#p026

So it wasn’t Dodgers stadium. But it was close enough.

Sam walked to the designated batting cage, thankful it was on the far end. He didn’t mind being away from the groups of friends milling around, laughing in between swings and cheering each other on, or the little kids attempting to get their hands just right.

There were a few solo hitters like him, brows furrowed in concentration waiting for the automatic release of the ball, the cages filled with the typical noise, metal thunk of baseball meeting aluminum bats or the frustrated grunts of a strikeout.

Man, he missed this.

He fastened the strap on his newly purchased batting gloves, flexing his fingers inside the still-stiff material. He’d long gotten rid of his old ones, and it would take some time to break these in. If he wanted to come back.

It’d been years since he picked up a bat, at least for this kind of purpose, testing the weight of the aluminum in his hand, getting the feel of it before tapping the bat to his instep, once, twice, and shifting into position.

Muscle memory. Even as a pitcher, he’d been a solid hitter as well, widening his legs and twisting the upper half of his body in the right angle. Seemingly shifting and fitting back with a familiarity that made him smile, even with the hollowness in him that sometimes came along whenever he thought about baseball.

He wasn’t really sure what brought him to the batting cages that day, the idea possibly sparked by his talk with Delila on the beach, bringing back the good memories that came with the game that, at one point, he loved more than anything in the world. Lived and breathed it. Woke up early for, spent late nights studying pitches and practicing pitches, and training and lifting...so much effort, so much talent. So much waste.

Jaw tightening, Sam shook out the broad line of his shoulders and did a few practice swings, feeling the stiffness of his muscles loosen with the push and pull, muscled arms moving with a shakiness that still couldn’t mask the grace of his natural ability.

He paused, long enough to put in his earbuds and adjust his baseball cap, shifting the bill backwards and out of his eyes. This had been one of his normal training exercises, a good playlist, and time spent in the cages, warming up his muscles just in time for field practice.

Springsteen blasted through the buds and this time he was really prepared, lifting the bat with just enough time as the first ball launched, reacting with a power swing, the bat slicing through the air….and connecting with nothing.

Which, he expected. Too high, too slow, but he shook it off, and flexed his fingers in a curling grip. He was too tense, so he took another deep breath and silently reminded himself that there, in the batting cages, there was no crowd of onlookers, no pressure. Nobody to pay attention, no one to disapppoint.

Two more deep breaths and he counted down, watching the ball comes towards him, timing it just right, gauging the effort he’d have to exert before swinging again.

The crack of ball meeting bat was audible, even over his music, and olive-colored eyes watched it sail into a pop fly before landing on the far side of the cage.

A wide grin stretched full lips and he bounced lightly on his toes before shifting into position again, feeling energized in a way he’d really missed, swinging with gusto, hitting some and missing others, but managing to enjoy it nevertheless, shifting and twisting until he felt that familiar sensation, a heady, addicting mix of warmth  and calm energy that he’d always associated with being on the field. 

Elliott hadn’t slept properly in days.

They’d hardly slept at all before Quinn and James had come over on Thursday, and hadn’t slept throughout the day. Thursday night had been spent trying to sleep so that Quinn could relax, but failing and instead just cuddling with her. Friday had been much the same, but with James.

Saturday night well…

Saturday night had been spent alone because it was Santana’s birthday, because James had a life and Elliott would be fine alone. They’d be just fine, curled up in bed with Mercury who hadn’t left their side in days. Even if they still felt off. Empty. Numb. They would be fine.

A part of Elliott just didn’t want to believe what had happened. Three days since the Prophet article, and the knowledge that Kurt was gone still hadn’t sunk in. At times, it was all Elliott could focus on. It was a crippling kind of knowledge. At other times, it didn’t feel like reality. It would have been comparable to a dream, if Elliott was naïve enough to believe it.

But nothing changed the fact that Kurt Hummel was dead.

And now, after three days of not leaving their bedroom except for meals and the bathroom, it was time for Elliott to go back to the castle, with the knowledge Kurt never would again.

The day started early, because Elliott had woken from a fitful sleep at five in the morning, unable to sleep any longer. Complete exhaustion could only do them so many favors, apparently. Not with nerves because Daniel wanted to talk, because they had to go to the castle and Kurt wouldn't be there, because Quinn and James would worry on the train and Elliott didn't know what to do.

James and Quinn weren’t there, but Elliott could practically hear their fussing as they dragged themself out of bed and into the shower. It had been a long time since Elliott cared about their appearance. To be honest, if it was up to themself, they still wouldn’t have.

But they’d been insisting that they were fine, that they were okay, and it was time to prove it. So that meant too much time in the shower, scrubbing away days of sorrow and sadness. It meant that, by the time Elliott was done, for the first time in days they looked like themself, clean-shaven, in a pair of sweats and a tank top, properly put together for the first time in days.

Looking at themself in the mirror though, Elliott didn’t know if they recognized themself. Physically, they were the same sure. But there was no fire behind their eyes. They looked as empty as they felt. It was like losing Kurt had taken away a part of Elliott, too.

‘Weakness is a guise. Wear it when they need to know you’re human, but never when you feel it.’

It was that reminder alone that would keep Elliott from breaking, on the train ride. Over the next few days. They couldn’t show their pain. It had to be put on the backburner, to convince everyone that they loved that Elliott was fine. There was nothing to worry about. 

Broken open and empty but fine. Okay. Elliott could do this.  Elliott could pretend that they were fine, right?

Step one, the clothes. Most of Elliott’s things had been packed during sleepless nights in their new trunk. So they slipped on the outfit they’d picked out for the day, a black skirt, tights, a red shirt and a black cardigan. The hat from Fran was on top of the pile of clothes, and pinned to it was the hatpin Quinn had made them. Gifts from friends would help today, or at least Elliott hoped they would.

Today would definitely be the kind of day they needed a little extra luck, after all.

Elliott dressed slowly, and it was just after seven, when they were finally done. They took to their makeup then, carefully applying a little concealer to hide their lack of sleep and the fact that they hadn’t been taking care of themselves in days. Eyeliner came next, a little lip-gloss followed, and it took a simple spell, to make sure that if Elliott had a breakdown, their makeup wouldn’t run.

It was all about appearances, after all.

They’d just settled on their bed, bottle of bright blue nailpolish in hand, when a knock sounded on the door. “Elliott?” They looked up at the sound of their father’s voice. “Can I come in?”

Elliott hesitated for a beat. Over the past few days, they’d had minimal contact and communication with their family. They weren’t stupid of course, Elliott knew they knew something was wrong. But their parents weren’t pushing either thank God.

Or at least, they hadn’t been. Something told Elliott that was going to change. Apparently Elliott wasn’t allowed to leave unless they knew what was happening.

“C’mon in, Dad,” Elliott said softly, licking their lips a little nervously as they set about meticulously painting their nails, starting with much easier left hand. “What’s up?”

“I feel like that’s a question I should be asking you.” Edward nodded towards the bottle of polish. “Blue, then? So that’s the kind of day it is?”

“It’s the…. It’s the kind of week it is.” Elliott breathed out a heavy sigh, offering the bottle to their father. “I don’t want to talk. But if you paint, I can try? Just umm, don't push me, please?”

“I can do that. You know I'm always going to try.”

The two settled in, with Edward carefully painting Elliott’s nails, with far less finesse that Elliott, or their siblings, or even their mother would have, and Elliott took a few more moments before they could find the words.  They had to speak, they had to get it out. Doing it quick sounded the best, in a lot of ways, but infinitely painful, in more.

“New Years Eve, I uhh- My friend Kurt was in a car accident.” It was a lie, but close enough to the truth that even the memory had Elliott’s throat closing up a little. “We were supposed to meet up and he didn’t show, and I uhh- I found out in the morning.” Elliott paused, swallowing hard at the memory of that night. “He didn’t make it.”

“Oh Elliott,” The words were out before Elliott could tell their father not to speak, but Edward fell silent at the look on Elliott’s face.

“They uhh, that is- Burt said it was… It was over fast. But it still just, it hurts, you know? That’s why Q and James were over. They just, they wanted to make sure I was okay.”

“You’re not,” The words left no word for argument, and Elliott shook their head a little, hating the way that their father knew them oh so well.

“I’m getting there,” It was a blatant lie, but Elliot hoped their father wouldn’t call them out on it. “It’s just going to take time.”

“Elliott,” There was a heavy, painful note in their father’s voice. “Talk to me, please? I know it’s hard, but tell me what you’re feeling.” There was a pause in the plea, “I know how you are. I know how you handle things. Please don’t shut me out?”

“I just….” Elliott paused, running their left hand through their hair before offering to their father. “It hurts. I’m a really, really lucky person. I have –had- three amazing best friends. And we weren’t perfect by any means, but it doesn’t change the fact that we were us.” Elliott hesitated here, because they hadn’t actually said any of what they were feeling in days. Talking hurt. But their father needed to know. He deserved to know.

“Kurt was my person, you know? Not romantically, not- not like that. But we were kindred spirits. He got me, in a way that not a whole lot of people do. He… He was the first one made me realize that I was brave. That there was a kind of strength in just getting up, in living life as who you are, and being yourself when others would tell you no. He was the one who helped me see what the hat saw in me.” Elliott drew in another slow, shaky breath. “He showed me was courage really was. I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep going, without that.  Without him.”

“Elliott,” Edward trailed off and Elliott just shook their head. They couldn’t cry, not now, not in front of their father. They had to be strong. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t want to talk about it,” Elliott whispered in response., voice cracking. “I didn’t want it to be real. “

Elliott could say nothing as they were pulled into a tight embrace, and just hugged their father back, trying to find some kind of comfort in the touch. There was little to be found, but Elliott wasn’t going to complain. It was all they had.

Their father said something next, about taking care of the others, probably to make sure they wouldn’t say something wrong, or something, but Elliott tried not to pay attention to that. They needed space, time, and room to breath. Edward understood that, and left, shutting the door behind him as he went.

Hands shaking a little, Elliott fixed the smudges in their nail polish, drying it with a quiet spell. They stood then, looking at themselves in the mirror. More black than not, with a hint of scarlet, for house pride. The only thing that stood out right now, was their hair. And December was over; it was time for a change.

Elliott had to prove they were just fine.

A murmured spell had their hair color shifting as Elliott transfigured it from dark green to a deep scarlet, placing the hat on top of their head easily.  They looked like Elliott again, just like they were supposed to. At least, on the surface, they did.

Thankfully, the list of people who would be able to see past that was hopefully small. And the people who would come close to Elliott when they still gave off the vibe of someone in mourning would hopefully be smaller.

They could do this.

The next few hours passed slowly. An awkward breakfast with the family, a second check that Elliott had packed everything into their new trunk that let everything be that much more neat and organized. Making sure that Mercury was content and comfortable in his carrier, that there was nothing else to bring along

Only then, did Elliott slip on their cloak, the one they’d made themself, lined with protective charms, designed to protect the wearer against harm.

Just like the one that had failed to protect Kurt

It was then, that Elliott reached carefully into the pile accessories that hadn’t been put into their trunk. Most were things Elliott didn’t wear enough to warrant bringing but one… One was different. Silver and star-shaped with small, red stones that were made of glass, instead of gemstone, but was still beautiful. 

Right now, it was the most precious thing that Elliott owned.

Elliott pinned the brooch to their lapel with a sigh, trying not to think of silly little things like context and memory and pain, as they wound a scarf around their shoulders and made their way downstairs. Pain could be felt later, for now, Elliott had more important things to deal with.

The drive to King’s Cross was quiet. Elliott knew that they could go on their own, but they couldn’t begrudge their family the opportunity to say goodbye one last time. Not with the knowledge that they’d just lost Kurt heavy in their heart. So they wedged themself between their sisters, wishing that the mood was lighter, so that for the first time, they could point out they all had red hair, even if Elliott’s did stand out from all of theirs, scarlet instead of the natural shade of red that they’d been born with.

Normally, Elliott was one for easy goodbyes. For hugging their family and letting them go with a laugh and a promise to see them again at the end of term. This time, the hugs were a little too long and Elliott didn’t miss the way that their sisters clung to them as Elliott told them to be good, and look after each other. They wanted to tell their siblings to stay safe, to take care of each other, but they couldn’t. They still couldn’t bring themself to tell their family of the danger they had gone through.

The hugs to their parents were even tighter, and Elliott just nodded tightly, at their father’s request to write more, whenever Elliott needed him. Elliott knew they wouldn’t, of course, they would be strong, above all else, but they could promise and make their father feel better, at least.

The platform was more of the same. Hug James. Hug Lily. Hug their mother. Hug James again. Smile and pretend it reached their eyes, pretend all was fine like Elliott wasn’t still going mad with emotion. Take comfort in the fact that James knew Elliott, that even if he didn’t call them out, even if he didn’t know the extent of Elliott’s pain, he would be there.

Finding an empty compartment wasn’t hard, and Elliott spent the first part of the train ride with friends, more lost to their thoughts than not, and taking comfort in Mercury, once they’d let the cat out of his carrier. The train ride was long, though, and despite Elliott’s exhaustion, they were too keyed up to sleep, or even nap, really. 

They should probably talk to Madam Prince about that. How many days was it safe to go with this little sleep? They were probably at their limit. It was amusing, in the worst of ways, considering how they'd fussed over Bree.

Excusing themself what felt like hours later, Elliott made their way slowly through the train, wishing not for the first time, that they could bring Mercury around without earning any complaints from students or faculty on the train alike. The only bonus was that a fair few people gave them a wide berth, not wanting to get near Elliott like this. Others, people they knew, offered them hugs, condolences and sympathy. No one seemed to care that Elliott didn’t want them.

It took a long while, to find and empty car, and when they did, Elliott sank into it gratefully, just glad to be away from people.

They hadn’t met Kurt on the train, their first year. But Elliott had made it a point to spend at least a part of the ride with Kurt every year since. It was only right, after all. It was only far, to spend time with one of the people that Elliott considered family. He was gone, but still, he was family. 

He always would be, Elliott realized as they lost themself to memory, unable to do anything but recall it all. The important things. The little things. It was all the same to Elliott, now.

The light in Kurt’s eyes as he slid the cloak over his shoulders, the smile on his features, the way they always moved around each other with such fluidity. They had known each other, been comfortable around each other in ways few else were.

It was gone now.

The way he’d moved to his trunk, just a few weeks ago, laughing a little, insisting he didn’t know they were going to do presents right now. Apologizing, because Elliott had taken their budged limit and stayed well within the lines but destroyed what Kurt had expected of them.

“It doesn’t compare to the cloak, don’t get me wrong there,” Kurt had said, rummaging though his trunk and pulling out a small, wrapped package. “But I was thinking, maybe between this and uhh….Helping you fund your newest tattoo-“

“You’re a man after my own heart, Kurt Hummel,” Elliott had interjected, already in love with the idea. Ink was expensive, after all, but it was more than that. A tattoo was something Elliott loved, and something permanent. “In that case, you can gimme that pretty package of yours, and we can pick out a tattoo. As an investor, you get a say in the matter, from my list of possibilities, of course.”

Kurt had laughed, and passed over the brooch that Elliott had pinned to their cloak earlier. Sterling silver with red glass studs, it wasn’t the most glorious of things. It was pretty, yes, and Elliott had loved it, but it was, for the most part just a trinket. A brooch Kurt had fixed up because he’d known Elliott would like it. House pride, shaped like a star, and perfect, in so many ways.

“It only seems fair Starchild lives up to his name a little more, doesn’t it? Besides, who else knows what you like in accessories like I do”

Elliott stayed there, rooted to the spot as memories played through their mind. It had always been a little awkward, with three best friends who didn’t get along the best, but Elliott had always made sure that they could sped time with everyone on the train.

There were too many memories like this. Laughing together, occasionally getting up to a little mischief but mostly just spending time together, watching movies or gossiping or passing magazines back and forth between each other.

They were just such insignificant memories, in the grand scheme of things. They shouldn’t have mattered but they did. They shouldn’t have been something Elliott had to fixate on.

But they were all that Elliott had left. And for a long while, they were all that mattered.

Retreating back to the carriage they’d been in before, Elliott just did what they could to focus on breathing. Slow, even breaths to keep themself focused, working on not breaking. They could do this, they repeated it like a mantra as they made small talk and later, changed into their robes. It stayed a constant, ever present thought in their mind as they moved with the crowd to the Thestral-drawn carriages.

Elliott had always wanted to see Thestrals in an objective, morbid kind of way, but they’d never imagined what it would be like, to lose someone. To see someone die sounded that much worse, and in that moment Elliott realized that seeing them would’ve just made them feel so much worse.

Absently, Elliott wondered if Bree could see them from the safety of her own carriage. Did seeing death in visions count? Or was it like the thoughts that had played in Elliott's mind since, where watching death didn't count unless it was in person?

Brief, occasionally painful thoughts like that crossed Elliott’s mind more than they wanted to admit, and Elliott tried to think of anything but them as they approached the castle. Once they were there, it was a little easier. To focus instead on hugging and greeting the few people they knew that were still there, instead of anything else. Friends were something better to focus on, than the anything else.

Like the absence of Kurt when they retreated to the dormitory to unpack. Elliott hadn’t been able to go up to the dorm yet, it hurt too much, and they could do that later, they were sure of it.

They only knew Mercury was out of his crate thanks to one of the others when the cat joined them, curled up in an arm chair, but even then, there was no denying it. Everything hurt.

Nothing hurt like the absence of Kurt when they went down to dinner, though.

It hurt and had Elliott been a lesser person they probably would’ve broken then, the weight of the day and the situation weighing down hard on them. Instead, they reached for James’s hand under the table, grip a little too tight as they worked to keep grounded and people kept filtering into the Great Hall.

They’d met here.

“We’ll see how you fair in Gryffindor,” The hat had whispered and Elliott had made their way dazedly to the table full of cheering and clapping. They’d found an empty seat and waited, and when, Kurt had been sorted not much later into Gryffindor, they’d joined in the cheering, making room with Kurt when he sought a seat.

Elliott could still remember the wild look in his eyes, the joy, the way his first words had been his name, and the second had been “Oh, my mother would be so proud.” Elliott had introduced themself and Kurt had smiled, looking them over.

It had been awkward, for a moment, because what did you say to someone at a moment like that. At least, until Kurt had caught sight of Elliott’s nail polish and realized they were wearing makeup. Bright blue against their skin, meticulously painted the night before. The same color they were now And then, a half a beat of silence and “I uhh- I like your nails. Is it rude to ask why you umm...painted them, though?”

Elliott had just laughed a little, carding a hand through their newly dyed brown hair. Nail polish was an ice breaker, and they had decided to rember that “I like it. And umm, this is kind of embarrassing, but I’m a… Muggle… Born? That’s what they call us? And there’s this movie, Rent. Well, musical but it goes back to the movie and-“

“I’ve seen the movie, it’s okay. My dad’s a Muggle and it’s not his favorite, but he doesn’t have to know.” Kurt had winkedand laughed, before realization had dawned in his eyes.  “It’s the same color as Angel’s?”

“It is. I uhh, might’ve nicked it from my mom, but that’s between you and me,” Elliott had confided as the hat called out the name of another Gryffindor -Mercedes they’d later learned- and leaned in so Kurt could hear them over the cheers of the rest of their new house. “It reminds me to try and be like her, so I wear it when I…Need a boost, I get. She makes me brave, when I need help.”

Kurt had nodded, not like he felt the same, but like he respected it and understood where Elliott was coming from. They were distracted then, by the rest of the House and the commotion, but that moment, that brief conversation had given Elliott something to go off of. Kurt was someone who got him, someone who understood where Elliott was coming from, just like that.

He was gone.

In that moment, the only thing keeping Elliott grounded was the weight of James’s hand in their own. Grief was overwhelming and Elliott bowed their head under the weight of it, blinking back tears.

They had to be strong.  They could do this.

Maybe it wasn’t healthy to rely on James for this, but right now, Elliott didn’t care. Right now, James was the only person truly capable of keeping Elliott from breaking then and there, something that they worked hard to hide from everyone else in the hall.

It took a gentle nudge from James, to draw Elliott out of their thoughts, and Elliott just squeezed his hand, turning their attention slowly to Xavier at the front of the hall. It was time to talk about Kurt, Elliott realized, shaking their head to clear it.

They could get lost in thought later, in how lucky they’d been to have Kurt, how lucky everyone was, for that. To have had Kurt in their life for any length of time. But for now? For now, Elliott would just focus on Xavier, and trying to breathe.

The news wasn’t what Elliott expected though, and they felt themselves shatter at the words.

Kurt hadn't died in an accident.

It wasn’t a gas leak.

Kurt had been killed.

War was coming.

Kurt had been murdered.

Elliott didn’t cry. They didn’t react at all, except to tighten their grip on James during the rest of the speech. Details of everything tomorrow didn’t matter nearly as much to Elliott, not anymore, at least.

The numbness had never felt like this before. Elliott had never felt a pain like this. Something inside of them hardened, or maybe it shattered. Elliott didn't know. Nothing made sense anymore.

Kurt had been murdered

There was only one thing that Elliott could agree with, in all that Elliott had heard tonight, that made any degree of sense for Elliott. Kurt would have to be avenged.

They would have to do something. They would do something about this. There was no way to make sure that Kurt’s death wouldn’t be in vain. But everything Elliott did from here on out, everything they did to prepare from here on out would be done with one thing in mind.

Elliott would never let someone be hurt like that again. No one would ever experience the loss that Elliott had. No one would die again.