And—what, he’s like a shadow?” Tina stood up. She smiled, shrugging. “This lady next to us, Suzy’s grandma, she said that there’s these water spirits that steal kids.”

“Like, what, they just take them?” Kurt tried not to look too judgemental. “For what? To eat them?”

"I don't think so," Tina answered. “She said, it's a type of shapeshifter that gets close first, lures ‘em in, then it pulls you under the water when you get close. Then they’ll take your skin, and they’ll pretend to be you.”

“I never heard that one.”

“Well, you’re pretty isolated, like Rachel.”

“I talk to people,” Kurt defended. “I live with like, three people counting Finn. And I talk to Rachel, Mercedes, Quinn, Britt, Santana, Artie, Mike. I’m talking to you.”

Tina laughed. Kurt looked away and smiled sardonically. He’d just listed everybody, and out of all of them, he only talked to Mercedes frequently, with Tina and Rachel coming in at a visit every other week. Even Finn was more social, making his rounds weekly ever since Kurt had taught him how to sail.

“Yeah, I guess you’ve got friends all over, huh?”

Tina was being kind in her teasing. More often than not, Tina was more up to date on gossip than even Kurt, since she talked so frequently on the radio. Kurt shrugged it off.

“I always kinda thought it was bull,” Tina said, suddenly. “The water spirit thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Like, obviously it’s dangerous to get into the water. To easy to get swept out.” Tina gestured to the gentle waves by her feet. “But kids can get stupid, so all the adults come up with these horror stories about mermaids kidnapping kids.”

“That makes sense,” Kurt said. “I don’t think there’s such a thing as spirits, not as we know them.”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know about your atheism, Kurt.” Tina rolled her eyes.

“It’s just stuff we haven’t figured out.” Kurt ignored her. “If there are water spirits, they’re just some type of sea creature we haven’t discovered.”

“Like your friend?” She looked skeptical now.

“Yeah, I guess.”

After a long moment, Tina nodded. She blew a strand of her hair out of her face. “Just! You know, be careful. That thing could drag you under any second, I don’t know how you can look so—“

She made a face and gestured loosely to him, her bracelets clinking against each other as she flapped her hand. 

“Would it be weird if I said I kind of want it to?” Kurt joked. 

Tina didn’t seem to find it very funny. Her mouth only quirked up in a smile that was more pitying than anything else. Kurt felt his chest tighten, and he looked away, shrugging.

“I’m kidding.”

“Yeah, okay.” Tina set her hands on her hips. “Now get over here, let's take an actual walk together.”

Kurt hopped onto the ledge. He and Tina watched his shadow turn under the water, and sink out of sight.

“So it just pops out every single time you step onto the water? Like, it just knows?”

“Pretty much.” Kurt stared at the spot it was at for a beat too long, and met her eyes. She was looking at him closely, but turned her gaze away too fast for Kurt to read into it.

“Weird. But cool, I guess.” Tina pulled him along. “Hey, this means you can like, visit more, right? You’ve got no excuse now.”

Kurt laughed, knocking shoulders with her. Tina grinned, grabbing at his hand.

“Just radio me before you come so I know if I should call for a search party,” she said. Her voice lilted, as if joking, but her hand squeezed hard before letting it go.

Aside from Tina, Finn was the only one who got to see his shadow up close that day. Kurt had insisted on helping with the search for Schue, and he' spent the rest of the afternoon looking, with Finn's boat at his heels. Nearing sundown, they'd been forced to head home, though Kurt knew Finn didn't want to be alone with his thoughts yet.

“Dude.” Finn was staring at Kurt’s feet, his mouth hanging open. He looked up. “Can I try?”

There really were two types of people. Kurt blinked.

“I . . . don’t think it works that way, Finn.”

Finn looked down again, squinting at the spot where Kurt's feet met shadow. Kurt had graced him with some of the details.

“Crap, you’re right." He sounded disappointed. "I don’t think we’re the same shoe size.”

"Oh my God, I can't . . . " Kurt laughed. “Never change, okay?”

Finn grinned. “Only if you don’t.”

Long after the sun had set, Kurt was still awake. 

It was maddening, a little bit. The bed rocked like the sea, like it always did when he was out on the water for too long. Everybody else felt that too, but for Kurt—it was different, especially this time. There was an ache that went far deeper than mere exhaustion, a sort of longing that was set in his bones. 

It was uncomfortable, like an itch. His skin didn’t fit him right, God, it never has. Kurt felt his heart pound at the mere thought. 

He rolled onto his back, kicking off the sheets, and buried his face in his hands. He scrubbed hard over his skin, then paused, feeling the heat from his palms and his cheeks. 

The water had felt nice under his feet today.

“Damn it,” Kurt said into the darkness of his empty, empty room. 

The lighthouse cut a beam through the night, that golden line swinging round and round in a slow circle, searching. Kurt strolled down the steps in a leisurely manner, but the fact that he was still pulling his coat on betrayed his haste. He didn't know who he was trying to put a show on for; nobody was around.

He arrived at the end of the dock quickly, and stared at the water below. It was dark, almost pure black. One would not be able to see any shadows in this light—or . . . no, it was almost as if the whole sea had become a great, big one itself.

Kurt looked up. The stars were in the night sky again, glittering. They were sprinkled far and all over, dense across the whole space. Kurt remembered how they gathered close together in the day, winking with the waves. 

He sighed. This unbearable itch now had him spewing poetry in his head. He knew that he would not rest until he felt it soothed.

“Well, here goes,” he said, and stepped off.

It occurred to Kurt, as he was falling, that maybe he should’ve left a note just in case he was plunging to his death and save everyone the prolonged and agonizing grief of a doomed mystery. But as quickly as the idea came and went, he landed on the water with a stumble and a yelp.

“You’re here,” Kurt said.

His shadow hummed.

Kurt sucked in an excited breath, and looked around. The moonlight was very dim, but he knew where he wanted to go. He practically bounded over the waves to his destination, and it hardly took a minute before he was reaching the open hatch in the middle of the sea, just a few meters away from the dock.

Kurt climbed over the top and slid into the dark.

His parents had built this greenhouse. Kurt continued to call it one despite the room not actually getting much sun besides the dim, soft rays that pierced the water, though Burt had outfitted it with warm lights for the evenings.

Kurt stumbled around in the dark, feeling out the wall before his hand found the familiar switch. The interior lit up. 

After dark, it was an eerie place. Kurt had never seen it like this. The walls were ink black, shadows pressed up against the glass in a fathomless embrace. The greenhouse was sunken beneath the waves, almost lost in the flood, but Burt had gone through great efforts to reinforce the structure and clear out the water post-flood. He'd designed with a small indoor pond that Kurt used to play in, though it looked sadder now with all the plant decor gone. Kurt stared at the circle of softly moving water before moving on.

Kurt wasn’t knowledgeable about the particulars—Burt spoke of air pressure and stuff that made no sense to even Sue, but one could not argue the very real and tangible results of whatever it is he did. He was everyone’s go-to mechanic and shipwright for a reason.

As a child, Kurt hadn’t been allowed to go in without his father, which worked out fine because Burt visited every Sunday, and as much as several days a week during rough times. And they'd had a lot of rough times.

Sue tolerated him disappearing into it alone for a time after his father’s passing, but started complaining about it promptly a year and a day after, right on the evening after the death anniversary. She’d spouted some nonsense about it taking too much from the generator, or that she swore to God (Sue was also an atheist) that she heard a great crack in the glass as she’d sailed past, and that it had caused a disturbance in the water. Kurt only ventured out to it on special occasions when Sue wasn’t outright sabotaging the boat or piling him with tasks to 'distract him from his sadness', but now he could just walk over as he pleased. 

Kurt looked at the barren space, at the empty pots. Maybe he could actually grow flowers here. Ms. Pillsbury would have a book on it for sure, all he needed was the rough bases of botany, even antiquated knowledge could provide solid ground. He had all the hours of the night now to figure it out.

Kurt rifled through the sole cabinet in the corner and slowly took stock of everything. Seeds, manuals, a little defunct music box stuffed full of love notes between his parents and old photos. Kurt could only look at the first one before closing the box and tucking it away. He’d already gone through it several times, but it felt just as heavy even now.

None of the pens he found worked anymore, but he separated things into categories and resolved to come back tomorrow with a notebook to log everything in detail, and to draw up plans. His dad had always been horrendous at keeping the books.

Kurt lingered after he'd gone through it all, then grabbed the music box again. He took a peek at the first picture again, a solo one of his mother. Kurt made sure to preserve the pile the way his father left it; this photo on top, always the first and the last thing they saw when revisiting the memories. Kurt looked at the stippled light over her face, golden and soft.

Then he snapped the box shut and put it back, his chest tight.

Kurt shut the cabinet and coughed, dusting himself off. The place needed some cleaning too. Maybe he could pop over to nab a bucket and a mop and work his energy away with the early hours of the morning.

A splash broke him out of his thoughts.

Kurt looked over. A pair of hands closed their fingers over the edge of the pond, wispy and shadowy.

The shadow had followed him.

He kept very still. Before Kurt could even formulate another thought, much less a plan, a humanoid shape rose out from the water and hitched itself up to sit on the edge, showing itself in full for the first time.

It was pure shadow, and it looked like it was observing its feet now, which it kept under the water. Kurt kept staring, then looked to the exit, wondering if he could just leave undetected.

“Don’t mind me,” it spoke, and Kurt's eyes snapped back to the figure. It drawled, “I’ll just sit over here . . . thankless and benevolent.”

The voice had an odd quality to it. It was distorted, reverberating and layered. There was a echo, a faint whistle in the back that caught Kurt's ear. It sent his heart racing.

“Thank you?” 

It laughed, and the sound was low and quiet. 

“Better late than never.”

Kurt knew, logically, that he should probably be running for his life. This was probably the water spirit Tina spoke of. 

He observed the being. It was as dark and fathomless as the ocean outside. He couldn’t see its face, but the space around it was distorted. When it shifted, it glimmered under the lights—no, Kurt squinted. It was wearing jewelry. That was a chain around its neck.

“You’re very rude.”

Kurt startled. His shadow twisted, tucking a leg under itself as it turned to face Kurt. The face was completely blank, with no distinct features. It was unsettling. It was like staring into nothingness. Kurt averted his gaze.

“You can’t blame me,” he said. “You’re kind of . . . not like anything I’ve seen before.”

“Aw, shucks. I’m flattered. But no.” It kicked the water. “You told me to go kill myself. Funny, but rude.”

Kurt’s face heated. 

“You did it first," he said, his defense weak.

“Nope, you misunderstood. Don’t pin it on me, now.”

“Well, why didn’t you say anything earlier?” 

“I am a vampire,” it said. “The sun burns me.”

Kurt turned his head back and stared at it.

“Kidding. I hadn’t figured this out yet.” It pointed to its throat. “Needed to spark my memory.”

“Do you guys not talk down there?”

“Sure we do. You wouldn’t understand, English is not universal.”

“Okay, fair.” Kurt rubbed the back of his neck. “So, who are you?”

“That is a loaded question.” It hummed. “But I will start with a name. Sebastian.”

“Sebastian." Kurt repeated it in disbelief.

“You got a problem with it?” It tilted its head. "You sound disappointed."

“No, it’s just very . . . human.”

Sebastian sighed loudly. 

“Look, I’m sorry,” Kurt said. “This is all just very strange. It’s been a weird day.”

“Tell me about it,” Sebastian said. There was something about his tone that made Kurt uneasy. Sebastian sounded irritated, and there was an agitated energy to the way he kicked at the water. 

“Did . . . Were you affected by that wave this morning, too?” Kurt tried.

“Sort of,” Sebastian shrugged. He turned his head away, and reached up. Kurt watched him grasp at his necklace. Kurt was too far away to tell, but the pendant looked organic, a vague round shape that gleamed even in the dim light. “Hey, do you have a box or a jar or something?”

“For what?”

“To put something in.” Sebastian said it like Kurt was an idiot. “It is very small.”

He twirled the pendant around a wispy finger pointedly. 

“Oh, well . . . “ Kurt looked around. Cautiously, he edged around the pond, and poked around the leftover flower pots. He picked up one of the smaller ones and took the lid it was sitting on. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah. Give it here.”

Kurt hesitated.

“I’m not going to eat you, Kurt.” Sebastian held out his hand impatiently. “I thought you were an atheist? You believe in water demons now? How quick the nonbelievers are to turn.”

Kurt frowned and chucked the pot at him. Sebastian caught it effortlessly.

“You are so rude, I carried you around all day.” 

“You could be—“ nicer about it, Kurt almost said, but he bit his tongue. Sebastian had a point, and Kurt was possibly facing death here. Kurt took a deep breath.

"I’m sorry," he said evenly, making his voice a little softer than usual. "I’m just being cautious.”

“If I wanted to kill you I would’ve done it at any second during the many hours I was, y’know,” Sebastian said. He raised a foot and wiggled it around. 

“You could be using me, and now that you have gotten what you needed you’re free to do whatever you want, be it to satiate bloodlust, or perhaps keep me silent.” Kurt pointed out.

“Smart, and yes.” Sebastian stuck his hand inside the pot. “But I need much more from you than a damn flowerpot, Kurt, so you’re safe.”

For now, went unspoken. But Sebastian was at least honest—or to an extent—so Kurt decided to inch closer. There was nowhere to run, anyway. 

“Here,” Kurt said, holding out the lid.

“Thanks.” Sebastian took it, and placed the item on the floor by him. “You wanna sit? You should.”

“Why?”

“Because I am about to tell you something.” Sebastian lifted his head, and Kurt stared into that fathomless depth. “And you aren’t going to like it very much.”

How dramatic. Kurt stared at him. Unable to help himself, he commented, “Vague much?”

“Okay, one: it’s not about killing you, two: it’s not about killing anyone you know,” Sebastian said, sounding very done with this situation. “Three: I am not going to steal your skin. Maybe the ghost look works for you, but it’s not my style.”

“Can we both agree not to be rude?” Kurt tried his damndest to remain civil. His damndest. He was in the vulnerable position here, he reminded himself. His frustration would have to be quelled.

"Sure." Sebastian's agreement sounded apathetic. Well, Kurt supposed, remembering his anger. Better nothing than the opposite.

Kurt crouched down by the edge, opposite Sebastian, but he took care not to touch the water.

“Where to start.” Sebastian fiddled with the pot. “You remember what your friend said? Tina?”

“Yes?”

"She's smart. She was making good points back there."

"Are you saying she's right?" Kurt hedged. "I thought you weren't—"

"Let me tell you a story." Sebastian interrupted. "I'll be quick about it."

"Alright?"

“Once upon a time there was a young little rascal . . .

"We will call him Sebastian. Usually kids are smarter than they seem, but they're still kids, and Sebastian knew not the consequences of mistakes, even those of children."

Kurt's heart began to sink.

"He played a little too close to the edge of the water one day . . . catch my drift?”

Kurt was struck with a sudden wave of pity, heavy and painful. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Sebastian bit out, his voice rasping painfully with a hiss. It grated on Kurt's ears painfully. “You weren’t the bitch that dragged me under.”

Kurt flinched, freezing up.

Sebastian’s breath came out ragged and loud, and he placed the pot behind with a hollow thunk. 

“Look. I hold no ill towards you,” The way Sebastian said you made Kurt feel inclined to doubt him. “I don’t know you. Not really."

“Then why me?”

“Because this is yours,” Sebastian pointed at his pendant.

Up close, the details were clear. It was a small pendant that looked like a stone, but the dark color of it was so peculiar. It did not look like a regular rock; it seemed matte, frosted, and the black was a warm, brownish shade. The pendant was held by a frame of silvery-looking wire. The metal swirled in thin tendrils over its surface, gleaming.

Kurt frowned at it. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“But you felt it,” Sebastian insisted. “I know you did. It’s pulling you out to sea.”

Kurt thought of the itch under his skin. “It’s . . . that was because of this?”

“Yes." Sebastian paused, then. "For all intents and purposes, and for lack of words, this is your soul.”

Kurt’s eyes snapped up to Sebastian’s empty face. “What?”

Sebastian twirled the chain around his finger.

"I—What do you mean it's my—but—" Kurt was in disbelief. "Am I dead?"

Sebastian chuckled, as if the thought was amusing. "No, you're not."

"Then why . . . " Kurt gestured to it. His soul. For God's sake, what load of crap was this? "You can't just—if a 'soul' is not just an abstract, even if it was a spirit, how . . . "

“It’s probably not the same as a land-dweller would define it.” Sebastian tugged at the necklace. “It’s a part of you. Think of it like . . . a star from a constellation. This is just one star. But it’s the brightest one.”

“And it’s been missing all my life, and what, you just found it?” Kurt was having a hard time wrapping his head around it.

“It's not—“ Sebastian started. He said, “I found it because I was looking for mine. Something of similar value, anyway.”

Kurt reached out, and Sebastian clasped his hand over the necklace. Kurt watched the pendant disappear under his fist. Kurt's heart jumped at the sight, even if he wasn't fully onboard with the idea of that thing representing a chunk of his human spirit or whatever.

“I need your help,” Sebastian said. 

“Okay, I’ll help you.” Kurt watched him. Sebastian did not budge. “I’m not heartless!”

“You can’t have it back yet.”

“This is unfair,” Kurt said.

“Yeah." Sebastian laughed, and the sound was low, morose. "None of this is fair.”

Kurt's mouth pressed into a thin line, distressed, and he eyed Sebastian's closed fist with a growing ache. It was the same thing he'd felt hours ago in bed, but more pronounced now. “I’m sorry about what happened to you, but that’s mine. What do I have to do with you?"

“Everything.”

“What? You’re not making any sense.”

Sebastian shook his head. “These legs—this form, it’s because I’m holding your soul. It’s how I can carry you like that. You can’t help me, you can’t go where I need you to unless I carry you over water first. I can barely stand on my own, even like this.”

“You don’t have legs?”

“I am what you would call a merman,” Sebastian said.

Kurt stared at him. Water spirits, the human soul, mermaids now. "You are just full of surprises, aren't you? It's like they sent you specifically to punish me for rejecting the idea of the supernatural."

"Awfully self-centered of you, Kurt." Sebastian laughed, loud and sudden. "I can be your personal hell, yes. But I wasn't made to be."

"How can—" Kurt was beginning to blank. It was too much.

“Look, I can show you.”

Sebastian tugged his fist over his head, slipping the necklace free. Keeping his hand closed, he reached behind him for the pot. Kurt heard the keening metallic clink as he dropped it inside. Sebastian reached for the lid and put it over the opening, but he didn’t take his hand off. 

Kurt watched the inky color curl off Sebastian’s hand, thick and heavy and dark, almost as if he was burning. With morbid fascination, Kurt followed along his arm, then his face, his torso, his bottom half. 

The shadows melted off Sebastian like ink rising off his flesh, and he kept his legs together, the ink swirling in the water into a vague shape. 

Sebastian came into being in glimmers of light peeking from the ink, and Kurt could not understand why he described Kurt’s soul the way he did when the supposed essence of Kurt’s ‘brightest star’ slithered off him like tar, uncovering gleaming scales and glittering skin. 

“Your skin glitters?” Kurt said dumbly.

“They’re scales,” Sebastian grumbled. His voice sounded more human-like now, the earlier distortion gone. “Those are just my freckles.”

Kurt stared at the tail disappearing into the water below, long and serpentine. Sebastian’s scales were muted shades of green blending into gold and brown. The shape of the scales were like little pebbles, a mosaic.  

“God, that’s pretty.”

“Very flattering, but I’m not sure I’m down for interspecies mating yet.”

He had a rich, handsome voice . . . and a stupid mouth. Kurt brought his eyes up and stared at this beautiful creature in complete disbelief. Sebastian’s face was that of a boy that Kurt would have eyed with interest on any other day and in any other circumstance. 

“But give me a day or two and I’ll figure it out,” Sebastian said, his lips curling into a wry smirk.

Kurt was no stranger to crass people—Sebastian wasn’t even that bad, Noah Puckerman outdid everyone in that regard—but the smug tilt of Sebastian's mouth was annoying, no matter how objectively handsome he was.

“Who said I would be?” Kurt said, frowning. “You don’t know me.”

“Yes, but it’s written all over your face.” Sebastian looked him up and down. “Oh, don’t tell me you pretend you’re into women.”

“I do not,” Kurt protested loudly, flushing red as he recalled a short and miserable stint playing as Brittany's boyfriend a couple of years ago. It lasted three days. “But I’m not into fish either. I prefer them on my breakfast plate.”

“Somehow that’s quite erotic.” Sebastian flicked his tail, sending a spray of water at Kurt. Kurt jerked his head away. “Also, who is the one threatening to eat me now? Pesky, violent humans.”

Kurt covered his face with his hands, then dropped them. He could not deal with this person.

“What do you need from me?”

“There’s a colony not far from here,” Sebastian said, easily going along with the shift. “Northeast, about an hour and a half.”

Kurt initially reeled at the word 'colony', but remembered that Sebastian was from the sea. Kurt thought it over. “That settlement's abandoned now.”

“I know. But I used to live there.”

Sebastian’s voice was casual, but his posture was stiff. The sight abruptly reminded Kurt of his history, and even Kurt could not stoke the fires of his annoyance. He quelled it.

“Okay,” Kurt said quietly. “Tomorrow.”

Sebastian snorted. “No rush. Need your beauty sleep, don't you?"

He nodded upwards. Kurt followed his gaze, and saw the beginnings of the sunrise paint the sea. 

“I’ll carry you back,” Sebastian said. “Just . . . set out, whenever. When I’m wearing the necklace it pulls me out to you. I go where you do.”

They both looked out at the reds and pinks on the surface of the sea.

“Is it nice?” Kurt asked. “Down there?”

“In a way,” Sebastian replied. “It’s big, and it’s . . . well, it’s too big to be just one thing. Massive. Imagine if you could just soar into the sky. That's what swimming in the ocean is like."

Kurt looked at him. Sebastian appeared pensive, lost in thought. He met Kurt's eyes, and now that Kurt could see his whole face . . . there was something sharp in Sebastian's expression, something else hiding in the light of his eyes. He looked at Kurt like he was judging him. Assessing him.

"A lot of the world is underwater now, I know people who live in old buildings and cities, shipwrecks too. Some of them were human once, like me.”

Kurt tried not to shudder.

Sebastian huffed out a laugh. “It’s not a big deal. It is what it is.”

Before Kurt could find a reply, Sebastian reached behind him and grabbed the necklace. He slipped it over his head.

“Meet you outside,” Sebastian said, and he hopped off the edge and sank below the water. Kurt watched him fade into a swirl of dark, inky water, his form blurring then melting out of sight, taking the dark water with him. 

Kurt hadn’t been able to ask why his alleged soul looked like that. He didn't understand how it could be his 'brightest star'.

Kurt tidied after them quickly and left the greenhouse in a daze, only barely remembering to flick the light switch off. He ascended the ladder as slow as molasses. His head hurt. 

Climbing out of the hatch helped a little. The sky was awash in vibrant colors, and the breeze was cool. Kurt took a deep lungful before he slid off the edge. His feet landed safely on the water. 

He only chanced a look down when he was halfway back home. Sebastian was pure shadow again, silent and matching him step for step. 

Kurt had gotten in a fair amount of practice yesterday, and this time he only stumbled a little when Sebastian boosted him up high onto the dock. Kurt looked over his shoulder. 

He had questions. Sebastian had thrown him shocking curveball after curveball and Kurt was barely keeping up. Now, he wondered, why today? Why Kurt? Why did Kurt even have a piece of his 'soul' under the ocean? Did everybody? And if Sebastian wanted to visit his old home, why was he an hour and half away digging here, of all places? He couldn’t have set out to scour the ocean floor with a fine-toothed comb; Sebastian said it himself, the ocean was massive.

Kurt went stiff and cold with the realization that Sebastian had probably caused the huge wave this morning, the one that washed over everything from the lighthouse to as far as Mercedes’ house. The one that had capsized Schuester’s boat and presumably killed him. 

A shadowy hand stuck out and waved, and Sebastian dived too deep to follow with sight alone. Kurt sighed, stuck his hands into his pockets, and tucked his questions away for later. Or, possibly, he considered, never. If Sebastian posed a danger to his home, Kurt was better off complying and getting rid of him as fast as possible.

Nothing ever comes without a catch, does it? Stupid.

He had a headache now. Slipping out a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, Kurt turned and forced his feet away from the docks. His footsteps were slow and heavy, and only grew more so with each step away from the water.

One thing was clear, in retrospect: Sebastian was hiding things, steering Kurt past gaps by shocking and confusing him. Kurt supposed that it was a manipulation tactic; Sebastian would gain more by withholding information, only doling out bits and pieces as he saw necessary, drawing Kurt into sustained conversation with him. And it was compelling. Just as much as the very real pull Kurt felt to that damn necklace.

Kurt asked himself: but is satisfying my curiosity worth someone's life? Or even the simple possibility of harm?

He fell asleep with guilt clogging his thoughts.

In the afternoon, Kurt was roused awake by the sound of somebody trying to break down his door. Groggy and irritable, Kurt opened his door to the sight of Finn. Finn was wholly unconcerned by Kurt's glare, and announced the news with elation:

Schuester was home.

"Sue—I mean, Coach, she said she came up to the top of the lighthouse after breakfast—well, brunch, you know how she is—she didn't know you were asleep—" Finn was running over his words excitedly. "—and he—there he was! He's like, unconscious, but Mom said—"

"There he was where?" Kurt rasped, and then frowned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Wait, sorry, what?"

"By the docks!" Finn grabbed Kurt and shook him. Kurt hissed and slapped at Finn's hands as he was shaken. "Dude, Mom said there wasn't a scratch on him! Not a one! And she said his lungs were cleared. It's a miracle! His boat was banged up pretty bad, though."

Kurt grabbed at Finn's wrists and held him in place.

"But like, big mercies, yeah?" Finn said. "It's not a big deal. We can repair a boat, not a dead Schue."

"Definitely," Kurt agreed. He was fully awake now. "How bad is it?"

"Well, it was upside down. Schue was like, lying over the hull, dead to the world. Sue thought he was actually dead, but she felt his pulse." Finn looked stricken for a second, then his features relaxed in relief. "I'm glad he managed to climb on his boat before he passed out. He's real lucky that the sea brought it back here, isn't he?"

"Yes," Kurt said faintly, his mind elsewhere. He thought of glittering, distracting scales, of the shadow stuck to him in the water, and Sebastian telling him to sleep. "Lucky."