A/N:

This is a short story based on the amazing work of CP Coulter, "Dalton," which can be found here: www. fanfiction. net/ s/ 6515261/ 1 (just take out the spaces!)

I DO NOT OWN DALTON - Dalton is the wonderful work of CP Coulter, AKA Monique Dimanlig! Please go read her wonderful work and show her your support! I am nothing but a lowly fan!

Reed Van Kamp, Shane Anderson, Micah Randall, Ethan & Evan Brightman, Charlie Amos, Dwight Houston, and Han Westwood are all the property of CP Coulter. Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, David Sullivan, and Wes Hughes are the property of Ryan Murphy and Fox, as is Glee – the wonderful TV show that started it all.

Please, let me know if there are any mistakes in the story, or if any of the characters seem to be acting OOC. I wrote this very quickly and am not entirely happy with it yet.

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The Aftermath:

Part 1 - Staging

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Reed stared at Shane, wondering why he was standing there, white as a sheet and unmoving. He looked like he was in shock. He touched his hand. "Shane? Shane, what's wrong?"

Rebecca turned around with the others, smiling as she did when she saw what Shane was staring at. "He's here."

"He…?" Reed asked.

Kurt stared at the tall, lean, brown-haired boy that walked up to them, dressed in rather nice preppy clothes and wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. His smile was kind, but his eyes looked tired. But those eyes have yet to ever leave Shane.

"We found him, can you believe it?" Erin hissed wildly to a similarly-stricken Blaine. "We thought we'd never see him again but we found him! We ran into him in a San Francisco book convention!"

Shane was rendered mute and paralyzed. Reed stared from him to the tall boy and back again. "Shane?"

The tall boy smiled at Shane, looking rather apologetic. "…hi."

Shane unstuck his throat, his voice sounding distant. "…you…"

Kurt looked at Blaine, who said, utterly floored, "…Micah."

Erin and Rebecca were grinning eagerly, and all the other Windsors looked confused. But Kurt knew who Micah was, and, from the look on Shane and Blaine's faces, and as he now turned his small roommate, who looked anxious—as though he was starting to make a terrible and accurate guess—that they weren't out of the woods at all.

They had only just gotten in.

- From Dalton, Ep. 23, by CP Coulter

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Kurt grabbed Reed's hand and dragged him away from the scene, the other boy following numbly behind him and slowing Kurt's pace by stumbling every few feet, suddenly struggling to stay upright without Shane's steady presence by his side. His chocolate brown eyes were wide and unseeing, his fingers limp and clammy in Kurt grip as he was dragged through the crowd, all the way across campus to Windsor, and up the stairs to the room they both shared.

It wasn't until he felt the softness of his bed beneath his legs and a pair of cool, delicate hands encasing his cheeks that he raised his gaze to meet his roommate's eyes, his own suddenly filling with tears as the situation finally dawned on him.

Shane.

Not two hours before, they had sung to each other in the hall of mirrors, danced together on stage, and Reed had found himself drawing closer to whatever answer he had been searching for regarding the tall, endearing, (if not slightly insane) dancer…and now…

All Reed could see, playing over and over again in his head, were Shane's long, sturdy arms – arms that had protected him from certain harm on many occasions – wrapping lovingly around another boy.

He had watched, wide-eyed and stunned, as Shane had pulled away from him and stared at the taller brunette with what Reed could only describe as intense wonder on his face. His heart nearly stopped as Shane lunged forward and pulled Micah into a tight embrace, his strong arms clutching the thinner boy so close it almost looked painful. Micah pressed his face into Shane's unruly curls, his glasses knocked askew, and wound his own arms around Shane's neck without a moment of hesitation.

"Micah…" he heard Shane murmur, his voice hoarse but still loud enough for Reed to hear. A choked sob had left Reed's throat at the sight and he turned his eyes away, searching for something – anything – else to focus on.

It was at that moment that Blaine, catching the look on Reed's face, had nudged his boyfriend with a meaningful look, and Kurt had slipped a hand around Reed's elbow to drag him away from the crowd. Reed had little to no recollection of how they had gotten away from the scene, no knowledge of how many times he had tripped or how many bruises and scrapes he would have to doctor in the morning, and somehow, not a care in the world about the many stains his tears would be leaving on the front of his shirt.

"Micah…" The name sounded bitter even in his thoughts and he scrunched up his face against the tears that refused to stop dripping down his cheeks. Kurt's hands were gentle as they tilted his face upwards, forcing him to meet his friend's caring gaze, but as Kurt tried to speak to him, all he could hear was that same name: "Micah…Micah…Micah…"

Kurt, realizing the futility of trying to get through to his fashionable friend that night, simply slid onto the bed beside Reed and pulled him into a tight hug. He rubbed his hands up and down Reed's spine in a comforting manner until the smaller boy caved in to his exhaustion and drifted off to sleep.

Kurt slid from the bed as silently as he could manage and tucked Reed under his sheets, brushing a strawberry-blonde curl from his face in a rather motherly manner before slipping from the room and closing the door behind him without a sound.

"He asleep yet?" Kurt heard Blaine's voice ask from over his shoulder, and turned to wrap his arms instantly around his boyfriend's waist.

"Finally," he replied with a soft sigh while his fingers twisted into Blaine's shirt and his ear pressed against the soft thrum of his boyfriend's heart.

"What a mess," he heard Blaine murmur into his hair, the echo of the words through Blaine's chest making him chuckle softly, though the sound seemed hollow.

"More or less a disaster, I'm sure."

"We'll talk about it in the morning, alright?" Blaine reassured him, "You must be just as tired."

"Mhmm…" was all that Kurt could manage, which caused a soft laugh to leave Blaine's throat.

"C'mon, sleepyhead…you can stay with me tonight."

Kurt was too tired to object or feel embarrassed at the thought, barely managing enough energy to nod and cling more tightly to Blaine as they stumbled toward his room in the dark.

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The next week was anything but typical, even for Windsor.

Shane had all but disappeared from campus, with neither his nor Micah's curly heads spotted once since the festival had ended.

Any attempts to drag Reed from his room for anything other than class ended disastrously – even the Tweedles couldn't successfully pry him from his bed, despite their very best attempts.

Kurt had taken up permanent residence with Blaine to avoid the chaos emanating from Reed's side of their shared room, returning only to rescue his clothes and liberate several of Reed's more expensive and lovely designer pieces from their closet (which he reassured himself Reed would thank him for later, of course). On his second trip back into the room for his toiletries and shoes, Reed had (unintentionally) splattered a rather large amount of pastel-green paint across the dark blue cashmere scarf Kurt was wearing, and Blaine had been forced to intervene, pinning Kurt's arms to his sides and dragging the countertenor from the room before he could strangle Reed to death.

Currently, the young fashionista was slashing at his many fashion magazines with a small pair of safety scissors – his "grown-up" pair having been taken from him several months ago after one too many stabbing accidents – and mumbling softly to himself with a slightly crazed expression on his face.

The surrounding room was in absolute disarray, the curtains hanging haphazardly from their rod (Reed had fallen out of bed two days prior and ripped them down while trying to keep his balance), his sheets tangled into knots at the edge of his mattress, and both his and Kurt's beds covered in a colorful mixture of paint splatters and charcoal smudges, as well as about a dozen failed sketches and paintings.

He barely noticed when someone knocked on his door softly – days of rebuffing the attempts of his dorm mates to cheer him up had made it easy to ignore them when they came by – and his hands continued to robotically cut through the faces of the models in the magazine, his mind not registering how familiar some of their faces looked nor his mother name on the pages as he destroyed them.

On the other side of the door, the Tweedles gave each other an almost forlorn look. Their attempts to rouse Reed from his gloom earlier in the week had ended in a small explosion and Charlie had made them promise not to try it again, but they weren't swayed from their attempts until Kurt threatened to burn every batch of cookies he made for the next year unless they gave it a rest.

"Poor little Dormouse…" Ethan mused, stroking his chin in a rather posh manner with a completely seriously look on his face, which lasted for mere moments before he broke into a devilish grin.

"Indeed." Evan answered with a grin of his own. "Don't you think it's time…" he began with a silly wiggle of his eyebrows.

"…to stage a full scale intervention?" Ethan finished for him knowingly.

"Indeed." Evan repeated, his grin widening dangerously.

"…we're off to see the wizard!" They chorused as they linked arms as skipped down the hall towards the raucous sounds of the rest of Windsor house.

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A/N:

Please review! I know its really short, but that seemed like as good a place to stop as any, and this is only the introduction - they'll get longer and longer as we go along, I promise! Part 2 will be up later today, after I force myself to sleep! :D