Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There was a moment of weightlessness as Kurt felt himself swing towards the edge of the dumpster. He imagined that it was similar to the feeling that the Cheerios got when they were doing all their gymnastics and performing, where gravity became nothing for just a moment. A brief instant where you’re not bound to the ground. 

If that was true, Kurt didn’t know how they could stand to keep doing it. The sensation made him feel sick to his stomach. It made him wish that he hadn’t been thrown, but that he’d been slammed into a locker, or punched in the face instead. Almost anything would have been preferable actually. 

That was probably because of the situation though. Kurt wasn’t ignorant to the fact that he had been trained to equate this feeling, with the feeling that he knew would follow. The feeling of slimy plastic, or rough cardboard. The feeling of the air being kicked from his lungs as he made contact. The fear that something sharp would be underneath him, or something gross like old food. He’d seen the way the canteen staff treat the garbage, and he knew that there was no attempt at separating the food from everything else. And from past experience, they didn’t make too much of an effort to make sure the bags were tied securely either. 

Perhaps it was the look in everyone’s eyes that was the worst part. The part that meant he made sure to keep his eyes shut until long after everyone had left for their classes. Everything from the villainous enthusiasm on Lackey #3’s face, to the look of arrogant superiority on Noah Puckerman, made him feel like less than nothing. Despite his attempts to be heroic and hold onto Kurt’s bag, or jacket or hat, or whatever part of his outfit Kurt could take off before he was thrown, Finn was never close enough for Kurt to see when he actually went over the edge. So at least he didn’t have to see the look of pity, or second hand embarrassment, or perhaps worst yet, a faked look of amusement on Finn’s face. 

The first swing didn’t quite get him over the edge, and Kurt squeezed his eyes shut tighter as they pulled back at the last moment. Maybe that was the worst, really. When they played with him. When the whole thing was for their amusement. 

They were all jeering Lackey #3 for not being able to throw him properly, when a full body shudder overcame Kurt. He flinched, his foot kicking out instinctively at the apex of the throw, and the Lackey let go of him. Puckerman clearly wasn’t prepared for Kurt to be in flight, and he let go a moment later, but that threw the entire trajectory off. 

He hit the bags hard, and half a moment later, his head banged against the side of the dumpster. Outside, the jeering was louder than the crash, and Kurt had a moment to internally cringe about whatever might have just transferred from the dumpster’s walls into his hair, before his vision blurred and the voices got more distant, as exhaustion quickly overtook him. He was aware of the sound of the bell ringing, but it all seemed so far away…

He must have blacked out, because the next thing he was vaguely aware of was a warm, heavy feeling, and someone gently stroking his hair out of his face. He scrunched up his face, trying to open his eyes, but only managing to get one half open. The world was too blurry to do more than catch sight of a feminine hand with a wedding ring. His mind felt like it was full of tar and the spots where she touched were too warm, but still he managed to croak out, “Mom?” 

“I’m here, honey,” She said softly, but it didn’t sound quite right. Everything sounded like it was coming from beyond a wall of cotton wool and static, his own voice foreign to him. She was still speaking, but he was slipping under again, the heavy feeling swallowing him up.

“Told you two not to bother him,” a deeper voice was speaking, when Kurt was next aware of himself, and there was pressure leaving the space by his legs, and two sets of footsteps. “Did you close the window?”

“He said he was cold,” someone spoke in barely a whisper, and Kurt frowned at how young the voice sounded.

“Alright, you two, back to your room.” The deeper voice said, and there was the sound of the door closing. There were footsteps around him, and the sound of a window being opened, before the ground sank a little, making Kurt’s head swim as everything tilted a little. “You doing alright, kid?” 

Kurt wanted to answer; to ask where he was, why he felt so exhausted, or why his ankle hurt so much. But he was slipping back under and not even the murmured conversation could keep him in the present moment. 

There were other memories after that, half formed and blurry. Someone was helping him to sit upright and take some painkillers. Someone sitting next to him whilst he watched something on the TV with people in brightly colored sweaters, one of them with pointy ears and way too over-styled eyebrows. Grilled cheese and soup, eating it as carefully as he could and trying to ignore the way his stomach was rolling.

And then, in sharp relief to the haziness, he was snapping wide-awake. The aches he had remembered from the memory seemed to fade immediately, including the dull pain in his ankle, and when he opened his eyes, the ceiling above him wasn’t blurry. 

The ceiling also wasn’t any that he remembered having ever seen before.

Kurt jerked upright into a sitting position, the bed creaking a little under the sharp movement. The room was small, and after a moment, he felt like he could confidently say it was someone’s bedroom. A man’s room, Kurt decided quickly as he took in the sports trophies and the clothes that were shoved into a pile in one corner of the room. 

The bed was clean, and there were no signs that he was missing his kidneys, so Kurt forced himself to catch his breath instead of panicking. He didn’t seem to be injured in any obvious way. The last solid memory he had was of landing in the garbage, his head hitting the wall. He reached up to touch the back of his head, and winced at the painful sensation there. No blood or open wound, but tender to the touch certainly. 

He carefully climbed to his feet, patting himself down. He was wearing his button-up shirt and jeans, but his shoes were next to the bed, neatly placed side by side. Another glance towards the door revealed his sweater, the one with the sunglasses that he’d been wearing to school that morning, hung up on a coat hanger. The hanger probably belonged to the pair of trousers and another button up shirt that were thrown hazardously over a chair by a tiny desk. 

Turning towards the shoes, he paused as caught sight of his phone sitting on top of a camcorder. He reached for the phone carefully, and found a post-it note on top with an unfamiliar handwriting.

You should watch the video before you leave the room.

Kurt stared at the note, and turned it over in his hands a couple of times as thought there might be more information if he kept looking .He slipped the phone into his pocket and picked up the camcorder. There was a little label underneath, claiming it belonged to the McKinley High AV club, but someone had scribbled over it with a pen. He opened the screen, and opened the memory, to find an image of the bed. 

“Please don’t be a sex tape,” Kurt whispered under his breath, sitting back on the bed, “I do not need my Paris Hilton moment.”

He still hit play though, despite his misgivings. Obviously, if he had had sex with the kind of man who would steal a camera from school, he needed to know about it. ‘Knowledge is power’, and all the other placating things he could think of. 

As the image started to move, he watched himself walk into frame and sit down in a very similar position to how he was sat now. 

No. Not a similar position. It was the same spot, but that was not how Kurt sat. Legs spread, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as if he was bracing himself. Something about his face was different too. Looser. More… open, maybe.

“Uh, hi. Kurt.” The version of him on the camera lifted a hand as if to wave, before he dropped it again. “Alright, this is going to sound really weird, but I’m hoping some… like, visual proof will help? Like, seeing is believing, right?” 

Someone snorted on the film, and Kurt frowned more, but the Kurt-in-the-video rolled his eyes. 

“Ignore him. Or, I mean, don’t. He- uh- No, yeah, I should start at the start.” Kurt-in-the-video sighed, and rubbed his face. “Alright. So, my name is Sam. Sam Evans. I’m fifteen years old, I just started my freshman year at my school in Tennessee.”

Kurt’s eyes opened wider, as Kurt-in-the-video, no, Sam chewed on his lower lip.

“I was at home, because I’ve got a bad flu, and I sprained my ankle. I was trying to get to the bathroom, and I slipped. I think I hit my head? Which sounds like something we both did?” Sam continued, “I don’t think that explains it though, cause, I mean, just in terms of numbers, a whole bunch of people have to hit their heads at the same time and they don’t swap bodies.” 

Kurt watched as Sam looked away from the camera, to whoever was holding it. 

“I think… I mean, the painkillers were basically knocking me out, so you might have slept through the whole thing on my end? But I did my best to… be you? Puck’ll explain what happened after I woke up, but I don’t think I messed anything up too bad. There wasn’t exactly like… an instruction manual to being Kurt Hummel, you know?” Sam shrugged, “and since I don’t really know what made it happen this time? I’m not sure it’s not going to happen again. So I’m going to write down all the important stuff about me, and leave it somewhere where you’ll know to look for it. I haven’t worked it out yet, but I’ll try and make it super obvious.” There was a beat of pause, and Sam shuffled uncomfortably, “I hope I’m not crazy? I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m real. I have a mom and a dad, and a brother and sister. I’m trying out for my school football team when I get back on my feet. I think I’m real, but I think that’s what everyone would think right?”

Kurt let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. It was easy to merge the things Sam had said with the dreams he had had. The mom, the dad, the brother and sister. It wasn’t proof. Nothing like proof. But it sounded right. 

“I’m gonna go, because I’m freaking out.” Sam admitted on the video. “I think, uh, it’d be a good idea to get a… diary or something? In case we swap again, we can leave like… messages for each other?”

“Or you could leave your phone number, and that’d be much easier to prove.” Kurt said quietly to himself, trying to ignore the hysterical edge to his voice.

“I don’t know how you finish a film to your—“ Sam was saying just as the camera cut off, and Kurt stared at the last image, the look on his face as he was speaking to someone off camera. It was his face. It was him. But it wasn’t at all. It wasn’t him. It was—

The knock on the bedroom door jerked his attention away from the camera, and he froze dead. 

“Uh… Sam?” A vaguely familiar voice came from the other side, and Kurt held his breath until it added, “Hummel?” 

There was something about hearing the voice say his name that made the message from Sam snap into clarity, and Kurt swallowed before he asked quietly. “Puckerman?”

There was a tense silence for a moment, before Puckerman spoke again. “Yeah. Is it safe to come in?” 

Kurt glanced around, but if there were any weapons he could use to defend himself, they weren’t in view. He took a deep breath, checking again that his phone was in his pocket, before he moved across the room to collect his sweater, carefully folding it over his arm as he moved away from the door towards the opposite wall. Once there was as much space as he could possibly get, he took another steadying breath, “I think so?” 

The handle turned slowly, and Kurt watched as the familiar mohawk slowly came into view around the edge of the door. Puck looked around nervously, before he turned his attention to Kurt, examining him,“Hummel?”

Kurt wanted to say something sarcastic, or to start hurling accusations, but something about Puckerman’s demeanor made him hesitate. There was no arrogant smirk, or even the usual mocking laughter in his eyes. He seemed genuinely concerned and unsure. Kurt nodded slowly, and Puckerman repeated the gesture in response, before he glanced towards the bedside table. 

“You watched the video.” He said, his tone carefully, painfully neutral. Kurt nodded again, and Puck stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, “What… I mean, what the fuck, Hummel?” 

Kurt flinched, looking away, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Was that bullshit? Did you make it all up?” Puck gestured to him, a sudden burst of energy that made Kurt press his back tighter against the wall.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he rolled his eyes dramatically, but they immediately locked on Puckerman as he took another few steps towards him. He somehow found a few atoms worth of space where he wasn’t already touching the wall, and Puck stopped.

“I want to check your head.” Puck said, lifting his hands. “I need to make sure nothing’s changed.” 

“The only person checking my head will be me, my hair stylist, and my masseuse.” Kurt glanced around the room, and took a few half-steps towards Puck’s bed. If he could pull him in that direction, he could then duck around the other way and maybe get to the door before Puck could tackle him. “How did you make me say those things?”

“How did I…?” Puck let out an incredulous noise, “I didn’t make you do anything.” 

“So… drugs?” Kurt continued, taking another step, and watching Puck do the same. “You dosed me with something whilst you were throwing me in the dumpster?” 

“Okay, so you remember the dumpster,” Puck nodded slowly to himself, “okay. So, do you remember hitting your head?” 

Kurt hesitated, “I didn’t hit it that hard. I landed in the rubbish and then… bumped it.” 

“Yeah,” Puck took another step towards him, and when Kurt shifted he held up his hands placatingly, like Kurt was a wild animal that might flee at any moment. Which was his entire plan, but as Puck got closer, Kurt’s feet felt like lead. “I heard it. I was pretty much the only one close enough to. When you didn’t show up for first period, I got worried you’d died or something. So, I got a hall pass and came back out to the dumpster. You were unconscious, so I did, like, the medicine stuff.” 

“The ‘medicine stuff’ ,” Kurt repeated, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

“Yeah. I made sure you were still breathing, and that you had a pulse and everything,” Puck dropped his hands, and folded his arms. “I jumped in the dumpster for you, dude.” 

“The dumpster you put me in.” 

“Anyway,” Puck deflected the accusation as if he hadn’t heard it, “I planned on just like, making sure you were alive, and then going and mentioning that I’d seen you getting thrown in to the nurse or something. But you started waking up. So I did the question stuff. What’s your name, what’s my name, Where are we? What year is it?” He hesitated, his eyes dropping away from Kurt for a moment as if unsure about what to say next. “You… You got it wrong. Or, it wasn’t you answering or something.”

“What do you mean, I got it wrong?” Kurt was asking the question, but he was immediately thinking about the video. Sam Evans. Fifteen. Tennessee.

“Will you sit down, so I can tell you what happened?” Puck gestured to the bed, and Kurt’s eye darted to it, and then almost to the door before he caught himself. Puck rolled his eyes though, and folded his arms again. “I can totally see you eyeing the door. You’re kind of obvious.” 

“Are you going to tackle me if I make a break for it?” Kurt muttered.

“Obviously not. If you’ve got a brain problem, I’m not getting blamed for making it worse,” Puck muttered, “I know that being invited into a dude’s room is a new experience for you, Hummel, but you need to know what happened today. So, please sit down.” 

Kurt’s eyes narrowed a little, and he debated just leaving. It didn’t sound like Puck was going to physically stop him. But… It seemed important to Puck that Kurt hear what happened. He glanced at the bed, and then pointedly moved and pulled the chair away from the small desk, sitting on that instead. 

“Yeah, sure, great power play,” Puck scoffed and sat down on the bed, running a hand over his head before he straightened up. “Alright. I guess I just start at the beginning, right?” 

“That’s generally the place to begin a story.” Kurt crossed his legs and tried to remain as poised as he could on the chair.

“Alright, but you better tell me if you get a headache, or you lose feeling in your legs or anything. Sam wouldn’t let me call an ambulance, but I’m not dealing with a dead gay kid in my bedroom.” Puck scowled, and shuffled back so he could press his head against the wall. “Alright, so, I got a hall pass when you didn’t show up for second period either...” 

“Hummel?” 

The voice sounded scared, which was definitely enough to force Sam to start trying to wake up. He expected to feel dizzy, or nauseous, but neither hit him in the moment. In fact, as he took a few slow breaths, he didn’t feel that tired either, which was totally unusual when he had to take painkillers. They usually made him drowzy, and with the flu he’d caught whilst camping, that would usually make it feel like he was trying to move through honey whenever he was awake. Maybe he’d overslept, and missed his next pill? 

It was on the third breath that the smell hit him, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. It smelt like someone had dumped a ton of old trash in his room. He reached up to slap at a hand that was poking at his neck. “Stevie—“ He mumbled, “—leave me alone.” 

“Dude, I need to check your pulse,” the voice spoke again, and his hands were easily caught in a bigger one, the hands returning to his throat. Sam didn’t fight it this time, focusing on opening his eyes instead. That took more effort than it really should have, but once they were open, he had to blink rapidly at the sunlight.

He wasn’t looking at his bedroom ceiling, or any kind of ceiling. He could see blue skies with wisps of clouds breaking up above him. The guy who was checking his neck was entirely unfamiliar, but Sam felt like he could say with pretty much certainty that he wasn’t a doctor, or a firefighter or someone who might have had to drag him out of his bedroom. The mohawk didn’t scream ‘professional’ anything.

“Alright, you’re not, like, actively dying,” Mohawk leaned back, his face scrunched up uncomfortably as he leant back. “Can you wiggle your fingers? Feet?”

Sam did as suggested, wiggling his fingers and feet, and the guy nodded to himself. “What happened?” Sam asked, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

Mohawk froze, and then leaned forward carefully, “I’m just gonna check the back of your head, alright?” Sam let him maneuver his head, and let out a hiss of pain when the guy’s fingers touched the back of his head. Mohawk pulled back again, checking his fingers quickly before his panic turned to relief. “Alright, no… there’s no blood. That’s good, right?” 

“I guess?” Sam carefully looked around, despite the concerned noises of the other guy as he moved his head. The source of the smell became obvious quickly, “I’m in a dumpster?” 

“Yeah, you’re… shit, what do you remember?” Mohawk’s eyes went wide, “What’s your name? What’s my name? What year is it? Where are we?” 

“One question at a time, dude,” Sam mumbled, and Mohawk pulled back a little, looking confused. “My name’s Sam. Sam Evans. It’s 2009, and I’m gonna hope we’re in, like, Tennessee? Somewhere?” He narrowed his eyes at Mohawk, “I’m sorry, man. I don’t know you.” 

“Fuck.” The word stretched out into a long breath, and Sam watched as Mohawk ran his hand over his head, and then immediately seemed to regret it. “Oh, gross. Shit,” He wrinkled his nose, and glanced around them before turning back to Sam. “Dude, don’t fuck around. You didn’t hit your head that hard, right? It was just a bump.” 

“I’m not messing around,” Sam tried to find some footing to sit up, but the garbage bags underneath him shifted. “What did I get wrong?” 

“All of it?” Mohawk muttered, and then shook his head, “No, it’s 2009. So… you know what year we’re in. That’s something, right? But you’re in Ohio.”

“What?” Sam frowned, “Why would I be in a dumpster in Ohio?”

“Because you live here,” Mohawk paused, “I mean, the state, not the dumpster. Obviously. Do I need to call… Fuck, I don’t know, an ambulance?” 

“I feel fine,” Sam shook his head, “I mean, my ankle isn’t even hurting anymore.” 

“Why would your ankle be hurting? Did you hit that too?” Mohawk shifted to examine his foot, but Sam moved it away.

“I fell down the other day when we were camping.” Sam looked at the confused look, and rolled his eyes, “Obviously not you and me, I mean, me and some of my friends.” 

“Dude, this is going to make me sound like the biggest asshole in the world, but… you don’t have any friends, Hummel. And you’re not the kind of guy who goes camping.” 

“It does make you sound like an asshole, yeah,” Sam narrowed his eyes, “and who is Hummel?” 

“You!” Mohawk gestured emphatically. “Kurt Hummel, homo extraordinaire.” 

“I’m not gay.” The denial came easily. Sam was used to having to say it. “And I’m not Kurt. I’m Sam.” 

“Is this some weird multiple personality disorder thing?” Mohawk asked, pulling back a little. “Is… Hummel in there? Can I speak to him?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam finally managed to get enough traction that he could get his feet under him. 

“I mean, look, I’m going for the science excuses before I assume some ghost possessed Hummel’s unconscious body.” Mohawk held up his hands in surrender, “because that always ends with a whole bunch of people dead in the movies.”

“This is my…” Sam glanced down at himself. The jeans were tighter than anything he owned himself, which showed off how much slimmer his legs were, and even under the sweater with a weird sunglasses motif, he could tell he was nowhere near as built as he was supposed to be. “This is my body.” He repeated himself, but he could barely convince himself.

“Look—“ Mohawk glanced around and then jumped over the edge of the dumpster. Sam forced himself upright, as Mohawk scrambled around in an expensive looking leather bag. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“Relax, it’s your stuff,” Mohawk muttered, and then stood up with a compact mirror in his hand. He flicked it open, and then hesitated. “Alright. Try not to freak out and like… turn into a serial killer or something?” 

“Why would I—“ 

“I don’t know! But like, one of the personalities is always a serial killer, isn’t it? I mean, it is in the movies I’ve seen, so, I’m just getting you ready.” Mohawk swallowed nervously and then carefully turned it around.

The face in the mirror was entirely unfamiliar, but as Sam’s eyes widened and the image in the mirror did the same, it became harder to pretend it wasn’t his face. Or— it wasn’t the face he was using? He knew his face. It wasn’t this. “I’m blonde.” He murmured to himself, barely aware of Mohawk anymore as he reached up to touch the shiny brown hair on his head, and poke at the nose, the jawline, the— all of it was wrong.

“Hey—“ Mohawk reached back into the dumpster, “I’m serious, don’t freak out and become a serial killer.” 

“I’m not a ghost!” Sam insisted, “Or, like, some weird multiple personality thing. I have a family! My mom’s name is Mary, my dad’s name is Dwight. We live in Tennessee. I just started at this all-boy’s school. I’ve got a little brother and sister, Stevie and Stacy. I… I’m going to be the QB, and I play guitar, and I like comic books— I’m a real person!”

“Alright!” Mohawk held up his hands. “You’re a real person. But right now, you’re a real person in a dumpster. So… let’s… get you out of the dumpster, and then you can freak out.” 

Sam stared down at the bags he was slowly sinking into, and put his hands on the edge, and tried to hop over. It was a move he had done a dozen times before, it shouldn’t have been any kind of an issue, but every part of his body felt wrong. His legs were longer, the weight and muscles not quite the same, and he was quickly overbalancing, toppling over the edge.

Before he could hit the ground, another set of arms were under his back, something hard digging into his shoulder blades. He managed to right himself enough that he could get his feet on the ground first, and stumble a few steps without collapsing. Mohawk straightened up from where he had dived to catch him, showing off a set of impressive arms that Sam hadn’t noticed before.

“Thanks,” Sam muttered, brushing off the bits of paper and stuff that had stuck to the clothes he was wearing, trying not to think about where the garbage had come from. And definitely not to think about why he was noticing this stranger’s arms. 

“I mean, if this is all some big plan to get me to catch you, there were definitely easier ways.” Mohawk grinned, dusting off his hands. “Alright, we can go hide in your car and talk.” 

“I have a car?” Sam blinked, turning to look out over the area. There was a school to one side of the dumpsters. McKinley High, he committed the name to memory, in case he suddenly woke up in his own bed at any moment. 

The other direction led towards a parking lot, and Mohawk was already walking, with the bag slung over his shoulder casually. Sam watched him for a moment, and Mohawk turned over his shoulder. “Are you coming?” 

“I don’t even know who you are,” Sam shrugged, “I’m not seeing a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t just take off.” 

“Because I really don’t want to have to try to tackle you and not make your brain more screwed up.” Mohawk didn’t look like he was joking, and when Sam squared up, he copied the motion, his chest puffing up, “You say you’re a football player? Cause you’ve got the body of a guy who never leaves the house.” Mohawk stared at him for a long moment, and then sighed dramatically, taking a few steps back towards him and holding out a hand. “Puck. You can call me Puck.” 

“Alright,” Sam’s lips twitched up into the start of a smile and shook Puck’s hand firmly. Something about the gesture seemed to discomfort Puck, but he didn’t mention it. “You go here?” 

“Yeah. I’m a Sophomore. Like Kurt.” Puck withdrew his hand, and closed his arms, “School badass. Play football too. Tight end.” 

Sam nodded casually, “See, now we’re not strangers.” 

Puck tilted his head, “Nothing? You’re not gonna blush, or laugh, or… anything?” 

“At what?”

“Tight end?” 

“I know what a tight end is?” Sam frowned, running over what Puck had said.

“Yeah. You’re definitely not faking…” Puck huffed, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his letterman. “Come on,” he gestured towards a really nice looking SUV, and Sam followed him towards it. It was clearly well taken care of, and Sam turned towards Puck, who was staring at him. The moment went on for a few moments, before Puck rolled his eyes. “You’ve got the keys.” 

“Oh!” Sam pat himself down, before he found a set of keys in his jeans pocket. He moved the keys towards the door, only for Puck to snatch them out of his hand, “Hey!”

“I’m suddenly realising that trusting you with car keys right now might be a bad idea, dude.” Puck looked him up and down, before he put the keys in the lock himself. Sam watched him climb into the drivers side, and lean over to unlock the passenger side for Sam to get in. 

The inside was really well kept too. No sign of any of the stuff that usually accumulated in the bottom of his dad’s truck thanks to Stevie and Stacy. He watched as Puck casually flipped down the visor and then leaned across to open the glove box. There was a moment of pause, before Puck laughed, pulling out a box.

“Nice.” He jiggled the box in front of Sam, and tossed them on the dashboard. “Didn’t know Hummel had it in him. Or had it in someone else, I’m not judging. Bad idea to keep it in the glove box though. And there’s actually gloves in there too! I mean who does that!”

Sam leaned forward and picked up the box, turning it over. Embarrassment flashed over him, and he shoved the box of condoms back in the glove box. “It’s kind of shitty to be going through his stuff when he’s … not here.” 

Puck glanced up from where he had started to look through Kurt’s leather bag, his eyes narrowing. “See, the sentiment is totally something Hummel would say, but I can’t imagine him saying ‘shitty’.” He sighed and passed the bag to Sam. “Alright. So let’s get crazy here. Let’s assume you’re a really real person—“ 

“I am.” 

“—then where is Hummel?” Puck gestured around, as though this other person might be hiding in the back seat.

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed, leaning back against the seat and trying to think. “I mean, you’ve gotta assume if I’m here… then he’s there. I mean, in my body.” 

“You swapped brains?” Puck frowned, “That’s not a thing.” 

“I mean, it happens in movies right?” Sam insisted, “like, Freaky Friday.” 

“The one with Lindsay Lohan?” Puck considered it for a moment, turning to look out of the front window. “There wasn’t, like, an earthquake though. And you’ve never met him before, have you?” 

“I don’t think so.” Sam shook his head, “I mean, I don’t recognise him?” 

Puck hummed, tapping the wheel. “Let’s say I believe this. What do we do? Go to the hospital?” 

“No.” 

Puck’s head shot towards him at the vehemence of Sam’s denial. “No?” 

“Dude, have you ever watched a sci-fi movie?” Sam gestured to himself, “I show up at a hospital saying I’ve swapped bodies, they’re gonna laugh at me. Or they’re going to lock me on a psych ward. Or, worse case, sci-fi movie scenario? I get autopsied while I’m alive to work out how it works.” 

“I don’t think you can be autopsied when you’re alive. Like, I think there’s another word for it, or something,” Puck said quietly, but he looked discomforted, “You think that could happen?” 

“I just think we can give it… what, 24 hours, before we risk getting me cut up by government scientists. Or, I guess, Kurt getting cut up?” Sam gestured to his body, “I mean, Kurt’s probably stuck at my house half out of it on painkillers and the flu. He’s probably not going to be able to do anything too weird. And maybe if we give it some time, it’ll fix itself.”

“Your plan is to wait and see if it fixes itself?” Puck shook his head, “That’s a terrible plan.” 

“I think I can pretend to be someone else for one day. It’s just high school.” Sam made a gesture to the school. “It’ll be fine.” 

“You’re going to—“ Puck looked at him incredulously, and then sighed, and rested his head back against the seat. “Alright. I mean, no-one’s going to believe me if I say you’re a ghost or something possessing Hummel. And it’s better for me if you don’t have a brain injury. So… I’ll help.” 

“You’ll help?” Sam blinked, “Really?” 

“I mean, look, me and Hummel are not friends.” Puck held up his hands, “but if you get him killed, I’m gonna be dealing with way too much guilt. So I’m gonna be around, and you’re going to have to get used to it.” 

“I mean, I’m not gonna complain,” Sam held up his hands in surrender, “I don’t know anything about this guy, so…” 

“Okay.” Puck took a deep breath and then grabbed the bag back. “We’re gonna have to hope that Hummel kept his class schedule in here, cause I don’t know it. Otherwise, we’re gonna have to get sneaky.” 

Sam was quickly realising that McKinley High was insane. There had been literally nothing stopping them slipping back into the school. In fact, the lunch lady who had been smoking outside the kitchen door had winked at Puck as they passed through, like this was a common occurrence. Nobody noticed them in the hallways, and the only person to give them the slightest moment of pushback, was the woman who they were coming to see.

“—really want to pass US History, Miss. Pillsbury, but I just don’t get it.” Puck was speaking softly, eyes full of concern and hurt. Sam might have even believed him if he didn’t know why they were actually here, “I’ve tried all the different things, but the only person who’s been able to get me to remember the difference between Rushmore and Roosevelt, is Kurt here.” 

“So, you want me to pull up both of your schedules?” Miss. Pillsbury looked concerned and confused. “Couldn’t you compare them yourselves?” 

“I think it’ll help us to have them written in front of us.” Puck said earnestly, and there was a beat before the guidance counselor turned her attention towards Sam. 

“Kurt?”

“I…” Sam glanced to Puck and then back to Miss. Pillsbury, “I think that it could be helpful?” 

She seemed to consider for another moment, before she picked up her phone and spoke to someone on the other end. A moment later, another woman appeared, with a couple of pieces of paper. Sam barely had time to notice her before she was gone again, and Miss. Pillsbury picked them up and examined them both, before handing them to the right students. Sam’s eyebrows raised as he saw the subjects Kurt was taking. French was gonna suck, he was in Spanish back in Tennessee. 

“Alright, that’s great.” Puck said, slapping Sam on the shoulder and standing up. Sam moved to follow, and they were halfway to the doorway when Miss. Pillsbury called out.

“Kurt?” 

It took Sam a moment too long to look back for the image to appear natural, but Miss. Pillsbury looked more concerned than anything else. “Miss. Pillsbury?” 

“I just wanted to say good luck on your audition today.” She gave him a hesitant smile, “I know you were never interested in Mr. Ryerson’s glee club, but Will— I mean, Mr. Schuester’s club should be more fun.” 

“I…” Sam swallowed nervously, glancing towards Puck and then back to Mr. Schuester. “Right, yeah. The audition. For Glee Club.” 

“Noah, have you considered trying out?” she continued, with a bright smile.

“I’m super busy with football,” Puck said casually, “but I’ll totally be there to cheer Kurt on. But that’s like, in confidence, right?”

“Sure?” She seemed confused, but she didn’t say anything else as Puck quickly tugged Sam out of the room. The bell was already ringing, and Puck looked both ways before he pushed Sam against a locker. 

“Ow,” Sam muttered, even if the blow didn’t actually hurt. “What’re you doing?” 

“Listen carefully,” Puck leaned in, a dangerous look in his eyes. Sam’s eyes darted around to where people were passing by without even looking his way. “Me and Kurt are not friends. So I’m going to be around, but we can’t be seen being buddy-buddy together, or we’ll both be in the shit. So, some quick Hummel rules. Dude’s gay. I mean, he hasn’t admitted it to anyone, but I mean… he’s super gay. Fashion, Reality TV… whatever. He doesn’t do sports, he doesn’t do nerdy stuff. He’s just… y’know, basically a chick. He doesn’t swear, he doesn’t stand up for himself. He just…exists.” 

Sam listened, watching Puck carefully. “You bully him.” 

“I’m a badass, and he doesn’t fit in.” Puck shrugged, “I’m not looking for judgement here, I’m giving you the download and then I’m just gonna watch from a distance, alright?” He didn’t wait before continuing. “He’s super into Finn Hudson. That’s the QB. Tall, brown hair, I’ll try and find him after I let you go, so I can point him out to you. He doesn’t really do anything, he just makes moon eyes from afar. His mom’s dead. His dad’s a mechanic. People will shove you around, and I know it’s gonna suck, but if you try and shove back there’s a solid chance you’re gonna get your ass beat. So just suck it up.” 

Sam stared at him for a long moment, and then glanced down to Puck’s hands. “Fine. We’re not friends, and I’m sucking it up. Are you done?” 

Puck glanced around and then let go of Sam. “Look—“

Sam turned on his heels before Puck could continue, trying to vanish into the crowd. Puck made no attempt to chase him, but before he had got too far, someone’s arm slipped into his. He blinked in confusion, almost pulling to a stop, but the tiny girl on his arm kept dragging him ahead. 

“Don’t stop, he’s still following us.” She said in a high, bright voice, and Sam quickly continued to move. “I was wondering why you hadn’t signed up yet but now I think it’s quite clear.” 

“It is?” Sam asked, struggling to work out how to keep pace with her without outrunning her or getting left behind.

“Well, yesterday when I explained that show choir is eat or be eaten, that must have put you ill at ease. And then this morning, Puckerman and his thugs threw you into the dumpster again, and it appears he’s been hounding you all day.” The girl gave him a sharp look, “Anyone would feel intimidated under these circumstances. It’s only natural. But you are, to the best of my knowledge, one of the only people in this school who comes close to providing a level of competition.” 

She looked to him clearly waiting for him to say something, so he took a guess at; “Thank you?” 

That seemed to be the correct answer, because she nodded and continued. “Now, you should sign up.” 

“I thought I already had,” Sam glanced back the way he had come from, “Miss. Pillsbury—“ 

“Oh, yes, I mentioned it to her this morning.” The girl rolled her eyes, “It came up quite organically whilst we were discussing my weekly list of issues I’ve noticed.” She paused before she added, “You weren’t an issue, to be clear. I was simply mentioning that I noticed several unsecured ropes backstage, and then she had me explain why I was backstage, and so I said I was teaching you.” 

“Right.” 

There was no warning that she was about to stop moving, and Sam lurched to a halt when she turned to face him so he didn’t barrel into her. She pointed towards a board, “So you’re going to sign up?” 

“I mean… That sounds like it was the plan, right?” Sam glanced at her again, and the pen that had appeared from nowhere and was being pointed directly at his chest like a knife. He took it carefully, not daring to look away from her crazy intense eyes, and then slowly turned towards the board she had guided him to. He scanned it quickly, and found the clipboard in question, and wrote his name underneath the only other name on the list. Rachel Berry. He had to assume that was her.

“You have sloppy handwriting,” Rachel murmured, tilting her head, and Sam took a deep breath so he didn’t immediately try to defend himself. Kurt probably had better handwriting, but he also probably didn’t have dyslexia too. “You didn’t hurt your wrist when you fell in the dumpster, did you?” 

“Maybe?” He handed her back the pen, and it vanished into her pockets. “It doesn’t hurt.” 

“Well, take good care of it. If you get into the Glee Club, there’s no telling what kind of dancing will be required. I don’t want you to drop me in two months, shattering my leg, because you were trying to hide an injury.” 

“I’ll… try not to?” Sam watched as she turned and vanished into the crowd. He glanced around, and without the focus of Rachel, he was suddenly aware of how hostile the environment was. Other people in the halls walked past and sneered at him. As he started walking towards his next class, some guy with a mullet lunged at him suddenly, and although he didn’t drop his bag, he flinched which was clearly enough to draw laughter from everyone. 

Whoever this Kurt guy was… there was no way he could be happy here. Something Puck had said outside struck Sam again with the mild contempt the other students showed him as he entered the classroom. 

You don’t have any friends. 

“Kurt?” 

Sam sighed, coming to a stop in the hallway. He’d hoped to move fast enough to avoid any of the scowls in the hallway, but clearly that wasn’t meant to be in the cards. He turned slowly, looking down to the guy in the wheelchair who was looking guiltily at him. “Yeah?” 

“Uh… I’m supposed to give you this?” The guy in the wheelchair, held out a folded piece of paper, and as Sam reached down to take it, the guy held on tighter and leaned forward, “I’m really sorry. He’s kind of terrifying, but you can run faster than me.” 

Sam’s brow furrowed as the guy let go of the piece of paper and turned away, and opened it. 

Meet me on the roof.

He glanced around, quickly picking out Puck leaning against a nearby locker, watching him carefully. He rolled his eyes, and shoved the paper into his pocket before making a confused gesture. Puck rolled his eyes, and started moving towards the stairs, and Sam gave it a couple of beats before he followed after. Puck stayed just ahead of him, turning corners only after Sam had seen him, until finally, Sam caught sight of him fiddling with some keys and opening another door. Nobody was around to notice as they both climbed higher, and by the time Sam reached the roof, Puck was already sitting on a ledge staring at him.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come.” Puck said, as Sam moved to stand opposite him. “Still Sam?” 

“What gave it away?” Sam crossed his arms.

“I mean, Hummel wouldn’t have come up here willingly.” Puck shrugged, “He’d have thought I was gonna, like, lock him up here.” 

“Are you going to?” 

Puck sighed defeatedly, and let his head flop backwards, “I mean, I dunno. Come here, I wanna check your pulse and stuff.” 

“No?” Sam snorted, “Look, I don’t know Kurt, but I’m pretty sure that he’d not be okay with you being all touch-y with his body.” 

“I mentioned the gay thing, right?” Puck smirked, “I think he’d be pretty on board with my touching his body.” 

“You know you’re nowhere near as funny as you think you are, right?” Sam tried to force down the urge to start shouting, “Why’re you fine treating me like a human being, but you and everyone else at this school treats Kurt like he’s… I’m too angry to even think of a reference. You all glare at him and laugh at him, and—” Sam shook his head, “—What’s the difference?”

“I mean, you seem like a pretty normal guy, but Hummel’s… weird. He isn’t like other guys.” Puck shrugged, “He’s at the bottom of the social hierarchy, and I’m at the top. That’s just how things work. I mean, you’re a jock right? You get it.” 

“I really don’t.”

Puck narrowed his eyes at Sam for a moment, though whether it was confusion or anger was beyond Sam, but then he dropped his chin to his chest, staring at the ground. “You know I came to check on him before I knew he swapped bodies right?”

“After you threw him in and hit his head.” Sam muttered, watching Puck’s head snap back towards him. “You came back because you felt guilty.” 

“Yeah, well, his crush didn’t come back at all. Maybe I did it for the wrong reason, but at least I did it.” Puck’s tone was sharp, but he didn’t make any threatening moves. The two stared at them for a long moment, and it was Puck who looked away first with a frustrated sigh, “Will you come get something to eat?”

“The cafeteria is—“ Sam started, only to watch as Puck slowly disgorged some wrapped sandwiches and snacks from inside his Letterman Jacket. They all pooled on his knees, before he carefully took off the jacket, laying it on the floor and putting the stuff on top. 

“The lunch lady likes me,” he explained when he saw Sam’s confused look. “I thought it was smarter to try and keep you away from people right now, so you didn’t accidentally blow up Hummel’s whole life.” 

Sam almost said something sarcastic, but he was starting to get hungry. And he was a little uncomfortable with the idea of spending Kurt’s money. “Thank you.” He said quietly, sitting down opposite Puck on the ground.

They ate in silence for a little while, before Puck put down his chips and stared at Sam. “Look, you’re probably right. Hummel wouldn’t want me to be touching him if he could help it. But he’d probably have gone straight to the nurse, who would know what to do about a multiple personality thing, or a broken brain. I don’t. So, all I can do is make sure your heart is beating normal, that that bruise on the back of your head isn’t going weird, and that you’re not actively dying in front of me.” 

Sam took another bite of his sandwich, and chewed thoughtfully, before he folded the paper around it again and put it in his lap before he offered his wrist to Puck. A moment passed, before Puck brushed off his hand, and pressed his fingers into Sam’s wrist listening quietly.

“So, you said you’re trying out for quarterback?” Puck asked after a while, pulling his fingers away and pulling out a piece of folded paper that he made a quick note on. “What happened to the last one?” 

“Guy who was the QB graduated, from what I heard. And then the second string guy moved out of town. Blew the whole thing wide open.” Sam shrugged, “I know I’m just a freshman, but I thought, y’know, make a good showing and I could get second string. Give it a year or two and I might make it to starting.”

“Sounds like a solid plan.” Puck muttered, standing up. “Stay still, I’m gonna check the back of your head.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and tilted his head forward as Puck moved to poke and prod at his neck. He let out a hiss as Puck pressed on a sore spot, and Puck scoffed.

“Man up, Evans.” 

“Bite me, Puckerman.” Sam muttered back, and Puck chuckled before moving to the other side of the jacket and sitting down. “What’s the damage?”

“Hummel’s probably gonna wake up with a weird bruise,” Puck picked up his bag of chips, “but it’s not bleeding, or swelling up, or like, growing brain tentacles, so…” 

“That was a worry? Brain tentacles?” Sam couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Hey, I don’t know what happens when people swap brains. Or… souls?” Puck offered the bag of chips towards Sam, who took a couple. “I’m thinking, after school, I drive Kurt’s SUV to my place. We hang out there for as long as we can—“ 

“After school, I’ve got to do his Glee Club audition.” 

Puck hesitated, his face halfway through amusement and confusion. “What?” 

“His Glee Club audition is after school.” Sam explained, “In the auditorium.” 

“Yeah, but you’re not… I mean, you don’t have to—“ 

“Listen, if I had a football tryout today, and Kurt was in my body? I’d want him to go and do his best for me—“

“Trust me, no you wouldn’t. Dude hasn’t played a sport in years.” Puck looked thoroughly amused, “You should see the look he gives Tanaka every class.” 

“It’s better than me just not showing up for a tryout.” Sam shrugged, “And I mean, I’m not a bad singer. I can sing whatever the audition thing is, and then Kurt can be like, ‘Oh, I was really nervous. Can I try again?’” 

“You’re trying to give me an ulcer, aren’t you?” Puck huffed, “Fine. You sing for Homo-Explosion. And then we go to my house. See if we can wait it out, and if not, I drive you back to Hummel’s house and you go straight to bed. Don’t pass go, don’t collect $200, do not talk to Burt Hummel.”

“His dad?” Sam checked, and Puck nodded. “Fine. But, you’ve gotta stop on the homophobia, man.” 

“Why, are you gay?” Puck snorted as he looked away, and then paused, looking at Sam expectantly.

“I’m not gay. But I don’t think it’s funny, or cool, or badass. It just makes you look like a bigot.” Sam focused on keeping his face as neutral as he could, “You’re not gay for singing, or being in a glee club. You’re gay for… being gay. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Puck watched him for a moment, and then shrugged, “Fine. I’ll lay off when we’re alone.” 

“I guess that’s all I’m gonna get out of you,” Sam sighed, shaking his head, “You don’t seem like the biggest douchebag I’ve ever met. But you’re treating me a lot better than I guess you’ve ever treated Kurt. Or the guy in the wheelchair.” 

“Look, maybe where you’re from it’s different, but this school is predator or prey. I’m a badass, sure, but that’s because people are scared of me. The minute that slips, I’m getting slushie facials right next to Hummel.” Puck looked a little smaller as he spoke, staring into the bag of chips with all his focus. “I’m looking out for number one. Everyone just hates me, because I’m the one winning the game.” 

“You call it a game, but… it’s your life. It’s Kurt’s life too.” Sam sighed, moving to open his sandwich again. “I don’t know him, but… I don’t think he deserves the way people look at him, just because he’s not… what you all think of as a normal guy.” 

They finished their lunch in silence, and Sam made sure to be on his feet before Puck. He stood by the door whilst Puck shook off his Letterman and slipped it onto his shoulders. Turning to look at Sam, he chuckled and shook his head, “You think I’m really going to lock you on the roof?” 

“I’m not gonna give you the option,” Sam muttered, and stepped onto the stairs. Two more periods, an audition, and then… Well, at least he’d be out of this school.

Sam didn’t get the chance to find Puck after his last class, but there was some part of him that knew that he wouldn’t have come with him anyway. It wasn’t badass to come to a Glee Club audition, after all. And Sam didn’t know if he really wanted him to, either. 

Except for it had been way too many hours, and Sam hadn’t felt anything that he could even pretend felt like he was swapping back. And what if he didn’t? What if this wasn’t some weird temporary thing, and he was stuck in Kurt’s body now? He could maybe pull off just being a little weird for a day, but he’d never convince Kurt’s dad he was actually Kurt for the rest of his life. And joining a Glee Club might sound fun, but… The way people treated Kurt at this school wasn’t something Sam could ignore…

He kept his head down as he approached the auditorium. His heart was hammering in his chest, and everything felt like a dull roar around him. Past the stage door things were, for a moment, peacefully quieter.

“Are y-y-y-you here to try-out?” A voice spoke from nearby and Sam almost leapt out of his skin, turning to the sound of the voice. The girl seemed as surprised by his flinching as he had by her voice. 

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” He forced down his nerves and instead smiled offering a hand. “You too?” 

She nodded and smiled shyly, “Tina.” 

“S—“ Sam caught himself, and he could feel his smile flicker a little, “Kurt.” 

“I g-g-guessed.” She glanced around, “The only other boy to sign up w-w-was Artie.” 

“Artie?” Sam glanced around, and Tina turned her attention towards another area of the stage, where the guy who had handed him Puck’s note earlier was watching him from behind a curtain. “Oh. Hey, Artie.” 

“’Sup.” Artie nodded slowly, “I kind of thought we’d be scraping you off the front steps after lunch.” 

Sam blinked and then shook his head, “No, Puckerman wanted to scare me. He locked me up on the roof, and then came back just before lunch was over and let me out.” 

“I g-g-guess that even jocks have a l-l-limit.” Tina muttered under her breath, and Sam wasn’t sure what exact emotion it was that suddenly filled his chest, but wherever it sat between frustration and shame, there was a lot of it.

“Mercedes is up first,” Artie said quietly, moving closer to them. “And Rachel is watching from the other side. Girl said she needed space to warm up, but I think it’s so she can get the best view of us all.” 

“She’s… intense?” Sam shrugged, “But she tried to help me out when Puck was bothering me this morning?” 

Whatever the other two were going to respond with was cut off by Mr. Schuester calling for someone called Mercedes. Sam turned to watch as a girl stepped out from behind another curtained area, and if he weren’t so concerned about his own situation, he knew that he’d have been staring after her as she passed.

“You should warm up,” Artie whispered as he reached into his bag on the back of the wheelchair. “Do you have your sheet music?”

“Sheet Music?” Sam’s heart skipped a beat, and he quickly pulled open Kurt’s bag, flicking through the notebooks, until he found a set of papers. Pulling them out, he flashed them at the two of them, “guess so.” 

“Mister Cellophane?” Tina leaned in to read the title. “Have you listened to it a lot?”

Sam glanced back down at the paper and swallowed the ball of fear that had settled in his throat. “I—“ 

Mercedes’ voice cut off their questions and Sam couldn’t help but turn to look at the stage with the others. It was powerful, and amazing, and distracting enough that neither of the other people waiting seemed to notice that he was having a mild freak out. He’d been so busy worrying about getting through the classes that were way above his level, and the glares in the hallway, and dealing with Puck, and dealing with the fact he was in the wrong body, that he hadn’t even thought about the audition song. And there wasn’t another copy of this music in Kurt’s bag, so he couldn’t just audition holding the lyrics. 

He clapped along with the others, and was about to bow out and freak out somewhere else, when Tina gestured to the stage. 

“Y-Y-You’re up.” 

The few feet onto the stage felt like a death march, and he was kind of hoping that this feeling of panic and nausea was a sign that he was about to swap back to his own body, but by the time he hit center stage, he knew that was a pipe dream.

“Alright, Kurt. What’re you going to be singing for us today?” A voice came over the speakers, and Sam glanced up towards them, before looking out towards the teacher sat at a desk back in the audience. 

“Uh, I was… planning on singing Mr. Cellophane?” He said, glancing down at the sheet music, “but I’ve forgotten it.” 

“The song?” The teacher’s voice sounded mildly amused, “You seem like the kind of guy who would know Chicago pretty well.” 

Sam nodded slowly, and swallowed, glancing around. “Sorry.” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” The teacher said, his tone reassuring. “Take a deep breath. You can sing whatever you want, acapella.” 

Sam nodded, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment. He needed to think of a song. Something that he knew, but something that would probably be in Kurt’s wheelhouse. His fingers tapped at his thigh for a moment, and then he carefully opened them again. “Do you have a guitar?” 

“I think there’s one back there?” The teacher sounded confused, and Sam quickly glanced past the piano player who was watching him silently, to another collection of instruments. He found a guitar easily enough, and quickly slung it over his shoulder, checking that it was tuned. 

“Alright, I’m ready.” He said carefully, forcing himself to take a long breath. Kurt’s fingers didn’t have the callouses his fingers did, but he was pretty sure he could get through one song.

I was ridin' shotgun with my hair undone

In the front seat of his car

He's got a one-hand feel on the steering wheel

The other on my heart

It was a little bit more country than Sam expected Kurt would usually sing, but Taylor Swift was a pretty popular artist, and the guitar playing would definitely make up for Sam’s nervousness. He’d learnt to play the song for Stacy when it first came out, the two of them sitting on the couch, Stacy watching his fingers play along the chords and smiling and clapping.

I was walkin' up the front porch steps after everything that day

Had gone all wrong and been trampled on

And lost and thrown away

Got to the hallway, well on my way

To my lovin' bed

I almost didn't notice all the roses

And the note that said

It was easy to get caught up in the music, and ignore the eyes on him. Honestly, he really did enjoy performing. It just wasn’t something he had really put a lot of effort into. But there was something strangely electrifying about being on a stage, performing for an audience, even if that audience was just one teacher and the other people auditioning in the wings. 

I was ridin' shotgun with my hair undone

In the front seat of his car

I grabbed a pen and an old napkin

And I wrote down our song

He held the last note for a moment, and then let it fade. He stood nervously, very aware of how hard his heart was beating, or the pain in his fingers. There was some clapping from the darkness of the audience, and Sam smiled nervously, slipping the guitar over his shoulder.

“That’s… not what I expected from you, Kurt,” the teacher called, “Good work. I’ll be putting up the list tomorrow. But you did well. No need to be nervous.” 

“Thank you,” Sam bowed awkwardly, and put the guitar back before he jogged off the other end of the stage. Rachel and Mercedes looked as surprised as the teacher had, but Sam just gave them a polite nod before he slipped out into the hallway.

Of course, once he was out of the room, he wasn’t quite sure where to go. Sam glanced both ways, and was almost ready to start walking in a random direction when another door further up the hall opened, and Puck slipped out. Sam nodded sharply, glancing around the mostly empty corridor trying to work out if he could approach, but Puck was already shaking his head, and pulling Kurt’s keys out of his jacket, before turning and making a beeline for the front of the school. 

Sam managed to keep his distance behind him, and avoid anyone’s ire, until he was slipping into the passenger side of Kurt’s SUV, and Puck was checking the mirrors, and moving the seat around. Puck seemed content for them to sit in silence, but the uncomfortableness weighed on Sam, until he finally asked, “Can you even drive?” 

“Like, in terms of skill, or legality?” Puck’s lips twitched up into a smile for half a second. “I can get us to my place, as long as we’re not pulled over.” 

“That’s probably not as comforting as you think it is.” Sam grumbled as he pulled the seatbelt into position.

“I— uh—“ Puck checked the visor again, and then pressed it back up into the ceiling, “I really don’t know what to say about that.” 

“About me not being comforted?” 

“About your Glee Club thing,” Puck narrowed his eyes. “I mean, it was pretty gay.” 

“It wasn’t—“ 

“You were singing about some dude driving you somewhere,” Puck rolled his eyes, “It was pretty gay…” he trailed off for a moment, before he shrugged, “…but it was pretty good too.” 

“You’re admitting something that’s gay can be okay?”

Puck’s nose wrinkled, “Whatever. Glee Club is still lame. I’m just saying that my eyes didn’t start bleeding or whatever.” 

“You’re real charming, you know that?” Sam rolled his eyes, and then gestured, “Dude, put your seatbelt on.” 

“Fine!” Puck rolled his eyes dramatically and pulled it across and clicked it into place. “Happy?” 

“Look, from the sounds of it, you don’t have a license, and I’m fifteen.” Sam gestured rapidly between them. “I’m just ready for—“ His words suddenly turned to a hiss of pain, and he instinctively reached down to wrap his hands around his ankle that throbbed suddenly. Puck was immediately unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning in, but as quickly as the pain started, it faded away. Sam slowly straightened up, but before he could say anything, Puck was jabbing his neck with his fingers. “Puck!”

“Evans? Hummel? Personality number three who hungers for human flesh?” Puck asked, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Still me. My ankle just…” He trailed off, rolling it experimentally. “I think it’s wearing off.” 

“Your ankle?” Puck paused, and then shook his head, “No, yeah, the body swap. Because you hurt your ankle in your body?” 

“Maybe?” Sam shrugged, and reached for the back of his neck, “Any brain tentacles?” 

“Ha,” Puck muttered sarcastically, but Sam still felt his hand graze against the back of Sam’s neck. “No, you’re good.” 

“Right.” Sam nodded, “Okay, so… we should get back to your house.” 

“Right, yeah.” Puck nodded, and quickly clipped his own belt back into place. “Try to stay Sam until we get there at least. I don’t need Hummel freaking out whilst I’m driving.” 

“Alright, welcome to Chez Puckerman.” Puck announced as they began climbing the stairs. “My mom’s probably still out picking up my sister, so we’ve kind of got the place to ourselves for a while. If she asks, you’re tutoring me or something.” 

“Alright,” Sam muttered, watching as Puck unlocked the door and gestured him into the house, “US History, like you said to Miss. Pillsbury.” 

“Sure, yeah, whatever.” Puck shrugged, and stepped into the house. Sam quickly followed, and closed the door behind him as Puck started climbing another set of stairs, turning back to look at Sam exasperatedly, “Hurry up.”

“Where are we even going?” Sam muttered, but quickly followed Puck up the stairs and into one of the rooms.

“This is where the magic happens,” Puck announced, “now Hummel can brag about how he’s seen the inside of my bedroom.” 

“You think he’s going to be bragging about that?” Sam looked around, trying not to smile as he saw the general state of the room, “What, picking up after yourself isn’t badass?” 

Puck looked around, and then rolled his eyes before kicking his dirty clothes over under the window. “I was looking for something this morning. Whatever, I didn’t expect company after school.” 

Sam shrugged and wandered around the room. “So… uh… what do you do for fun in here?” 

“Nothing I’m planning on doing with Hummel.” Puck chuckled to himself and collapsed back onto his bed. “I mean, I’ve got Mario Kart?”

“I’m really learning some stuff here. Tidying clothes, not badass. Mario Kart, badass.” Sam grinned, and almost laughed when Puck flipped him the bird, but before he could agree to the game, the phone in his pocket began to buzz. On instinct, he pulled it out, and then froze when he saw the number showing up as Dad. Puck leaned over to look too, and sucked a breath in between his teeth. 

“You’ve gotta answer it!” 

“What do I say?!” Sam hissed back, as though the phone could hear him. 

“You’re at a friend’s house. You’ll be back when you’re done?” Puck made helpless gestures, “It’s gonna be worse if he rings twice.” 

Sam moved his finger towards the answer button and then shook his head, “I can’t—“ 

Puck didn’t seem to care that this was terrifying, because he reached forward and jabbed the button, before jerking Sam’s hand towards his face. Sam wanted to yell at him, but there was a gruff voice asking “Kurt? You there?”

“Dad?” Sam put his finger to his other ear like it’d help him here better. “Is everything… okay?” 

“Yeah, was just worried. You usually swing by the garage.” The gruff voice continued, “You heading home?” 

“Soon.” Sam swallowed, “I was at the try-out?”

“You found a team to join? That’s great, kid.” 

Sam glanced to Puck, wincing, “Yeah. I’m just hanging out with a friend. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” 

“Hey, no rush. You should celebrate. What’re you doing?” 

“Just talking about—“ Sam glanced around the room for anything that could be a topic, and came to a halt on some of Puckerman’s trophies. “—Football.” 

He immediately felt Puck’s hand on his arm, whipping Sam around to see him shaking his head emphatically.

“Football?” The gruff voice sounded confused.

“Football… on Ice. It’s this show—“ 

“Oh, yeah, I think you mentioned it. Well, I hope you and this girl are having fun. Let me know if you’re gonna be late to start dinner?” 

“Will do, dad.” Sam grimaced, and the line clicked closed again. Puck stared at him for a long moment, and Sam let out a huff, “What?”

“Football on Ice?” Puck grinned, clearly holding back laughter. “We’re talking about Football on Ice?” 

“Well, Kurt’s dad assumed you’re a girl so…” Sam shot back, and Puck laughed as he moved to start setting up the game system by the small TV. Sam watched for a moment, wondering how to phrase his next question,“Kurt’s dad doesn’t sound like how you described Kurt.” 

“Yeah, well, sometimes the apple drops from the tree, and sometimes it gets caught in a hurricane or something.” Puck shrugged, “Burt Hummel’s a mechanic. He’s like this big, bald bulldozer of a guy. Karofsky’s dad used to play football with him in High School, according to Karofsky at least. I mean, you wouldn’t look at the two of them and think ‘oh, yeah, that’s his kid.’”

Sam nodded quietly, and then shrugged, “Maybe Glee Club’ll be good for him.” 

“How can something like that be good for anyone?” Puck shifted, almost uncomfortably. “Like you got a good day when nobody threw a slushy in his face. But when people see him getting up on stage and singing ‘I Will Survive’, it’s going to be open season on him.” 

“I mean, maybe? But I’ve been Kurt for one day, and it feels like it’s pretty much open season on him already.” Sam shrugged, “It sounds like he could do with some friends. Better to be miserable together than miserable on your own.” 

Puck considered him for a moment, his face carefully neutral, before he moved to one of his draws and pulled out a video camera. He walked back, and shoved it into Sam’s hands. “Here.” 

“What?”

“Look, I don’t know what it’s going to be like when you stop being Sam and go back to being Kurt . I mean, I’m kind of hoping he remembers the whole thing so I can just be an asshole, but if he doesn’t? He’s not going to know where he is, or why he’s here. He’s just going to suddenly be in my room, and whilst it’s probably a dream come true? It’s also probably going to freak him out. He’s not going to trust me to tell him anything.” 

Sam nodded slowly, and glanced back down at the camera and back to Puck, “So you want to… record a video?” 

“I want you to record a video,” Puck shrugged, “Then there’s gonna be proof that he was… someone else. That he came here because of you, not because I kidnapped him or something.” 

Sam looked at it for a moment, and then shrugged, handing the camera back to Puck. “Alright. I’ll record it. But you need to talk to him. You need to answer whatever questions he has, without being an asshole.” 

“What am I supposed to answer? Cause the main question, the one I’m still going to be trying to work out when I’m 80, is ‘how did this happen?’” Puck muttered, but he grabbed a chair from his desk and swung it around so he could sit down. Sam took a deep breath, pacing for a moment, before he turned towards the bed. Puck hit the button before he even got there, and he sat down slowly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. 

“Uh, Hi.” He started, and then quickly added, “Kurt.” As though he needed to make it clear who he was talking to. It felt awkward and stilted, but Sam just tried to think about what he’d need to hear if he suddenly woke up somewhere else. “Alright, this is going to sound really weird, but I’m hoping some… like, visual proof will help? Like, seeing is believing, right?” 

Puck snorted, and mouthed ‘seeing is believing? ’ back to him sarcastically. Sam wanted to snap at him, but he was very aware of the camera, and so he instead just rolled his eyes, and gave Puck a pointed look

“Ignore him.” He said, and then quickly added, “Or, I mean, don’t. He-“ 

Puck was making the cut gesture rapidly, and Sam stammered for a moment before he managed to catch himself

 “No, yeah, I should start at the start.” He sighed, rubbing his face. “Alright. So, my name is Sam. Sam Evans. I’m fifteen years old, I just started my freshman year at my school in Tennessee.”

Puck gave him a thumbs up, and that helped his confidence grow. He quickly ran through his current situation in his own body. The flu, spraining his ankle. His last memory of falling in the bathroom, which made Puck tilt his head curiously. 

“Which sounds like something we both did? I don’t think that explains it though, cause, I mean, just in terms of numbers, a whole bunch of people have to hit their heads at the same time and they don’t swap bodies.” He looked over to Puck as though he might be able to agree. 

“I think… I mean, the painkillers were basically knocking me out, so you might have slept through the whole thing on my end? But I did my best to… be you? Puck’ll explain what happened after I woke up, but I don’t think I messed anything up too bad. There wasn’t exactly like… an instruction manual to being Kurt Hummel, you know?” It was supposed to be a joke, but he could barely smile as a wave of unease built up inside him. What if he had somehow made everything worse for Kurt? What if he— Puck made a gesture to carry on, and Sam tried to shrug it off. “and since I don’t really know what made it happen this time? I’m not sure it’s not going to happen again. So I’m going to write down all the important stuff about me, and leave it somewhere where you’ll know to look for it. I haven’t worked it out yet, but I’ll try and make it super obvious.”

Puck continued to stare at him, but Sam’s attention drifted back to the camera. He shuffled uncomfortably under it’s unblinking gaze, as his mind raced over what Kurt was going to see. Someone piloting his body? Someone who had taken over his life for a day, and brought him to his bullies room? Puck made a gesture to continue, but it felt hazy on his periphery, and Sam shuffled more. 

“I hope I’m not crazy? I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m real. I have a mom and a dad, and a brother and sister. I’m trying out for my school football team when I get back on my feet. I think I’m real, but I think that’s what everyone would think right?” He took a deep breath, but even he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. “I’m gonna go, because I’m freaking out.” 

Puck frowned, and looked like he was about to lower the camera, but Sam shook his head sharply as another thought came to him. He was leaving this for Kurt, but Kurt wasn’t going to be able to send one back to him. If this was going to happen again, they needed some way of communicating. “I think, uh, it’d be a good idea to get a… diary or something? In case we swap again, we can leave like… messages for each other?” 

He tried to take another breath, but it felt shallower, less useful, and he managed to glance at Puck.

“I don’t know how you finish a message to yourself, but…” 

Puck had already put down the camera and was moving to kneel in front of him, looking concerned, “Sam, dude, are you okay?” 

“No?” Sam laughed a little hysterically, his hand coming up to cover his mouth quickly. “What if this happens again, Puck? What if… What if we don’t switch back? Or if we—“ 

“Hey, listen,” Puck reached up and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, drawing his attention to him. “Whatever happens? We’ll work it out. And like, you’re obviously freaking out right now. Anyone would be. But you said it felt like you might be swapping back. So instead of panicking about forever, let's just… get you out of that gay ass sweater, and play some Mario Kart. Give it an hour. Then we can panic.” 

Sam forced himself to take a deep breath, and nodded slowly. Puck reached down and helped him pull the tight sweater off, and by the time Puck was holding it in his hands, Sam felt stable enough to crack a small smile. “Y’see, now Kurt can tell everyone you were undressing him in your room too.” 

“Ha ha.” Puck rolled his eyes and almost tossed the sweater aside, before he caught himself. Instead he moved over to the back of his door where a nice shirt and trousers were hung up, and carelessly tossed them over the back of the chair, before he put the sweater on a hanger. He turned back towards Sam and shoved his hands in his pocket. “What? He’s always getting Hudson to like, hold his jacket or his bag, or whatever. If I’m supposed to explain all this bullshit, I need him not to start crying about wrinkles.” 

“See? You can be a normal person,” Sam chuckled, and then dodged as Puck grabbed one of his pillows and swung it at him. “Alright, alright. So, Mario Kart?”

“…so basically we played Mario Kart for an hour or so, and then Evans started to feel really sleepy. He kinda just… slumped down, and fell asleep, so I laid him, or I guess you? I laid whoever was in there down on the bed. And then I kind of had a mini freakout and decided I should wait outside until you woke up.” Puck finished, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall behind his bed again. “Is there any chance you remember any of that?” 

“I don’t.” Kurt shook his head. “So… I swapped bodies with…” Even saying it felt ridiculous. 

“I honestly don’t know. But if you’re not gonna let me check for any weird stuff with your head, I’ve basically done my good deeds for the whole year.” Puck shrugged, “Sam seemed like an okay guy, but now you’re Hummel again.” 

“Has anyone ever told you how charming you are?” Kurt muttered sarcastically, climbing to his feet, pausing when Puck’s lips quirked up. “What?”

“I mean, Sam made a pretty similar joke.” Puck shrugged, standing up too, “You know, you can be pretty funny, Hummel. You’re so gay it’s hard to look at, but sometimes you’ve say real funny one liners. You just need to grow a backbone and not mutter them, or whisper them under your breath.” 

“I’ll take it under advisement.” Kurt rolled his eyes, and quickly patted himself down before he held out his hand. “Can I have my keys?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Puck reached into his pocket and tossed them to Kurt. “Pretty sick ride.”

Kurt wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. “Thank you?” 

Puck shrugged in response, “So, like, you remember all the stuff right?”

“I think so? My dad thinks I was at a friend's house watching…. Football on Ice .” He mimed the quotation marks. “The list for Glee Club goes up tomorrow. If anyone cared to note me as absent, I missed two periods yesterday, and I had a conversation with Rachel Berry that you didn’t overhear. And Artie gave me a note from you at lunch.”

“Sounds about right.” Puck gestured to the door, “I’ll walk you out, so my mom doesn’t have a fit about me being rude.” 

Kurt rolled his eyes, but let Puck lead him silently down the stairs, and to the front door. There was the sound of the TV from a room further into the house, but Kurt couldn’t see it from where he was, and Puck was quick to push him out of the door. 

The air was cold on his skin, but the sense memory of being so warm and feverish made it feel almost pleasant in comparison. The car was in the state Puck had confessed to, the glovebox in disarray and the box that he tried to pretend didn’t exist on clear display. He put the seat back into the correct position, and started the car, before he called his dad.

“Hey, Kurt. Everything alright?” 

Kurt felt some of the tension ease away at the sound of his dad’s voice, and he nodded to himself before he forced a smile, “Yeah, dad. I just wanted to let you know I was on my way home.” 

“Alright. You feeling up to cooking, or should we order in?”

“Honestly, let’s order in.” Kurt sighed, “It’s been a very long day.” 

“Yeah, I can’t wait to hear about this tryout you went to,” His dad sounded really enthusiastic, “And you’re already hanging out with someone from the team?”  

“I’m not sure yet,” Kurt swapped the phone to his other ear, his hand coming up to rub at the sore spot on his neck. “We’ll see what happens. I might not have even made the… the team, dad.”

“Hey, you know, what matters is you put yourself out there, kid.” His dad sounded so proud that it kind of stung at Kurt’s chest. “I’ll order the usual.” 

“I’ll be home soon.” Kurt smiled and ended the call, before checking his mirrors one last time, and reversing away from Puck’s house. 

It was weird. It was impossible. But it was over. And now he never needed to think about it again