Title: Damned If You Do (0/?)
by: kaiyrah
Fandom: Glee
Characters/Pairs: Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG13 for this part, may go up in future chapters
Word Count: ~3300 for this part
Spoilers/Warnings: No spoilers. AU. WIP. Witchcraft, dark arts, black magic, sorcery, demons, all that good stuff. Some blood/violence, eventual secondary character death. Homophobic slurs in the prologue, overall coarse language in general. Probably a gross distortion of Mesopotamian mythology.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: With the discovery of his family's grimoire, Blaine realizes that he can use his gift to put an end to the violence, suffering, and other ailments plaguing the human race. But when the world starts changing in ways he didn't expect and the love of his life starts to drift further and further away, he'll have to decide - is it all worth it in the end?
A/N: For the witch!Blaine prompt on k_b on LJ. I have the most mercurial muse on earth, so updates tend to be very sporadic...
Also I should note that the witchcraft in this story is not modeled after Wicca or any religion for that matter. It's an amalgam of different traditions.

The music pulsed into his ears, the bass sending a beat down his body. The lights flickered blue, purple, yellow, green - and still he couldn't see anything and still he didn't care. Gabe was pressed flush against his back, they moved in sync, hips rolling together, their joined laughter ringing out into the gym, swallowed again by the song blasting from the speakers.

Then just like that, the song tapered off and transitioned into a slower number, and Gabe patted his shoulder and told him that he was going to head outside for some air. He nodded and followed his date out, and they stepped out to the muddy path between the gym and the football field.

"Why are you smiling?" Gabe asked, shuffling through his pockets.

"Am I?" Blaine laughed, rubbing the back of his arm for warmth. "I'm just amazed that I ended up going to this dance at all. With a guy no less. I mean, two weeks ago I wasn't even out and now this? It's all the progress I can ask for, you know?"

"Yeah?" Gabe shot him a grateful smile, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. "I'm glad I'm not alone anymore."

"Those things are horrible for you. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do," Gabe flippantly waved a hand, shook out a cigarette and lit up. "Addiction, cancer, all that crap."

Blaine eyed the puffs of smoke curling out from his friend. "So you don't need me to nag you, but you still do it."

Gabe took a long drag. "Look, it was a very grueling two years before you showed up. People seem nice here, but once you come out, they start looking at you like you're trash. I had to put my nerves off somehow."

"Well that's assuring," Blaine said dryly, and he stole the cigarette right from Gabe's lips and threw it to the ground, tamping it out.

Gabe rolled his eyes. "Buzzkill."

Blaine was about to open his mouth for a retort, but a deep, scratchy voice cut him off, "What the hell are you fags doing here?"

Both he and Gabe flinched at the insult and turned. Blaine felt the blood drain from his face as three jocks approached - leading the pack was Schultz, center on the football team, and the look on his face... His face twisted up in a combination of disgust and sick amusement.

"Easy, Schultz," Gabe put his hands up in a placating gesture. "We just came out here for a smoke. Not trying to cause trouble."

The jocks took another step forward and a sudden numbness began to creep into Blaine's jaw. This was not going to end well at all. "You made enough trouble with your homo explosion in there. That shit was fuckingdisgusting."

"No one was making you watch - that was all you," Gabe said smugly, and Blaine squeezed his eyes shut. God, just shut up, Gabe.

"What did you say?" Schultz growled, stepping even closer, within arm's distance now. He could take a swing now and neither Gabe nor Blaine would be able to stop it. The realization stopped Blaine cold, and his heart began to crash violently against his ribcage, fear stiffening his limbs.

"Fuck it, Schultz. Let's teach these cocksuckers a lesson."

It all happened so fast - in the blink of an eye, Schultz knocked Gabe to the ground and one of the other guys socked Blaine right in the gut. He choked, gasping for air. Barely had time to recover before a meaty fist clocked him in the left eye, then he went flying to the dirt.

"Stop," he managed weakly, but it went unheard.

A sharp hit to his side. The sheer force of it knocked about three of his ribs together and he coughed - but even that hurt.

"What's the matter, faggot?" One of the jocks taunted. "Can't even defend yourself?"

Another kick to the upper ribs sent him sprawling in the other direction, watching through blurred and blackened vision as Schultz repeatedly slugged Gabe in the face. Gabe's relatively motionless state would be permanently burned into Blaine's memory.

Was he okay - no. Was he alive?

A blow to his lower back shot an arrow of white hot pain all the way up his spine and he swore and rolled over to his front. He planted his hands in the mud, tried to push himself up. A large sneaker crushed his fingers. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, and squeezed his eyes shut. "G-Gabe," he called out as loud as he could, but in the end, it sounded more like a whisper.

No response. The jock struck the back of Blaine's head just as he was opening his eyes. Flashes of white. His vision spun.

Fuck.

"Gabe?" He tried again, once his eyes could focus.

Again, nothing. But then he saw it - a twitch of Gabe's fingers, and Gabe slowly turning to face Blaine. Gabe wore the most self-deprecating smile he'd ever seen. It was small, but it was there. Still alive.

What happened after that was bizarre, and Blaine wouldn't be able to explain it until several months later. He felt it straight through to his bones - a pulse, slow, erratic. He figured it was just his heartbeat.

At least until he felt another pulse, slow and erratic. Two.

Then another pulse. Stronger, steadier. Faster. Red. Angry.

Another strong one, much like the last.

Another.

Five pulses, like waves of energy, ebbing and flowing.

A flash of white and a kick to his side. One of the slower pulses spiked. "Stop," he demanded, coughing.

"What's that, butt boy?" One of the jocks laughed derisively.

"Stop," he repeated, wincing as he tried to push himself up. That same pulse spiked again. One of the jocks shoved him back down into the mud.

"I can't hear you!"

"I said stop!" That same pulse burst, releasing a huge outward splay of energy, like a firecracker.

The attacks suddenly stopped. A gust of wind, and a moment later, three heavy thuds echoed from the direction of the gym.

Blaine lay still for several moments, anticipating more hits, but when no more came, he used all of his strength to push himself up. He froze when he saw the motionless figures of Schultz and his goons crumpled against the wall of the gym. Right above them were three very human-sized dents, the stone cracking and crumbling from the wall.

"What..." he turned to Gabe, who was looking at him with an equally wide-eyed expression.

"They just... went flying," Gabe whispered. "After you told them to stop."

"I...I did this?" He swallowed.

Gabe only nodded, staring at him with wonder, shock, and something that Blaine would never forget.

For even in the darkness, even through his dimmed vision and his left eye which had swollen shut, he could see it clearly.

Fear.

They never spoke of that incident again.

Rather, Gabe never spoke to Blaine again.

The lunch bell rang, jolting Blaine upright in his seat. A collective sigh of relief echoed against the classroom walls, and he took a deep breath and watched his classmates shuffle their belongings into their briefcases.

"Boys," their algebra teacher said crossly from her spot in front of the whiteboard. "The teacher dismisses the class. The bell does not."

"Ugh, but Mrs. Wilson, the special today is rib sandwich! Tell me that doesn't sound awesome," Trevor complained from his front row seat.

Mrs. Wilson rolled her eyes. "Fine. But remember your homework - page 435, evens only. You're dismissed."

His classmates gave a celebratory holler, and Blaine shook his head to will the lingering tiredness away, sluggishly packing away his notes. By the time he was finished, most of his classmates had already left the room.

"Blaine?"

He looked up to see Mrs. Wilson standing in front of him, concern written all over her face. "You fell asleep. Is everything alright?"

It was that dream again. He thought he would have gotten over it by now - it had been a good five months since the incident - but the memory had a habit of cropping up every now and then. He closed his eyes and watched - felt Mrs. Wilson's steady, relaxing energy curl around him. It was thick and comforting, like a warm blanket on a freezing winter night.

"Blaine?" Mrs. Wilson persisted.

Slowly he opened his eyes and gave her a shaky smile. "I'm fine, Mrs. Wilson. Not enough sleep, that's all."

Dalton Academy was a nice school, if a bit uneventful. The classes were much more challenging than he was accustomed to, but in the end, they'd probably be more helpful for his college preparation.

The school was deeply rooted in tradition, with the goal of turning out well-rounded, upstanding men who would flourish in society. He'd raised an eyebrow at some of the electives - because he was pretty sure that foil fencing, philosophy, and Latin were never offered at his old school - but the culture shock wasn't quite so bad when he realized that those loud footsteps hurrying down the hallway didn't belong to a jock who was running after him to beat him up; they simply belonged to a fellow student who was late to class.

He was safe here. That was all that mattered.

Still, he'd been here for a few months now and he had yet to make any friends. Maybe he was being too needy?

That couldn't have been it - having at least a lunch buddy wasn't too much to ask, but he wasn't even lucky enough to have that.

Then again, probably not many people would want to befriend him if they found out he was crazy.

Okay, crazy probably wasn't the right word. But ever since the Sadie Hawkins dance, things were different. After that night, he'd been on sensory overload, like he could feel everything now, the weight, pressure, energy of people and objects, even when he wasn't actually touching them.

The huge tree in the middle of the quad? Teeming with life and energy. It forced its way into Blaine's senses, and he walked away with a huge headache every time he went past. Passing periods? He had to stop on the stairs and hold on to the banister because he could feel the vibrations, the force of every single student in the hallway and it made him sick to his stomach.

Sometimes it got so bad that he would hide away in his room, lock himself up in a smaller environment with familiar stimuli, to prevent himself from getting too overwhelmed. It was the worst when he first transferred here. Luckily though, he was getting used to it. Somewhat. It certainly wasn't pleasant walking around in a constant state of malaise, but sometimes if he concentrated and wished for it hard enough, it was almost like it didn't affect him.

Trevor made a decent point though - the special sounded like it would be good today, and hey - a little time away from the dorms was good, right? Right.

Blaine pulled up the strap to his messenger bag and he continued down the empty hallway. Until he felt it - a sharp, powerful energy pulsing behind him, and it shot straight to the pit of his stomach, sinking down like lead. Crap. Blaine shut his eyes. Looked like he'd be skipping lunch today in favor of going back to his dorm room. Abruptly he took a right turn into a different corridor, and the energy spiked, beating fast and hard. Was this person chasing after him?

Blaine quickened his pace. His lungs constricted, the taste of bile rose to his throat, his heart thudded heavily against his ribcage.

"Wait!"

He almost broke out into a run at the voice, but it didn't seem wise to start a reputation around here as an jerk. Instead he braced himself for the inevitable surge and slowly turned around, closing his eyes as the energy crashed into him. It singed at his skin, stinging, burning. He pried his eyes open and scratched at his flesh; there were no outward signs of damage - but still, he could feel it.

A tall dark-skinned boy - Blaine recognized him as a sophomore - came to a stop. His almost-black eyes stared right into Blaine's hazel ones, searching.

"I know what you are," he said finally.

Blaine's spine stiffened. Was he talking about being gay or... the weird energy thing? Orientation was probably the safer guess. "What I am?" he forced out an uncomfortable laugh. "I've stopped trying to hide it."

"I'm the same as you," the boy answered, stepping closer.

"You're gay?"

The boy gave him an incredulous look. "Wha - no. I mean that's fine if you are, I don't really care either way. But that's not what I'm talking about. You're a witch, aren't you?"

Well, that was unexpected. Blaine blinked several times in succession. "Um... what?"

"A witch," the boy repeated. "And not the Wiccan type either. I'm talking occult, nitty gritty, angels and demons type of witch. I can sense it - you are."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Blaine smiled thinly and turned away with the intent of heading to the library. Or maybe the cafeteria after all. Just some place where he wouldn't be accused of being Sabrina or Elphaba.

Just - the very thought of it was ridiculous. Witches? At this rate, someone would be telling him that werewolves were real. Either way, he had to get away - fast. The heavy feeling in his stomach, the stinging sensation at his skin was only getting worse with each passing minute.

The boy followed Blaine and grabbed his hand. He immediately stopped.

His own force, a sweep of amber from the bottom of his feet shot up, fusing with the other boy's energy and soaring right into the sky. Blaine looked at the other boy, jaw dropped and wide-eyed.

"You felt that too," the boy whispered. "You felt it. My energy. Our energy."

Blaine slowly shook his head. "I don't... I don't understand."

His eyes locked with the other boy's - demanding answers, wanting desperately to know why, why, why his skin screamed at him like he was being burned at the stake and why he felt like he was being buried alive at the same time.

Perhaps more importantly, why did that other boy feel so familiar?

"What's your name?"

"Blaine," he answered after a beat.

"I'm David. Do you mind if I try something?"

He almost said no. So what if David had the same kind of energy, the same amplitude as his own? But the answer slipped out before he could stop it. "Go ahead."

David grasped both of his hands and closed his eyes, and Blaine reluctantly mimicked the action. "Concentrate. Do you feel me?"

The energy seared up his skin, and he winced. "...Yeah."

"Try to pull my energy into you."

Blaine's eyes shot open in shock. "What? What would I -"

"Just do it. I'm doing the same to you."

"Oh. Okay...?" He closed his eyes again. He thought of himself and David, floating in white space. He focused on David's energy - thick, strong, crackling, a steady roar like a log in a fireplace. In and out with every breath. Pulse. Pulse. What exactly was he trying to achieve here?

"Into your feet, up throughout your body. Let it exit through your fingertips. Breathe it out through your mouth," David murmured as if he'd read Blaine's mind.

Blaine raised an eyebrow. Well, David seemed to know what he was doing... even if it did kind of sound like a weird yoga meditation exercise. Another breath in, out. He pulled David's energy into his feet - almost jumping when it actually moved as he wished - felt it surging through him, through his legs and wrapping around all of his internal organs, enriching his own life force, and he breathed it out, channeled it through the ends of his fingers. The flames slowly died out on his skin; instead he felt it beginning to crackle from his insides, warming him up and slowly spreading out.

He felt strangely... clean. As if all of the energy had been wiped out. But it wasn't - it was still there - it rippled and flowed just like before, and it was just as strong, only this time it wasn't horribly overwhelming - this time, it was like he could take in all of the energy in the world and it wouldn't make him sick.

It was almost as if he could control it now.

He opened his eyes again to see David closely watching him. His skin cooled, and as David let go of his hands, the internal fire pulsed a final time and surged right out of his body with an exhale. His own energy still swirled within him, but now, as he looked up to the sky, there was no two-ton weight pressed onto him from head to toe. He looked at the ants on the ground and felt no crawling sensation at his fingertips. The spring breeze wasn't a gust of wind that would knock all the air out of his lungs. For the first time in several months, he could actually breathe.

"This is insane," Blaine whispered. "I felt like I was suffocating before but now the energy, it's..."

David smiled kindly. "You haven't been a witch for very long, have you? Those who've only recently discovered their powers tend to get overwhelmed. It gets easier once you channel your energy with another witch - you feel a lot better now, right? I've heard stories of some witches committing suicide because they had no one to channel with - their sense just drove them mad."

"You keep saying that - I'm a witch," Blaine shook his head. "How is that even possible? That's usually the type of thing a guy knows about himself."

David shrugged. "Some people aren't aware of their powers until something traumatic happens to them."

Schultz throwing a punch at him - Blaine shut his eyes at the image. "A witch," he repeated incredulously. "Me."

"You," David agreed. "And me. And Wes and Thad."

Blaine shot him a look. "Wait, there are more of you?"

"More of us, you mean?" David smiled. "Yeah. There are a good few." He stepped closer to Blaine, once again grabbing his hand. That spark of combined energy shot into the air again.

"What do you feel? When we make contact - when two witches make contact, what do you feel?"

Blaine stared long and hard at David, feeling the warmth seep into his skin. There was a certain softness, a kindness in his eyes, and it almost felt like... "Family. It feels like when I'm around family. Like I can trust you."

David nodded, smiling, and then he sobered up. "That's why we have to stick together."

Blaine furrowed his brows in question.

"No one will understand," David continued. "Can you imagine what would happen if someone found out about us? About what we're capable of? They'd put us all in a mental institution."

He could feel his insides slowly going numb at the images. Locked down, high security facilities. Cameras. Nurses, therapists and psychiatrists who thought they knew what they were doing. He shivered.

"People fear things they don't understand. Why feed into that fear? Into that hate?"

"Better that they don't know," Blaine finished, crossing his arms over his middle. His stomach twisted uneasily.

"It's just self-preservation," David said quietly, and Blaine believed him.

For a while.

TBC