Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/441859.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Character:
      Kurt_Hummel, Noah_Puckerman
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Torture, Kidnapping, Rape, Murder, Self-Harm, PTSD, Depression,
      Crime, no_srsly_bad_stuff_happens, Original_Character(s), Original
      Character_Death(s)
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-06-23 Completed: 2012-08-21 Chapters: 82/82 Words: 139987
****** By Any Other Name ******
by KindreTurnany
Summary
     Kurt had never felt he should have a different name before. He had
     never needed to. But he knew what was coming... and he'd rather be
     someone else when that happened.
Notes
     Warnings: murder, kidnapping, torture, rape, depression, self-harm
     This fic does contain original characters. For the most part, I have
     made an active attempt not to overuse them, but an original character
     does feature as the villain here, meaning he gets a fair amount of
     screen time.
***** Kurt: The Only Thing He Could *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
[Reach]
"Oh, God, and this one's a fucking faggot." The burly man gestured drunkenly at
Kurt with the barrel of his gun. "You can tell just by looking at his God-
forsaken, flaming ass."
Kurt wished he could just wake up. His dad squeezed his hand, but Kurt couldn't
seem to work up the strength to return the gesture. All he could focus on was
the cold plaster against his back and the barrel of that gun, probably still
warm from shooting the brave man who had tried to disarm the gunman.
"I still can't figure out why the fuck Banks sent me to this shithole of a town
in the first place," the man continued as he finally moved his gun to face away
from Kurt. "Ain't enough dough in the whole town to match a decent job in,
well, any fucking place not Lima, Ohio."
Desperately, Kurt wished the man would argue himself out of the bank and off to
a big city full of big banks with big bucks. His phone vibrated again. It was
on silent, but it buzzed against the counter where the robbers had made
everyone dump their cell phones.
"Shit, Pierce," the second gunman said as he returned to the front of the bank.
"Banks isn't paying us to put on a show for the rednecks out here. So chill the
fuck out." With that he returned to the vault in the back of the building.
Pierce practically pouted. "You hear that, faggot?" he pointed his weapon at
Kurt again, and the boy held his breath. "I'm not to put on a show. Well why
don't you put one on for us, huh? That getup you're wearing practically is
one." He laughed at his own joke as he pulled roughly on Kurt's arm. Burt tried
to hold onto his son, but his fingers slipped away from Kurt's when the burly
gunman pressed the still-warm barrel of his gun to Kurt's temple and stared
pointedly at the older Hummel's hand. "So, tell me kid, what's got you so
fucking gay? Is it dance? Painting? Castration?" He laughed again and shook the
boy when he didn't answer. "Well?"
Kurt opened his mouth but closed it again when nothing came out. "I…" He didn't
know what he was supposed to do. His mouth was so dry he didn't think he would
be able to say anything even if he could think of the words. They didn't much
seem to matter.
They seemed even less important with that warm barrel shoved between his lips
and against his tongue.
"You best answer me when I'm asking you something, unless you don't want a
mouth to be answering with anymore." He spoke with his mouth so close to Kurt's
face that the countertenor could smell his tic tac breath.
The gun slid slowly from Kurt's mouth, slick and shiny with spit he hadn't been
able to find before. "I sing," he offered, hoping it was… gay enough for
Pierce.
He laughed, and Kurt wanted to slap himself in the face for feeling relieved.
"Well, little fag, sing for us."
Kurt had never been at a loss for what to sing before. He gaped at the madman
who kept calling him a faggot, thinking that Defying Gravity hardly seemed
appropriate for the situation. He almost laughed when his half-crazed terror
crashed headfirst into a perfectly calm thought on song choice. He felt like
there shouldn't have been room in his head for both.
When the bank robber took a step toward the still-silent boy, he hastily backed
away and opened his mouth. He didn't know what he was going to sing until he'd
started, and then he wasn't sure if he should laugh, keep singing, or beg to
take it back.
Whenever I feel afraid
I hold my head erect
And whistle a happy tune
So no one will suspect
I'm afraid
Instead of shooting Kurt, Pierce laughed. "Oh, God, kid, you are so fucking
gay!" He actually slapped his thigh with his gun. "My mother loved that song
right up to the day I killed her dead." He bent over with laughter, and then
Burt was there.
Kurt's dad tackled the man, wrapping his arm around Pierce's gun arm so he
couldn't raise the weapon. The boy stared open-mouthed as the two men wrestled
on the floor. He took a step back and another forward.
"What am I supposed to do?" he whispered to himself only moments before Burt
managed to pry Pierce's fingers loose and the gun clattered to the floor.
The two men's struggling suddenly echoed in an otherwise silent room. It had
seemed quiet before, but now the shuffling, sniffling, and crying had stopped
as everyone stared at the gun. Pierce's partner was in the back. Pierce was
occupied. Kurt's fingers closed around the grip before he realized he had
labeled the weapon as freedom.
"Shit, Wayne!" Pierce screamed but didn't get any more out before Burt slammed
his fist into the robber's mouth.
The second man came out from the back glowering. "What the hell do you...?" He
stopped and raised his gun, pointing it straight at Kurt who returned the favor
without thinking too much about what that would mean. "Calm down, son, you
don't know what you're doing there."
He didn't. Kurt's hands began shaking as it dawned on him that he was pointed a
loaded gun at another human being.
"See, you don't want to shoot anyone. Just lay the gun down and we'll have a
nice chat, okay?" Wayne advanced slowly toward Kurt as he spoke in a low,
soothing voice.
"No!" Kurt shook his head but stopped and stared straight at Wayne once he
realized that meant he couldn't aim. "D-d-don't come any… oh, shit, just stay
there." Kurt's voice seemed small compared to the weight in his hands.
"I won't get any closer, kid. We can talk from here, eh?" He began inching
toward the counter, which wasn't closer to Kurt but also wasn't where Wayne
stood now.
"I said stay there." Kurt's voice broke, but he didn't stutter this time.
Wayne stopped and nodded. "Okay, okay. I'm reasonable. I'll stay right here.
Now how about we let you go outside, and you give us the gun? That sounds
reasonable too."
It actually didn't, but Kurt was too shaken to figure out why. Then he saw
Wayne's gun still pointed at him and had an idea of what the problem could be.
"N-no. I…" He swallowed, and it felt like his whole dried out tongue lodged in
his throat. "Put your gun down."
Wayne actually smiled."Kid, of the two of us, you're the least likely to shoot,
which means your threats are the least worrisome. I've tried to be nice, but
you're obviously too scared shitless to talk. So just put the gun down. Now."
Wayne raised his own gun, making it more obvious than ever that he was ready to
shoot Kurt.
Kurt hesitated a moment, then did the only thing he could think to do. He
pulled the trigger.
Chapter End Notes
     The song is "I Whistle a Happy Tune" from The King and I.
***** Finn: Shades of the Same *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Finn and his mom watched the news together sometimes. Not a lot because it was
always boring or depressing, and Finn could hear about it all at school the
next day, but sometimes. They hadn't really been watching a few nights ago, but
the TV had been on with the sound turned down. And they saw a boy bundled away
from the camera that found him anyway and stared into the wide-eyed, tear-
stained face of Kurt Hummel.
They didn't turn it up. They called Burt.
Now Finn just wished the Hudsons had needed to wait for Burt to call because
everyone knew. The whole town had seen Kurt on the news and heard about how he
shot a man dead. And while the news reporter called him a hero, there were
others who claimed Kurt was "making trouble" with the bank robbers, that he put
innocent people in danger by gaying it up when he should have tuned it down.
Finn hated them for it. But it helped that Kurt's friends surrounded and
supported him, especially the glee club. For some reason, Finn thought at first
that it would only be glee club coming by Kurt's house over the few days he
took off from school. He'd known Kurt claimedto be more popular than Rachel,
but even Finn had few close friends outside the club—and he was the
quarterback. Yeah, a few of the guys on the team still hung out with him
sometimes, but he had realized they weren't all that close as his friendships
in glee grew. It hadn't occurred to him that Kurt, who definitely didn't have
many guy friends outside of glee, was friends with just about every girl he'd
ever met, ever. And they all came to his house to wish him well. It was pretty
awesome.
"Earth to Hudson," Kurt said, and it had the sound of something he'd said a few
times.
"Sorry, man, spaced out." Finn smiled and hoped Kurt wouldn't be upset at him.
He'd flown off the handle for some really random stuff over the past few days.
Finn didn't mind because Burt had explained that Kurt needed to readjust after
such a trauma-something, but he still would rather Kurt was happy.
"Obviously. Remember ten minutes ago when I said Mercedes and Tina would be
here in five? Well, they're waiting now, and I still haven't found the right
outfit for a shopping trip on which I don't intend to purchase anything. How do
you plan for something like that?" He lifted two equally girlie shirts and
asked, "Which of these says 'I have plenty of money and have chosen not to
spend it here because your products are of inferior quality and not because my
dad told me not to get anything today'?"
"Umm…" Finn stared blankly. They honestly looked like the same shirt in
different shades of the same color.
"Choose one at random, frankenteen." Finn pointed and Kurt grinned. "Thanks!"
"Hey, Kurt," Finn said as the countertenor finished dressing. "If you have any
problems, call me, okay? I'm not, you know, doing anything today. Just movies
and homework, so I'm here for you."
"You haven't written your essay on the French Revolution yet, have you?" Kurt
arched an eyebrow, and probably had a right to since he'd finished his over a
week ago.
"I started to work on starting part of it, but that's not the point. You'll
call me?"
Kurt sighed dramatically and adjusted his hair in the mirror of his vanity.
"Sure, Finn, but I'll be fine."
Finn shuffled his feet. "You've only really been out that time we went to rent
a movie, and you sort of freaked out when that guy bumped into you."
"That was days ago. I've talked with Janice about it, and I should be fine.
Besides, Mercedes and Tina will be with me the whole time. I'm not even allowed
to go into a dressing room or restroom." He paused. "Tell me again why you
can't just go? Because I'd hate not to pee all day long, and they won't let me
in the women's restroom anymore."
"Homework. And it's like a test without any test sheet, or something. Burt said
so." All Finn remembered of that conversation was something about Kurt being
comfortable around his family—which it felt kind of awesome to be included in
even if Finn still felt terrible for what Kurt was going through—but they
couldn't always be attached to his hip. They had talked about it during dinner,
and Finn had been caught between Burt talking about Kurt's trip to the mall and
Kurt talking about all the ingredients of whatever they were eating. It was
weird Kurt told them everything in it, but Finn still didn't have a clue what
it was.
"I know, I know." Kurt waved his hand like he could brush the topic aside. "How
do I look?" He sighed. "No, Finn, I don't really expect you to answer that.
I'll call if there's trouble or when we're heading back, whichever comes
first." He was out of the basement by the time he finished talking.
Finn figured he should either start his essay or Google how to pronounce
"guillotine." He chose Google, which turned into Facebook. That became trying
to get free cows for his farm. By the time Kurt called, Finn was staring at a
picture of a cow that was born with one giant eye in the middle of its face and
considering finding some porn because that would scare him less.
"Hey, Kurt," Finn tried to sound casual just in case Kurt just wanted to let
him know they were on their way back. It made Kurt feel like an unpronounceable
word when Finn expected him to be freaking at times when he was fine. The other
way around didn't seem to bother him though.
The first sound Kurt made was a sniffle. "Hey, Finn." He sounded like he was
crying.
"Are you okay? Do I need to come get you?" Finn stood and started looking
around for his keys.
"No, we're already heading back. Tina drove, remember?" He panted a little, but
mostly sounded okay, so Finn sat back down.
"What happened?"
"Nothing really. There were just… a lot of people. It felt… I don't know,
crowded, like I couldn't have enough space ever again. I was fine, really, it
just… it built up, and then I was crying. We're already outside. It's better
here."
Finn could hear Mercedes comforting Kurt on the other end of the line.
"It's stupid. I'm such a wreck." Kurt sounded bitter. "I said I didn't want
pills because I thought I was, I guess, stronger or something. I don't even
have a good reason to be freaking out."
"You sure as hell do, Kurt." Finn stood up again but didn't have anywhere to
go, so he started pacing. "Even just seeing a dead body is enough to send
people to therapy. When you're the one—what happened to you is way worse. And
after the other guy treated you like that too."
"Shit, Finn, you make McDougal sound like an abusive boyfriend. Stop trying to
dance around words. You're clumsy."
Finn took a breath before answering, like Burt had told him to. "Dude, harsh."
For a while, Kurt was silent. "Sorry." When he spoke again, he sounded more
like himself. "But don't call me 'dude.'"
Finn ignored that. "Would you rather have dinner, a bath, or a movie waiting
for you when you get home?"
"All three. Bath first, with salts not bubbles."
"Is that the funny purple stuff?" Finn wandered into the bathroom so he could
check.
"Yes, Finn," Kurt said with a sigh. "You're awesome."
Finn grinned even though Kurt couldn't see it.
Chapter End Notes
     I suspect it doesn't actually make a lot of sense, but this chapter
     title is still one of my favorites.
***** Kurt: Caught in an Avalanche *****
Chapter Notes
     The song here is "You Are the Moon" by The Hush Sound.
     This chapter takes place in-story on October 27, 2010.
Kurt pressed the palms of his hands against his ears. The halls at school were
so crowded, and everyone was moving and talking and bumping into him. He felt
like a twig caught in an avalanche. Finally, Kurt reached the choir room. It
was only third period, so the room was empty. After closing the door, he sank
to his knees against the wall. He had always hated school, hated the way people
looked at him, the way they treated him. But it had never been this bad. And it
wasn't even everyone else who had changed. It was him. Kurt was too fucked up
now to handle what should have been everyday life.
He cursed when he realized he was crying. Again. He tried to remember what his
psychiatrist Janice had told him to think about when he was freaking out, but
the only thing that came to mind were little white pills no one would let him
bring to school. And, shit, but that was where he needed them most.
"Well, lucky me, I thought I'd have to wait much longer to meet the fairy hero
of Lima, Ohio." Kurt stiffened and darted his eyes around the room at the sound
of the deep voice. A tall, dark-haired man stood from where he'd been sitting,
half hidden from Kurt by the chairs. He might have been handsome if not for the
broken nose and the scar running down the left side of his face.
"Who are you?" Kurt began to stand, but he froze when the man pulled a gun from
the waistband of his pants, flicked off the safety, and casually pointed it in
Kurt's direction.
"Ah, good boy. You already know what to do." The man grinned. It made him look
demented, not happy. "Over here. Leave your bag."
Hands trembling, Kurt dropped his messenger bag to the floor and shuffled
across the small room. He was already trying to think of ways to get the gun
and carefully avoided putting his hand near the small knife in his pocket. If
he was lucky, the man wouldn't notice it. Kurt had only a vague notion of how
to use a blade—pointy end goes in bad guy—but it made him feel safer knowing he
was armed with something. Last time he'd had nothing; this time he had a
pocketknife close to his hand and another shoved into his boot, though that
would be harder to reach.
Still grinning, the man motioned to the piano. "Empty your pockets on there."
Kurt tried to turn so that the pocket with the knife might be somewhat hidden
from the man with the gun. He started with his wallet, sliding it slowly from
his back pocket and resting it on top of the piano. His cell phone came next,
and he sighed because he couldn't call the police, Janice, or his father
without it. When he pulled the knife from his pocket, he tried to hide it in
his palm and slip it into his sleeve. A strong hand grabbed him by the wrist
before he realized the man had moved.
"Drop it, princess. You don't want to try that shit with me."
Kurt twisted his wrist toward the man's thumb and flipped the knife open once
he was free. He thrust it wildly, but the man grabbed him again, this time
twisting Kurt's arm so pain shot through it and his fingers opened. The blade
clattered to the floor.
"There are a few things I guess I'll have to teach you after all. First lesson:
never make me tell you anything twice." He twisted Kurt's arm again, making the
boy cry out.
"What do you want with me?" The countertenor begged as tears streamed from his
eyes.
"You killed one of my men and put another behind bars. I want you to understand
how you've inconvenienced me is all. Though I suppose I'd also like to see your
eyes dark and dead while your heart still beats. It's a hobby of mine, you
see." While his voice had been menacing before, it was matter-of-fact now. It
made Kurt shiver.
He didn't know what to do, so he said the first stupid thing that came to mind,
"I doubt they sell that shit at Hobby Lobby."
The man didn't laugh. "The halls are mostly empty now, so we're going to go.
We're going to walk slowly and calmly, standing so they can't see my gun
pressed against your back. Got it?" Kurt nodded, and the man smiled again. "If
anyone tries to stop us, you tell them you have to go to an appointment. I
picked you up because your dad's at work. Call me your Uncle Rob, if you like."
He did laugh at that.
The man put his hand, with the gun, in his pocket, but Kurt could still see
where the barrel pressed against the fabric. It pointed at him. He motioned for
Kurt to precede him and followed the boy as they walked from the school. The
only person they ran into was Mr. Schuester, who believed that Rob was Kurt's
uncle, was taking him to an appointment, and that Kurt didn't have his bag
because it was already in the car. If he hadn't been so scared, Kurt would have
cursed the man for being so dense.
Rob led Kurt to an old blue Chevy. Kurt sat in the middle with the gearshift
between his knees. On his left was a woman who didn't bother to introduce
herself, and on his right sat Rob and his gun. Somehow, Kurt only realized he
wouldn't be going home that night when the woman started the truck and drove
away from William McKinley High School. Then she drove them out of Lima. And
then it was night, and Kurt wasn't sure where the day could have gone except
maybe into the barrel of Rob's gun.
He should have been watching the road so he would know where they were. But the
gun had been distracting. Kurt didn't even know what direction they'd left Lima
from. All he knew was that they pulled up in front of a small house in a small
town probably somewhere in Ohio. The woman unlocked the door before Rob pulled
Kurt out of the car and shoved him toward the house.
There wasn't much furniture inside. Just a couch and a TV so old they couldn't
properly wall mount it if they wanted to. Kurt didn't bother to wonder if there
was more in the other rooms. Instead, he focused on the rope the woman pulled
from a closet.
"Hold still, pretty boy, with your hands behind you," Rob hissed into Kurt's
ear as the woman tied him. "Kitty won't make them hurt unless you force her to.
She's such a sweetie."
After she tied his wrists, Kitty shoved Kurt to the ground and tied his ankles
too. When she arched his back so she could tie ankles to heels, Kurt suspected
Rob had lied about the hurting. He tried to struggle, but Rob reminded him not
to with a growl and a gun to the face. Kurt nearly went cross-eyed staring at
it. Rob handed the gun to Kitty and carried Kurt to the closet. He dropped Kurt
to the floor and slammed the door shut.
Kurt landed awkwardly on his arm and cried out, but no one seemed to care. He
tried to shift so it would hurt less, and that was the only thing that kept the
door from slamming into the top of his head when Rob closed it. Something
slammed against the door from the other side, and Kurt thought for a moment
they had barricaded it. Then Kitty moaned loudly and a rhythmic beating began.
Kurt supposed they meant something by having sex against the door of the closet
they had locked him in, but he didn't care to decipher it.
He wanted to go home. He wanted his dad to hold him and tell him everything
would be okay even though they both knew Kurt would only be okay if they could
find a pill that worked for him. He wanted Finn to hug him silently again
because even if it was depressing, it was the only time the two had really
touched without it being awkward. He wanted to sit with Mercedes just talking
long after the end of a chick flick that wasn't that great but had them both in
tears. He wanted to sing.
Singing, he realized, was one thing they couldn't take from him so easily.
Shadows all around you as you surface from the dark
Emerging from the gentle grip of night's unfolding arms
It helped to sing, even softly. Kurt felt more like himself and less like a
dirty blanket wadded up and tossed in a closet somewhere.
Darkness, darkness everywhere, do you feel all alone?
The subtle grace of gravity, the heavy weight of stone
He remembered the blade still in his boot. Could he reach it? He tried to
stretch his hands toward the top of his boot, but the rope stopped him short.
When he got out of this, Kurt decided to start wearing shorter boots.
You don't see what you possess, a beauty calm and clear
It floods the sky and blurs the darkness like a chandelier
The countertenor rolled awkwardly, still singing softly to himself as Rob and
Kitty continued their full-body pounding against the door. He tried to scoot
himself against the floor in a way that would snag the zipper on the outside of
his boot. The carpet burned his arms, but the zipper moved.
All the light that you possess is skewed by lakes and seas
The shattered surface, so imperfect, is all that you believe
Kurt rolled again, this time onto his stomach. He wriggled around until he felt
the knife slip and heard the dull thump of it hitting the floor. He scooted
himself back along the carpet so he was next to the blade, then turned almost
onto his back and tried to find it with his fingers.
I will bring a mirror, so silver, so exact
So precise and so pristine, a perfect pane of glass
Finally, his finger brushed against metal warmed by sitting against his leg. He
squirmed closer to it and had the tiny weapon in his hand. Sliding the blade
from the handle took more awkward fumbling during which Kurt barely managed not
to cut himself.
I will set the mirror up to face the blackened sky
You will see your beauty every moment that you rise
Holding his breath, Kurt pressed blade to rope and began sawing it back and
forth as best he could. Though he ran out of lyrics, he continued humming the
sweetly sorrowful melody as he worked. Outside, they slammed into the door one
last time as Kitty moaned "Oh, Robin," and Rob sighed so quietly Kurt almost
didn't hear it.
Kurt cursed the rope for not being thinner. This was taking too long, and his
kidnappers would probably open the door soon. They'd find him with the knife
and shoot him. They'd laugh at his corpse and throw it on the side of the road.
He tried not to picture himself dead because it kept turning into Wayne Garcia
covered in blood on the floor of the bank. His eyes were glazed over and his
mouth open.
The blade slipped through the rope at last, and Kurt breathed again. His arms
were free. Freeing his ankles took less time.
He scrambled quietly to his feet and positioned himself against the wall beside
the door. Kurt's plan was little more than "pointy end in bad guy when he comes
through the door." It obviously would not be enough, but it was all he had and
still better than "wait around to get killed."
No one came through the door. Kurt heard movement for a while, but then it
stopped. Nothing. No one. His hands cramped in their death grip on the knife's
handle. Still no sound came from outside the closet. They could have left. Or
they could be sitting out there waiting. Or sleeping. Or gone.
Gripping the small weapon in his right hand, Kurt used his left to carefully
turn the knob on the door. It made more noise than he liked, but still turned.
He pushed the door outward to reveal a dark room. It looked empty too.
Kurt almost laughed. He had a chance.
He inched slowly out of the closet, straining his senses for any hint of his
captors. They wouldn't likely take his escape attempt well. Though he eyed the
front door, Kurt decided against it. If they were watching for him, the doors
would be the obvious choices. There was a window that led to the side of the
house. Kurt would try that.
He inched over to the window, trying not to make a sound and wishing he just
knew where Robin and Kitty were. Kurt's left hand worked at the latches on the
window as his right held the knife defensively. The window slid open easily,
but Kurt winced at the noise when he shoved the screen out. He followed it
quickly into the space between this house and the neighbor's. The neighbor's
yard, he decided, would be his best bet. Their gate had a lock on it, so he
hopped the fence. He landed heavily enough to stagger but regained his balance
quickly.
Laughter.
Someone chuckled softly from behind Kurt. The boy spun, but not fast enough. A
strong hand lashed out from the shadows in the corner of the tall wooden fence.
Kurt slashed at it, drawing blood before the fingers closed around his wrist.
It wasn't enough.
"Kitty bet you'd go through more of the house, either to kill us or sneak out
the back, but I knew better," Robin said as he deftly disarmed Kurt. "Damn kids
always think they're so smart, going through the neighbor's because no one ever
thought of that before, honestly." He slammed the teen's face roughly against
the fence. "I've thought of everything before. Remember that, princess." He
rubbed Kurt's face against the wood, driving splinters into his cheek.
He carried Kurt back into the house and handcuffed him to a bed. When Kurt
kicked at his kidnapper, Rob growled and tied his feet together with another
piece of rope reaching from the one around his ankles to the footboard. Robin
pulled it too tight, so Kurt was stretched painfully across the length of the
bed. The only comfort Kurt had left was that Rob would have tied him with legs
spread if he intended rape.
***** Puck: A Scared Little Boy *****
Chapter Notes
     Writing this chapter was what made me fall in love with Puck's
     character. c:
Heartfelt as everyone seemed, this was just stupid. Mr. Schue told the club to
sing what they'd want to say to Kurt, but Puck was pretty hung up on the part
where Kurt wouldn't hear a note of it. He was missing. Gone. Kidnapped by a man
Shuester had talked to.
Puck sat in the back of the choir room listening to depressing songs when he
could actually hear singing between the sobs of everyone crying like a bunch of
girls—okay, some of them weregirls, but that didn't get them off the hook. He
held a pocketknife in his hands, slowly opening and closing it. Open. Close.
Open. Close.
He'd been the first to find Kurt's stuff. It had seemed weird to him at first
that Kurt would carry a knife, but why not? The girly-boy had killed a man, so
that pretty much made him a badass. A depressed, traumatized, and freaked-out
one, sure, but it sounded right to Puck. You didn't get badass by being normal.
You got it by being fucked the hell up.
When he saw the knife, Puck took it. To hide it, mostly, because weapons
weren't allowed on campus. It actually kept Kurt from getting in trouble,
though most people would probably have forgotten about a knife in the commotion
of Kurt's being kidnapped.
"Puck," Mr. Schue called from the front of the room. "Are you ready?"
"Not really." He shrugged, hiding the pocketknife in his palm. It fit snugly
and he wondered if Kurt had tried to hide it the same way. The dude had small
hands, and the bastard who took him probably would have noticed it. Probably
did notice it, or Kurt would have kept the thing.
"Puck, you do care that one of your friends has been kidnapped by a known
criminal, don't you?"
Crap, Mr. Schue had been giving Puck that look all week. Of course he cared.
But he didn't see how singing would help. Yeah, it did with a lot of things,
but this was different. At least if Schuester was otherwise useless he'd been
able to identify the homicidal, bank-robbing, rapist freak who took Kurt. No,
maybe knowing made it worse. Puck had Googled the guy and seen what he did to
his victims. It was fucked up in a way so far from badass Puck had run to the
bathroom and puked.
"Puck!"
"Yeah, I care. I just don't wanna sing." Shit, he'd been spacing out too much.
He barely knew Kurt, so why should it mess him up so badly for the kid to be
taken?
Schuester sighed. They'd talked about this before. "Why not, Puck?"
The question Puck never answered. Well, why the hell not? "Because I'd rather
go steal a God-damned shot gun, hunt that Banks bastard down, and blow his
fucking face off." Puck clenched Kurt's knife so hard his arm shook. He was
proud he'd managed not to scream, but Shue's face looked like he had anyway.
"And his balls," Puck added. He realized he was shaking only after Quinn put
her arms around him.
Puck didn't want a hug. He wanted the whiskey he'd stashed in his locker. He
wanted to go home, lock his door, and scream along to bad death metal until his
throat hurt and he couldn't talk anymore. Then he wanted to finish off that
bottle of whiskey and as many more as it took for him to pass out. Then he
wanted to wake up with the worst hangover known to man and scream again until
someone locked him away some place where he'd never have to worry about Kurt
fucking Hummel again.
"You can't hold all that in, Puck. You're angry and hurt. The point of this
assignment isn't that Kurt will hear you; it's about expressing the pain you
feel at having him taken away from us." Hell, but Mr. Schue had a talent for
sanctimonious speeches.
"I'd rather express it by getting him back. I can murder and sing at the same
time, I'm sure of it." He shrugged out of Quinn's embrace only to be caught by
Finn and Schue.
"Don't do anything you'll regret. Or anything that will get you hurt. We can't
lose anyone else now, Noah." Schuester's face looked worthy of punching, but
Puck wasn't that far gone. And why did people always think things would get
through to him better if they used his first name?
The others were crowding him now. This was about to get mushy. They wanted Puck
to get in touch with his emotions, but all Puck's emotions wanted from him was
screaming and shooting.
He'd never killed anyone, but he thought he could do it to Banks. Puck had met
a kid in juvy who killed a man. He was only like fourteen, but he said it'd
been easy enough to do. It was the parts before and after that were hard.
"I still think this assignment is stupid."
"Well maybe you should stop fixating on Robin Banks and start thinking about
Kurt Hummel," Rachel said. When he she gotten so close to him? She spoke from
practically in his ear.
Puck shook his head. Rachel was just an annoying and prudish bitch. He could
afford to ignore her.
"Noah, Kurt is your friend. He'd feel for you if your roles were reversed."
Rachel looked as punchable as Schue. Well, maybe a little less.
"Do you know what that son of a bitch will do to him?" His voice trembled, but
he didn't care anymore. He wasn't really a badass anyway. He was a scared
little boy peeking out from under the blankets and hoping no one noticed. "I
can't… I don't… God, I wouldn't wish that on… on…" He collapsed into a chair
and buried his face in one hand while the other clenched around the
pocketknife.
Someone was hugging him again. He tried to shrug out of it, but then someone
else joined in. Puck became the center of a big glee group hug of sentimental
crap and doom or whatever. It was like they'd all given Kurt up for dead
already.
"Do you think he's coming back?" He didn't ask it of anyone in particular, but
no one answered. Of course they didn't. They'd probably all looked Banks up
too. If Kurt did somehow manage to get home, he'd be so batshit out of his mind
he wouldn't be able to tie his shoes without screaming. Puck didn't like to
admit when he was crying, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time.
***** Kurt: Far, Far Away *****
Chapter Notes
     Song here is "Home" from Beauty and the Beast. The Broadway version;
     this song wasn't in the Disney movie. But I love it. It started
     playing while I was writing one of the earlier chapters, and my brain
     screamed at me, "OMG, KINDRE, U MUST B USING THIS!1!ONE!ELEVEN!" Yes,
     my brain is occasionally a nine year old who somehow got online. Shut
     up. Don't judge me.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Kurt had never been a fan of action movies. He preferred musicals and romantic
comedies. Disney princess movies were probably the true loves of his life.
Action movies, though, were just stupid. So many of their plots had potential
for scathing psychological thrillers, but they filled them with brainless
muscle-heads who were mentally and physically unbreakable—or just too stupid to
lose it.
Right now, Kurt wished he were an action movie star.
Another sob slipped out. It shook him and left him trembling. Blood dripped
into his eye, and he tried to wipe it with his shoulder. Stupid. He knew he
couldn't reach with his hands bound behind him. Kurt blinked the blood away as
the girl screamed. Again.
Robin called the girl Annette. Even before the bastard drew her a gaping face
wound to match his own scar, she hadn't been as pretty as Quinn. But she had
long red-blond hair, big blue eyes, and a killer pair of pumps. Or she used to
before Rob tossed aside her shoes, blindfolded her, and chopped off most of her
hair with Kurt's pocketknife.
"Please," she begged. It seemed the only word left to her after her time with
Robin. "Please…" Her breath came in ragged gasps. Robin was raping her again.
Kurt struggled against the handcuffs binding him. He wanted to help her. He
wanted to help himself more, but either way, he needed free. Shit, but the torn
flesh on his wrists was going to get infected at this rate. Annette turned her
head to stare at Kurt, and he realized he had been making a strangled groaning
sound. But Rob grabbed her face by the jaw and turned her back to his face away
from Kurt's.
She couldn't see anyway with that blindfold on.
But she could hear, and Robin hadn't bothered to gag Kurt today. If he couldn't
slip his cuffs and get both captives out of this place seconds before the
building exploded theatrically, well, he could at least show the girl that she
was not alone.
Is this home?
Is this where I should learn to be happy?
Never dreamed
That a home could be dark and cold
I was told
Every day in my childhood:
Even when we grow old
Home should be where the heart is
Never were words so true!
My heart's far, far away
Home is too
Annette tried to look at Kurt again when he began singing, and Robin sent a
quick glare over his shoulder. Kurt's voice trembled at the threat in the man's
expression, but he continued singing. His voice grew stronger as he continued.
Kurt ignored the tears that streamed down his face as he sang. They were normal
and harmless enough.
What I'd give to return
To the life that I knew lately
But I know now I can't
All my problems going by
Is this home?
Am I here for a day or forever?
Shut away
From the world until who knows when
Oh, but then
As my life has been altered once
It can change again
Build higher walls around me
Change every lock and key
Nothing lasts, nothing holds
All of me
My heart's far, far away
Home and free
Rob had finished with the girl. He dropped her and walked over to Kurt. He
knelt down and smiled. While Kurt stared at his teeth, Robin brought his fist
up and slammed it against the boy's face. When Kurt looked down, he realized
Robin hadn't bothered to put his cock away. The man's sick grin widened.
"Oh, Kurt, you can't just start singing like that. It ruined the mood. Would
you like a lesson in the proper feel for this situation?"
Since altering the mood had been Kurt's intent, he didn't see much point in
bothering to respond.
Rob spread his hand over Kurt's face and smashed the countertenor's head
against the wall. "I expect the civility of an answer, princess. Robin Banks
isn't the sort of guy you can just ignore, especially not in your situation."
What had been a wretched sob morphed halfway into laughter in Kurt's throat and
came out as a choking croak. "Seriously? Did the name drive you to it, hun?"
When Robin smashed Kurt's head against the wall again, he realized that may not
have been the smartest thing he said since getting kidnapped.
"Don't you talk to me like that, you fucking faggot," he sneered. "Hell, I bet
you want me to fuck you now. Is it a turn on for you, watching my fat cock
slide in and out of someone who can barely hold me?"
"No." Kurt coughed. Blood and spittle sprayed out of his mouth onto Rob's face.
Kurt wished he'd done it on purpose so he could at least have earned the slap
he got for it. "Though I do sort of need to vomit. Do you have a paper bag or
an old hat?"
Robin laughed at that. "Well, Kurt, aren't you just fucking adorable."
The boy flinched at his name. He hated to hear it coming from Rob's mouth—it
was better when his captor called him "princess." It certainly helped his
imagination. Princesses got captured by villains all the time, and rescued by
heroic princes. Kurt knew it wasn't likely, but it helped him fall asleep
sometimes.
Another chuckle from Rob was all the warning Kurt had before a fist landed
heavily in his gut. Air rushing from his lungs wasn't nearly as foreign an
experience as it had once been, but Kurt found it never lost its excitement. Or
hadn't yet, at least. Rob stood as Kurt doubled over as best he could with his
hands bound behind him and landed a kick in the boy's gut for good measure
before leaving the room.
Kurt coughed loudly when he could breathe again. As he quieted, he realized the
girl was saying his name. "What," he asked, more curtly than he had intended.
"Thank you. It was beautiful." She cried freely, but the corners of Annette's
mouth curved into something like a smile. He would have smiled back if she
could have seen it.
Chapter End Notes
     I had to ask myself if I could honestly name a bankrobber Robin
     Banks. It seems I decided I could, but only if I hang a lampshade on
     it. Consider yourself lampshaded, Robbie. And Annette is such a
     pretty name; I wish I knew an Annette. I did serve a coffeedrink to
     an Annette at my work, but I thought it best not to tell her my
     relation to the name.
***** Puck: And Life Only *****
Chapter Notes
     Song is "It's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)" by Bob Dylan. I admit,
     I've never actually listened to much Dylan, but this song is awesome.
     And the product of somewhere between thirty minutes and two hours
     online trying to find the right song for this chapter.
"So how are you holding up?" Damn, but Mr. Schue's "I am dearly concerned for
your plight" face made him look like he needed to take a dump.
Puck rolled his eyes. "Fine. I got no reason not to be."
"Puck, I know you've taken it pretty hard what happened to Kurt, even though
you two weren't exactly close." The teacher kept his voice soft like he thought
he'd scare Puck away otherwise.
"Didn't need to be. We're both in glee, and the whole club is like family, you
know?" He shrugged.
"I know." He nodded his head and clasped his hands. "I just want you to know
I'm here for you, okay? If you need anything, even just someone to talk to who
won't look at you like you've suddenly leapt out of character."
"Kay, got it. That all?" Yeah, because Puck desperately wanted to talk to
Schuester. He dreamed about it every night as he cuddled a pretty fucking pony.
Honestly, who did this guy think he was?
"One more thing. I know this might seem invasive or rude, but I want you to
know that I just want to help you, Puck."
"Whatever. Shoot."
Schuester's eyebrows pulled together in either concern or concentration, and he
licked his lips quickly before speaking. "Noah, have you ever been abused?"
"No," Puck scoffed and ignored the use of his first name, "Why?" He might have
been offended by the question if he weren't so busy being confused.
"Oh. I, ah, wondered based on the way you reacted to… to what you thought Banks
would do to Kurt. Especially since it overshadowed anything else that had
happened to Kurt, at least for you." Puck tried but couldn't figure out if Mr.
Schue believed him or not.
"I'm pretty sure it's overshadowy for Kurt too, since that's probably the most
immediately painful part."
"I know. I... I just hadn't thought of it that way before." One thing Puck
could say for Schuester, the man had some talented eyebrows. They danced around
his forehead like they were barely connected to the rest of his face.
"Maybe you should be wondering why everyone avoided thinking about it instead
of why I didn't." He started standing from the chair he'd taken in Schuester's
office.
"No, Puck, wait. It's not as simple as that." He shook his head and waved for
his student to sit again.
Puck groaned. "Fine, how about 'that was ages ago'?"
Mr. Schue shook his head. "Only if ages are measured in days; I just wanted to
give you a little time before possibly bringing something up."
"Well, you didn't, so I'm not sure what I'm still doing here." It almost came
out as a question, but Puck managed to shove enough indignation in to make up
for it.
"Whatever reasons you do or don't have, we both know you sometimes handle
things differently from other kids your age."
"I'm not a kid—" but Puck didn't have a chance to say more.
"For example: driving your mother's car through the front of a convenience
store and making off with the ATM." He raised an eyebrow like he expected Puck
to apologize or something.
Instead, Puck shrugged. "It happens."
"Not for normal teenagers, it doesn't. I just want to make sure you won't… act
out like that again."
"Look, I did the underage version of time and some community service for that
already." Puck leaned forward. He hadn't even managed to keep the money from
the ATM. Or get paid for the community service, which was apparently always
done for free. That seemed stupid to him.
"I know you did. And I don't want you to have to again, not when I know you're
hurting for your friend." He looked so concerned it made Puck want to puke.
"Mr. Schue, this is getting a little sissy for me, so why don't you talk to
Finn or something, okay? He's a ton more messed up over Kurt than I'll ever
be." Puck stood and ignored Schuester's attempts to make him sit again this
time. He didn't need to talk about his feelings—he never had.
He texted Santana once he was out of Schue's office because he knew she'd wash
away all thought of his girlie talk with Mr. Schue, but apparently it was
"girls' night" or something with Brittany. When he suggested a threesome, all
she replied with was "lol, fuck off or i won't screw u 2moro either." She could
be such a bitch sometimes.
Next he tried calling Quinn—she was too classy a girl to text, even if he was
trying to hook up with her while she had a boyfriend.
"Puck." Quinn's voice, beautiful as it was, sounded mostly just annoyed. She
didn't say anything more.
"Hey, Quinn. What's up?" He'd gotten damn good at sounding casual.
"I don't know since you're the one who called me." He could almost see her.
Quinn's face would be scrunched up with annoyance to match her voice, but her
eyes would soften as she licked her soft lips because she did have feelings for
him. He'd just scared her off by getting her pregnant or whatever. No big deal.
She totally wanted Puckzilla or she wouldn't have slept with him in the first
place.
"I was just wondering if you were doing anything. We could hang out or
something. Flip a coin for bad zombie movie or bad romance movie." Girls liked
compromise, right?
"No, Puck. I'm busy," she sighed softly into the phone. He liked talking to her
in person better. That way he would feel the soft breath of air and see her
eyes looking up at him through her eyelashes.
"Like washing your hair busy or like you actually have plans busy?" It made a
difference, and Puck could talk his way in, probably in either case, though he
had better chances with the former.
"I have a date tonight. With Sam."
Oh. Him.
"Oh."
"I have to get ready, so… I'll see you at school tomorrow." The line went dead
before Puck could say goodbye or talk her out of it.
He didn't dislike Sam. Just… the guy was dating Quinn when her first excuse for
not dating Puck had been that she needed time to herself. Her second had been
that Puck was basically just a horny child, but he tried not to think about
that one as much. He loved her, whatever else he did. And that was what
counted, right?
Puck groaned and went home. He thought about the way she had hugged him when he
freaked about Kurt in front of the glee club as he opened a bottle of something
he hadn't bothered to check the label of after he had pulled it from his mom's
liquor cabinet. No one was home. His sister had a recital or something tonight
that Puck was supposed to go to but didn't. His mom was already there.
Puck took a longer drink than he should have and collapsed onto his bed while
his fingers groped for the radio remote. He would get drunk and sing and not
think about Schuester, or Kurt, or Quinn, or Sam, or even Beth—though she tried
to sneak into the places in his mind vacated by the others. He finally got the
radio on and came in midway through a song. With another long drink, Puck began
to sing along.
You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks
They really found you.
Drink and song, Puck realized as he tried to fit something down his throat
between verses, was what he wanted of the night anyway. Santana only mattered
to him in that she was almost always willing. And Quinn mattered plenty but
didn't want to. And Beth he'd never see again if the beautiful baby girl was
lucky.
A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy
Insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not forget
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to.
Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.
Puck tried never to let himself think of Kurt anymore because it wasn't even
Kurt he thought of. It was a man with a broken nose, a scar, and more victims
than Puck wanted to count. He tried to sink into the music, but everything else
kept shoving its way in. When he pushed one back, another took its place.
This wasn't working. Turning his mind away from singing, Puck took his drink to
the computer and began searching for stories on Robin Banks again. There wasn't
anything new, and looking at the old stuff more only made it even worse. It
didn't scare Puck so much because he had some weird sympathy reaction to the
pain of Banks' victims. It was more that he wondered how in the world you could
do that to a person. Not morally. Like literally, what the guy did to them that
they ended up so completely fucked.
Hell, maybe Mr. Schue was right about Puck. He was screwed over in the head. He
hurled the now-empty bottle at the wall and went to bed without picking up the
shattered glass or turning off the radio.
And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They'd probably put my head in a guillotine
But it's alright, Ma, it's life, and life only.
***** Kurt: No Less Fiercely *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
They moved around a lot. Kurt became particularly familiar with cheap hotel
rooms and found them all remarkably similar in layout and hideous décor.
Sometimes Annette tried to smile when he told her all the ways he would remodel
each of their hotel rooms. But most of the time she ignored him in favor of a
blank stare at an empty spot on the usually yellowed wall. She had never fought
back hard enough to stop Robin, but at least she had tried. Now she didn't
bother. Kurt would have wrapped an arm around her shoulders if he wasn't bound
by his wrists to the headboard.
The door opened to reveal Robin, back from a grocery trip. He dumped a paper
bag onto the other bed and kissed Kitty. The woman had been guarding Kurt and
Annette while her boyfriend shopped.
"Hey, baby," she murmured, but her voice sharpened for the next part. "You took
your sweet time, didn't you? I've been waiting ages for a warm shower." She
pushed him playfully.
"What can I say, I like dirty girls. Like these two." He motioned to his
prisoners and chuckled.
"About that," Kurt said, glad Kitty rarely gagged them. "I'm not actually a
girl."
Robin scowled. Kurt knew provoking his captors with smart-ass remarks was
probably not the most intelligent tactic ever adopted by someone handcuffed to
a bed, but he needed to do something. He had tried being quiet, but all it made
him feel was empty and hurt. At least this way he could feel like he was
fighting back somehow.
It suddenly seemed like even less a great idea when Rob growled something about
proof and started tearing off Kurt's pants.
"What the hell!" Kurt screamed and kicked wildly. One of his feet landed on
Robin's face and forced the man back. But then he came forward again and
straddled Kurt before pulling his pants off the rest of the way.
Kitty sighed dramatically and made her way to the bathroom where she could
finally get her shower.
Rob didn't move again, just sat on Kurt, staring as the boy screamed for him to
get the fuck off of him already. He smiled almost softly. "I realize part of
this is my fault too, you know." He nodded his head though no one had asked him
anything. "By taking in one of my more usual pets, I let you think I'd rather
not do as much harm to you."
"Fuck you."
The man laughed deep in his throat and leaned forward. His erection pressed
against Kurt. "I was taking my time because you're special, Kurt."
"Don't call me that," Kurt spat. The sound of his name in Robin's mouth made
him nauseous.
"Then what?" the man grinned as he leaned back to kneel above Kurt. "Because
you need a name other than 'princess.'" He rubbed his hand against his jeans
where the bulge of his erection strained against the denim.
Kurt had never felt he should have a different name before. He had never needed
to. But he knew what was coming, could see it aching to get out of Robin's
pants and into Kurt's ass, and he'd rather be someone else when that happened.
"Alex." It was as good a name as any. Better than most.
"Alex? Really? I expected you to come up with something more exotic." Rob
rubbed his chin and continued when Kurt just shrugged as best he could given
the circumstances, "Fine then, Alex. I'm going to fuck you so hard my dick
comes out your eye sockets."
He'd been right. It sounded like someone else's name even when shoved at him
instead of someone else. Kurt—Alex—wondered how long that would last but
decided it didn't much matter about the time Robin started unzipping his jeans.
The man pulled his pants off and left them at the foot of the bed. As he
reached past Kurt—Alex—the boy noticed his pocketknife in the front pocket of
the jeans. He inched his toes toward it. Robin settled himself between
Kurt's—Alex's—legs and smeared lube on his dick as the countertenor tried to
work the weapon free without calling attention to himself—or mostly his right
leg. He got it out onto the sheets and remembered not to smile.
Then Robin grabbed his legs, positioned himself, and rammed his hard cock so
far into Kurt that the boy thought he would split in two. He screamed and any
attempt to think of himself as someone called Alex either rushed out between
his lips or was crushed to oblivion somewhere in his ass.
Robin didn't give Kurt a chance to get used to the feel of a man inside him. He
pumped viciously in and out, telling "Alex" how wonderfully tight he was. The
only reply Kurt gave was to scream and try to pull away. It felt not so much
like being raped as it did like dying. He'd spent plenty of time online and
knew how anal sex was supposed to go. He was supposed to get ready. There was
no doubt in his mind that Robin knew that too.
Kurt didn't know many curses compared to some of his friends, but he hurled
every last one at Rob, most of them more than once. He arched his back trying
to pull away, pushed his feet uselessly against the sheets. His foot landed on
the pocketknife.
Pain flashed through him. "Oh, motherfucker!" His feet shot out and his weight
fell to the mattress. Robin laughed, but it didn't come out quite right because
he was panting. Beside them, Annette cried and pleaded with Rob to leave Kurt
alone.
"Sorry, bitch, that's not his name anymore."
Kurt managed to lift himself again, high enough for his foot to find the knife.
He screamed and cried and writhed. His foot swung out, then back in, hitting
the pocketknife. He collapsed onto the mattress and knew he'd gotten the weapon
because it fucking hurt under his back.
Then Kurt ran out of things to distract his mind with. Only Robin's broken nose
and relentless thrusting remained. Kurt knew he was bleeding. It hurt too much
for him not to be. He groaned and it turned into a sob. He felt his body
tearing apart starting with the area clenched around Rob's cock.
Fuck no. He was either Alex, who was invented for the sole purpose of
withstanding the impossible and the horrible, or Kurt Hummel who never let
anyone or anything get to him. It didn't really matter which because he was
pretty sure neither one would roll over and beg for anything from the fuckface
pumping into his ass.
Between pants and sobs he asked, "Trying to prove a point, Robbie? You can come
pretty much whenever now."
Rob punched the boy's face but came with a grunt as his fist connected. Kurt
would have a black eye, and a sore ass, but the first part felt strangely worth
it, especially when Rob growled, "Don't call me that."
Kurt carefully arched his left eyebrow but ruined it by flinching when Rob
brought up his fist again. He could work on that. Robin smirked at the look on
Kurt's face, but the boy found it in himself to smirk back. He had a knife, and
dear Robbie didn't know. Kurt would have to use the weapon tonight though, or
Rob and Kitty would just take it from him tomorrow.
"Annette," he whispered after Robin joined Kitty in the shower.
"Yeah?"
"If you have a chance, I want you to get away, don't worry about me." They had
tied her with rope, but the cold metal of handcuffs held Kurt. The pocketknife
would only free one of them tonight. It was okay. Annette needed freedom more
immediately anyway.
"Kurt, I can't just leave you with… him." She shuddered, and a half-sob escaped
her chapped lips.
"You can. And I meant it when I changed my name to Alex. If you get away, you
tell the police that's my name. I don't… I don't want my dad to get his hopes
up just for Rob to kill me the next day, you know?" Even whispers felt too
loud.
"Which is why I—"
"No, Annette," he cut her off, no less fiercely for that it was quiet. "I need
you to swear to me. I'd rather stay here with you free than know I was the
reason you couldn't get away. It would kill me. Literally. Just promise."
She stared at him for a long moment. "Only if you'll promise the same to me."
"It's not the—"
"It's the same. Promise." Her gaze was steadier than he'd ever seen it.
Kurt nodded. "I promise, Annette."
"Then I promise too… Alex."
He closed his eyes to work on a plan but fell asleep instead.
Robin was snoring when Kurt woke. He'd heard the man try to fake a snore, and
this was definitely real. When he turned his head, Kurt found Kitty asleep too.
He jangled his handcuffs just a little to see if they would respond, but
neither moved.
His body was sorer than when he'd fallen asleep. Only biting mercilessly on his
lower lip kept him from crying out at the pain when he arched his back so that
he could bring his feet up to grab the pocketknife. Once he had it, he fell
back softly to the mattress and looked over to where Robin and Kitty still
slept.
"Kur—Alex," Annette hissed. He only shook his head. They needed to be quiet.
He worked the knife in between his toes. When he brought his leg up to place
the knife in Annette's bound hands—flexibility, it turned out, was useful in
captivity as well as cheerleading and sex—it hurt as badly as when he arched
his back. Most of the pain emanated from his butt–Kurt refused to give in to
it.
"Cut," he ordered softly and watched as she worked the blade out of the handle
and began sawing at her bindings. He glanced back at their captors every once
in a while, but the even, constant sound of Robin's snoring reassured him.
Then her hands were free, and Annette froze with disbelief practically erupting
from her eyes.
"Take it," Kurt ordered then, "and run."
Annette nodded, though she stared longingly at his handcuffs, obviously wishing
to free him despite her promise. She kissed Kurt, her chapped lips rough
against his, then stood carefully. She padded over to the door and silently
opened the lock. She left, pulling the door closed behind her, and the last
glimpse Kurt had of the girl's face was a wide-eyed stare directed at Rob as if
she expected him to supernaturally wake and stop her.
Kurt expected it too, so he couldn't sleep after Annette left. But Robin kept
snoring. When Kitty rolled over in her sleep, it wasn't enough to wake up, and
she ended up facing away from Kurt's bed anyway. The sky began to lighten
before exhaustion claimed Kurt with such forced that he didn't even remember
falling asleep, only waking up the next morning to pain and yelling.
Chapter End Notes
     also one of my favorite chapter titles c:
***** Finn: What About Kurt *****
Glee wouldn't start for two more periods, but Finn sat in the choir room
anyway. Teachers had stopped dragging him to class and just called his mom a
lot now instead. Neither way helped them much because the Hudsons were part of
the Hummels, and the whole family was still trapped in the moment when they
realized Kurt had been kidnapped by a man called Robin Banks. Finn would have
laughed at the name if he weren't so busy crying and yelling and staring at
darkened ceilings instead of sleeping at night.
He had his laptop open but didn't bother with homework. Rachel kept bugging him
about that, but Finn couldn't remember why it mattered. His brother—even if
they'd never yet been brothers they would have eventually—was gone. And worse
than dead.
Finally, there was something new on Banks. Even though Finn didn't find any
mention of Kurt in the summary, he hit "play" and watched the news story. The
reporters made a stupid intro followed by a cut to an otherwise pretty girl
with an ugly red slash down the side of her face. The name Annette Sherwood
appeared in white letters on the bottom of the screen.
She talked about Banks in vague words that made her cry. When asked why she
would want to go on camera even though it hurt her so much, Annette smiled.
"I just want to help him. Alex did everything he could to keep me from giving
up, and then he helped me escape even though he couldn't get away himself."
She kept talking about Alex, but the only words Finn's mind had room for were,
What about Kurt?She should have been talking about him, not some Alex guy.
Maybe Banks had more than one place to keep his victims, and he moved between
them so some of those he kidnapped never met even though he had them at the
same time. Or Kurt could have been locked in the trunk; no, Banks had the
Sherwood girl too long for that. Kurt could have told them his name was Alex to
protect his father from Banks, but no again. Banks knew who Kurt was before
taking him. Banks always knew who they were. The others had been girls, but
Kurt kind of looked like a girl, and all the other parts of Banks' pattern were
the same. And now maybe Banks was into dudes since this Alex was a guy too.
Finn went back to the beginning and rewatched the video just in case. People
called him stupid a lot because he missed things, so he'd make sure not to miss
anything here. Maybe she had mentioned Kurt, but he'd been to dumb or
distracted to notice. But no, Finn didn't find anything new. So he tried again.
By the time the other glee kids filed into the choir room, Finn still hadn't
found any mention of Kurt. He wasn't ready to give up, even though he knew it'd
probably be better for Kurt if he were already dead. So he showed the others
while they waited for Mr. Schue. They were all really quiet after the video
ended. Puck stood up and left, but the others seemed like they couldn't move.
When Mr. Schue put his hand on the quarterback's shoulder and asked what was
wrong, Finn realized two things: their teacher was here, and their male lead
was crying.
"There was supposed to be something about Kurt." Even in his own ears, Finn's
voice sounded small.
Rachel rubbed circles on his back and leaned her head against his shoulder.
Finn put his arm around her; it felt nice to hold onto someone.
"Just because we don't know anything new now doesn't mean we won't in the
future, okay Finn?" Schuester's hand squeezed his student's shoulder before he
moved to the head of the class. "Okay, guys, I—Where's Puck?"
Finn just shrugged, but Rachel answered, "He left after watching the news story
about Banks." She seemed about to say more but didn't.
Mr. Schue looked torn between starting a glee lesson and going after Puck, so
Finn stood up. "I'll find him," he said, even though he didn't want to move at
all. He barreled out of the room before anyone—himself included—could stop him.
Even though Finn and Puck used to be best friends, they hadn't even been on
speaking terms for a long time. Sometimes Finn missed his friend, but then he
remembered that Puck had knocked up Quinn while Finn was dating her. Then he
just wanted to start kicking chairs and yelling at people again. It didn't help
at all when Puck claimed Finn should be grateful for the burden Puck took from
him. And that part was even worse when Finn thought that maybe he had been a
little relieved not to have to deal with it. But mostly he'd just been angry
and sad. He thought he had a daughter, but all he ended up with was a cheating
ex-girlfriend and a sleazy ex-friend.
Puck hadn't gone far when he left the choir room. He glanced up at Finn as the
taller boy approached and tried to hide the pocketknife he'd been playing with.
The look on his face reminded Finn of the way Puck had looked the day he
realized his dad would never have time for him, hurt and angry. Finn wondered
what the knife was for.
"I thought you were over it." Finn didn't see much reason to be nice since Puck
was such an asshole.
The other teen shrugged.
"You don't look over anything. Mostly you just look like you want to hide."
Puck scowled at that and gave Finn the finger.
"Why does it bother you so much?"
Even though he didn't answer, Puck's jaw worked like he was trying to force
words out. He turned his eyes away from Finn to stare at the floor.
They sat for a while. Finn couldn't think of anything he hadn't already said,
and Puck never said much of anything to Finn anymore. It startled the
quarterback when the other boy finally said, "Did you see the scar he gave
her?"
Finn didn't know a nice way of saying he couldn't possibly have missed it, so
he nodded silently.
"It matched his. How do you think he got it?"
"Why the hell does that matter?" Finn frowned. This was supposed to be about
Kurt. It all was, but no one seemed to want to talk about him anymore.
Puck flinched but kept on. "He usually saves that for last. For a lot of them,
it's after they're dead." They were quiet again because Finn didn't know how to
respond to that. "I wonder sometimes," Puck continued, turning his face away
from Finn entirely. "If he wanted to be quick with Kurt or take his time. He
does both, you know. Quick would be nicer for Kurt, but… Did you know McDougal
and Garcia worked for Banks? Kurt was all over the news for killing Wayne
Garcia, and I kinda think that's why Banks picked him."
None of that had anything to do with the hard, dark place that had opened up
inside of Finn after Kurt was taken. He'd sort of imagined a similar place in
Puck's chest somewhere, but none of those were words that said Puck was
hurting. They just said Puck had been looking into Banks. A lot. But they
didn't say why, and Finn felt like that shouldn't even have to be a question
anymore. So why did he want to ask it of Puck?
"Dude," Finn said, and even though it was a casual word, he made his voice as
hard and sharp as he knew how. "Do you even care that Kurt's gone? Like do you
feelit?"
"What?"
"Sometimes I seriously think you're some crazy robot man, or maybe like you got
your soul ripped out or something. Because I know you were angry before, but
now you're just kind of cool about it all. I'll bet you've got a neatly labeled
file on your computer at home called "Banks" right next to the spot where you
don't care enough to label one "Kurt" or "Heart I'd've Had if I weren't a
Fucking Psycho."
"What the hell is wrong with you, Finn?"
"Nothing!" Finn shook his head. "Everything. We were supposed to be a family,
but then Kurt got taken away and all we are now is more broken than before when
it was just Mom and me." His hand clenched into a fist, but he didn't raise it.
Not yet. "So what the hell is wrong with you?"
"Nothing that hasn't been from the start. And I'm not cool about stuff... I
just… I try not to let it out because I'm sick of people trying to talk about
my feelings. It's all bullshit anyway, man."
Puck's voice was so bitter over the last part that Finn hesitated. "Would you
really kill him, if you had a chance?"
"Fuck yeah." Puck scowled. "And then I'd cut up what was left of him to match
the pretty little things he likes to leave in a trail behind him."
Picturing that made Finn feel kind of sick, so he tried not to. He couldn't
think of anything more to say to Puck, so he just motioned back toward the
choir room and went to rejoin the rest of glee club. Puck followed, running his
fingers over his pocketknife when he thought Finn wasn't looking.
***** Kurt: Make Him *****
After Annette escaped, Robin got them the hell out of town so fast that Kurt
realized they hadn't really been on the run before. But now the girl could give
police an idea of where they were and where they had been. Kurt found himself
in a big city for the first time since being kidnapped. It was noisy and
smelly, and a homeless man seemed to live outside their motel. Everyone called
him Friar Tuck. Kurt leveled a carefully judgmental stare at Robin when he
first heard it, but Rob just shrugged and grinned.
Maybe he found Kurt's expression funny. It was surprisingly difficult to look
superior with two black eyes and a swollen jaw. The little bit of blood crusted
to the edge of one nostril certainly didn't help either.
"What are those?" Kurt asked too shrilly, staring at the solid black garments
Kitty had set on the corner of his bed where they wouldn't lie in blood or cum.
"Clothes—what do they look like?" Rob sat across the room cleaning his gun.
"Like cleaning rags. I assume you expect me to wear them?" He sneered a little
to make up for the way his voice hitched earlier.
Robin stared at them for a moment, then shrugged. "Cleaning rags are white, but
otherwise you've got it, princess." The civility of his voice bothered Kurt. He
shouldn't get to switch between some horrible monster and some indifferent
gentleman at will. It wasn't fair.
"Cleaning rags are any color you want," Kurt said as he poked the garments.
"The only requirement is that they aren't worth wearing."
Kitty chuckled. "These aren't up to your standards then, Alex?"
"Certainly not." He huffed indignantly.
"Clothes are clothes. Get dressed and wash your face." Rob finished with his
gun and loaded it.
"Oh, please. I'll explain through an example you Neanderthals may understand.
Pretend it's food. I crave lobster from a five star restaurant, and you've just
given me tree bark and said it amounts to about the same thing in the end."
"You're exaggerating. This is like a cheeseburger, which you've already proven
you can handle despite your ridiculously gourmet tastes." Rob smiled darkly.
"So get your pretty little ass into your new clothes before I have to make
you."
Kurt never considered giving Robin a reason to "make him" for long. He stripped
and decided he could get away with a small request, "Can I shower first?" What
he wanted was a long soak in a tub with lavender bath salts, but that seemed
unlikely. If Rob agreed to it at all, he'd show up with bubblegum-scented
bubble bath and give Kurt about ten minutes at most. A life of crime lacked a
certain civility Kurt had come to expect from life.
"Sure, if I can fuck you first." The offhand answer caught Kurt by surprise,
and he just stared blankly. He wanted the shower but couldn't agree to that.
Rob would screw him anyway, but that would be… giving consent.
Kurt found something to say before Rob had walked across the room. "You realize
I'm plenty dirty to warrant a shower without your adding to it?" He crossed his
arms across his bare chest and tried not to shiver as the tall, menacing man
stepped up to him.
"Robin," Kitty sounded strangely hesitant. "We need to move out. There ain't
time for both, just one. Maybe."
He cocked his head as he considered. "Clean up, Alex, you reek."
Kurt scrambled to the shower before anyone could change their mind. He turned
on the water and jumped in as Rob told his girlfriend to watch Kurt. He
squealed at the cold but knew they wouldn't give him time to let it warm first.
And fuck, but it felt amazing anyway.
The water beat rhythmically on his skin—lower pressure than he liked, but Kurt
couldn't quite bring himself to care. It warmed quickly as he scrubbed his skin
with some soap Kitty had left in there. He knew it was hers because Robbie
never used anything he could describe as "girlie," and this was clearly rose-
scented. He found a sample bottle of shampoo and lathered that into his hair.
If Kurt believed in heaven, he'd see it as having his hair washed.
Kitty giggled at the way he carefully arranged his hair after stepping out of
the shower, but she didn't rush him or tell Robin. Once he looked as decent as
he could with a bruised face, Kurt walked slowly back to his bed and pulled on
the new clothes. They fit well enough since Rob had asked for his size before
buying them—probably from Target, the thought of which made him groan.
"Do I get sunglasses?" he asked as he pulled on one of the lightweight gloves.
"Why the fuck would you need sunglasses?" Rob looked up from packing his bag.
Kurt just pointed at his face until the man rolled his eyes. "Hell, whatever.
We'll stop at a gas station for a pair."
Kurt groaned again, loudly.
"We could blindfold you instead," Rob threatened, but Kurt didn't bat an eye.
"I think people would notice that, hun."
Robin scowled and zipped his bag closed. Once Kurt had worked up the nerve to
try, he found Rob let him get away with rather a lot. Much more than he had let
Annette, but definitely less than Kitty since she got a gun.
Neither captor told Kurt where they were going when they bundled him into an
obviously stolen car. But he did get to pick his own sunglasses before climbing
into a different car they just took from the gas station parking lot. Then they
tied his hands together in front of him and told him not to move. Kurt shrugged
and went to sleep.
He woke up naked, but that was hardly surprising. Kitty's big brown eyes and
the slick finger that found its way inside him just after he opened his eyes
were, but mostly because he was used to Robbie. Most surprising of all, his
hands were free. Kurt turned when he heard Rob clear his throat to find the man
beside the bed aiming a gun at Kurt.
It felt weird having Kitty's finger inside him. It didn't hurt, but it didn't
feel all that good either. What the finger did feel was small. The only thing
he'd ever had shoved in there was Robin's dick, and Kurt only wished it were
the size of a woman's index finger. Or even two of them, he amended when Kitty
added a second.
Why had they bothered to wait until he opened his eyes? This would definitely
have woken him anyway, especially when her fingertips brushed against a place
inside him that felt fucking good instead of just plain fucked.
It sort of ruined the mood when she smirked and said in a low, sultry voice,
"See, Rob, I told you so." Kurt wasn't sure what she'd told him, but it was
definitely annoying that she was there just to prove a point—and that Kurt had
proven it for her. Plus, she'd made him remember that the fingers inside him
belonged to a woman, and that was just a turn-off no matter what else was going
on.
"Fun as this is, what the hell is happening right about now?" Kurt asked, and
almost winced to realize he was slightly out of breath. Instead he leveled a
careful gaze at Robin and pretended to ignore the gun.
Rob laughed. "Kitty thinks you'll be nicer if it hurts less. I think she's
adorable, don't you?"
"Yeah, I'm not really sure what any of that—oh fuck." Kitty had hit the spot
again. This time Kurt did wince. He didn't want to give Rob ammunition against
him, which mostly meant Kurt needed to learn to keep his cool.
"Yeah, princess, me neither. See, I think you'll be nicer if it hurts more."
"That," Kurt said with eyebrow immaculately raised despite his uneven breathing
and general awkwardness, "Is because you're a bucket of sunshine."
"Aren't I just?" He stared at Kitty for a moment with a look of utter boredom
that almost matched Finn's in math class. "Hit him for me, will you, Kitty?"
She jerked in what could only be shock. "But, Robin…" The woman had stopped
moving her fingers, and Kurt took the opportunity to slide himself off of them.
Robin sighed. "Come here, Kitty." He clicked his tongue like he was calling an
animal.
Scowling, Kitty climbed off the bed and walked over to him with her hips
swaying exaggeratedly. When she reached him, Robin smacked her the way he
usually did Kurt. As the man's eyes met Kitty's, Kurt dashed from the bed to
the door. They had a gun, and he had no clothes, but it was the closest to a
chance he'd had since… since the first night when Rob had caught him in the
neighbor's yard.
He actually got the door open before the gunshot sounded. But nothing hurt, so
he kept running and realized as he leapt passed some seriously freaked out
women into the stairwell that Robin's shot had missed. If he weren't otherwise
occupied, Kurt would have wondered why.
Even with no idea where he was going, Kurt believed he could find a way
outside, especially since he'd already found the stairwell. He wasn't sure what
to do after that—get himself arrested for indecent exposure, maybe.
It didn't much matter since someone tackled him and muttered that "Princess
Alex" obviously needed a lesson in "court etiquette." There was probably
something witty Kurt could have said to that, but nothing came to mind. He
could only scream and lash out as Rob dragged him back to their room, now
growling about having to be quick.
The tall man slammed Kurt against the room's ugly little desk, driving the air
from the boy's lungs. Both of his hands stayed on the countertenor's body, but
Kurt heard the man's zipper slide down anyway. He screamed something incoherent
as Rob slammed into him, not even bothering with lube this time. It would have
been worse but for whatever Kitty had been playing at. Kurt was vaguely proud
of himself for having the presence of mind to realize that.
Then something cold and sharp bit into the skin of his back, and deep, searing
pain replaced all else. The pain became rhythmic, blade biting the flesh of his
back in time with Robin's thrusts into the boy's hole. It felt almost like he
was trying to paint a picture of red line and blood the way he moved the cold
metal through and between each cut.
When Robin finally came, he slashed his knife forward so it connected with
Kurt's jaw just below the ear and slid along his neck and down his back until
the man's orgasm reached its end. Kurt sobbed. When Rob moved away from him,
the boy collapsed on the floor and wished the world would wink out, or maybe
that he would, or at least that it just wouldn't hurt so much anymore. More
than anything else, he wanted to go home and hug his father, or maybe for Rob's
skin to peel away and be replaced by swarming, stinging wasps.
***** Sally: Bad Things *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The scary man carried Sally over his shoulder. She tried to scream, but the gag
in her mouth stifled it into little more than a moan. It was enough noise for
the scary man to spank her again, so she squirmed. He wouldn't let go. Then she
was swinging down, the world suddenly reorienting itself to right-side-up. The
scary man shoved her into the backseat of a car and tied her hands to the
handle above the door—"oh shit handles" she'd heard her older sister call them
when she didn't know Sally was listening. He slammed the door in Sally's face
after he pulled the gag out and then got into the front passenger seat.
There were two other people in the car. A woman dressed in red sat at the
wheel, pursing thick lips that Sally knew her sister would kill for. She
started the car and drove them away from Sally's home and family. The other
person was tied up the same as Sally. At first, she thought it was a girl with
big, sad, blue eyes. Then she realized it was a boy, but he was still prettier
than any of the girls Sally knew. He had the kind of face you only see on TV,
and Sally bet he would be even prettier if he weren't glaring at the scary man
hard enough that most people could probably have died of it.
Sally wasn't a little girl—she'd be thirteen in twenty-six days—but people
liked to treat her as one. Grown-ups were supposed to take care of kids. They
would smile and tell her everything would be okay even when Sally could tell it
wouldn't. Like when her mama left home in the car after finishing a bottle of
wine she'd only just opened that night. She slammed the car against a tree hard
enough to shoot herself through the windshield. Papa told Sally in the hospital
that everything would be alright and Mama would come home. Mama died, but Sally
had only been ten years old then. And grown-ups were supposed to comfort kids
with soft little lies.
Usually, Sally would have assumed someone older—and this boy had to be at
leastfifteen—would assume Sally herself was just a little girl in need of help
and comfort. This boy, though, all but ignored her to make faces at the man in
the front seat. Sally knew he was supposed to either treat her wrong so she
could correct him, or indulge his fears to her so they could bond over their
shared plight. In the movies, the two of them would fall in love, and he
wouldn't care that she was younger because she was emotionally a woman. As
kidnappings go, this one was rather droll.
There were two other times Sally had been kidnapped, both for ransom. Her papa
was filthy rich, so it only made sense. No one ever kidnapped her older sister,
but then, her older sister never wandered through the grounds alone after dark.
So maybe Sally was asking for it. And maybe Sally hoped this pretty, pretty boy
would stop glaring at the scary man so she could woo him.
No one spoke, and Sally realized she would have to take the initiative. She
parted her lips ever so slightly and looked through her eyelashes at the boy.
"I'm Sally, who are you?" It came out small and weak and so, so perfect for the
situation. At least one of them knew how to act.
The boy looked surprised, which seemed rather silly to Sally. "Why?"
Sally thought she heard a muffled laugh from the front seat but chose to ignore
it. At least the boy had stopped glaring. He definitely looked prettier with
his features softened. "Because you don't seem much like a kidnapper." She
gazed pointedly at his tied hands before wiggling her own.
"I'm…" He glanced at the front of the car, then back at Sally. "Call me Alex."
She smiled ever so slightly in a way that would let her face still look sad.
"Alex, does he want money from your papa too?"
He shook his head, but Sally couldn't read his expression. Mostly it looked
sad, but there was something else. Something that reminded her of the look in
her papa's eyes when he made jokes about drunk driving even though that was how
her mama died. "Robin doesn't want anything from my dad."
"Then why are you here?" She forgot to make her voice coy and flirty that time,
but that was okay. She knew that over the course of their time together, Alex
would slowly see more and more of her inner self. So this was essentially a
preview, or foreshadowing, or the first tidbit of the more forward side of her
personality. Or something.
The boy shrugged as best he could with his arms stuck above his head. "He wants
something from me instead."
"Why? Are you rich?"
Alex laughed before he answered, and that made the scary man glare at him. "Oh,
no, Sally. It's not anything like that."
Sally tried to think for a moment what else someone could be kidnapped for, but
all she had were vague notions of Bad Things. "Then… then like what, Alex?"
His face got hard again, and Sally knew she had asked too many questions.
"Doesn't matter. I won't give it."
Sally didn't talk again while they were in the car because it seemed like a
time to be quiet. Even theatricality called for a tangibly thick silence in the
darkness of the car. She tried to chew on it but only got a hold of her lower
lip.
The woman at the wheel stopped the car outside a dingy motel that looked like
someplace you would take a hooker. Sally wasn't terribly surprised. The others
had taken her to similarly pathetic places. If kidnappers had money for a
palace made of crystal, then they wouldn't have much use for Sally or ransom
notes. So she also wasn't surprised when Robin untied her and dragged her into
a room near the corner of the building.
It did surprise her that after the woman untied him, Alex walked in on his own.
"Bed," Robin growled at the gorgeous boy, tying Sally to a radiator after
checking that it was firmly attached to the wall. He bound her with her arms
behind her back so she faced outward at the rest of the room. She watched as
Alex sat gingerly on the edge of one of two beds in the room. He should have
been gazing at Sally, or at least staring fearfully at Robin, but Alex just
stared dully at the floor.
When the scary man turned to advance on Alex in the way even Sally knew only a
man sure of his own power could, she knew what was coming. She had never
focused on the sort of bad things people could do to her or anyone else because
she had always avoided them. People didn't want to hurt her; they wanted her
papa to take her back.
She didn't think Alex had the same advantage. When Robin smiled at the way Alex
flinched at his touch, Sally understood what the man wanted from him. She
didn't feel so grown up anymore. Mostly, she just felt scared.
Alex didn't fight back much when Robin took off his clothes. He glanced at
Sally for a moment before losing his pants, but Robin didn't seem to notice or
care. Seeing his penis made Alex seem older to Sally. Because you could only
show something like that if you were eighteen or married. Everyone knew that.
And some part of Sally knew that wasn't true.
Robin unzipped his pants and pulled himself out. His penis was different from
Alex's: big and hard and scary where Alex's was as limp as the rest of his
body, lying on the bed like someone waiting for a nightmare. The man didn't
bother to finish undressing himself. He pulled a bottle of something out of the
nightstand and spread it over himself. The only warning he gave Alex before
penetrating him was grabbing the boy ankles and dragging him so his legs
wrapped around the older man.
Then Alex screamed. Robin thrust forward and back, still holding onto the boy's
legs. Sally tried to close her ears, but only her vision went black. She
listened to the sound of their bodies slapping together, to Alex's whimpers and
moans, and finally to Robin's deceptively soft gasp. The mattress creaked with
the weight of a dropping body, and Sally opened her eyes again.
Alex was facing her now, staring at a brown spot on the wall. Behind him, Robin
reclined against the headboard, a small smile twisting his face. He looked
scarier than before. Sally promised God that she would never wander around
alone at night or giggle at naughty words when her friends came over for a
sleepover again if he would save her from what had just happened to Alex.
"Well, girlie, how did you like that show?" Robin grinned and looked at Sally
when he spoke. Her mouth was too dry and her brain too shocked to say anything,
but he didn't seem to expect more out of her. He threw his head back and
laughed. Alex, she noticed, looked worried. He also looked like he was about to
cry. "Don't worry, hun, it's your turn now." He made it halfway to standing
before Alex sat up, revealing a tangle of scabbed-over slashes on his back, and
laughed.
"What, Rob, is that your attempt to de-gay yourself? 'Cause, sweetheart, the
first person you banged wasn't your girlfriend; it was your boy toy."
Robin growled and leaned over the bed so he could wrap a big hand around Alex's
neck. "I'm sick of your attitude, princess. Stop talking to me like that."
"Why?" Alex looked about to pee himself, but he kept talking. "Girls are easy
enough to replace, but a pretty little thing like me? You don't find those in
every hick town you pass through." He wrapped his legs around Robin's waist and
almost managed to look coy.
It hit Sally that Alex hadn't just gone insane. He was protecting her. She
didn't think she could be more grateful to him if he'd taken a bullet for her.
And when she watched Robin swell to press against Alex's butt, she knew it had
worked. In the time between Robin entering the small boy again and that
strange, soft sigh he let out at the end, Sally realized Alex was also right.
Robin wanted the boy more than he did either of the girls.
Chapter End Notes
     This was actually the first chapter of By Any Other Name that I
     wrote. I knew it wouldn't be the first in the story, but it helped to
     start the story after knowing I wanted it to reach this. I'm
     currently 70+ chapters into the story, and this is the only OC POV
     I've ever written for it, so don't worry about them becoming a thing.
***** Kurt: Except He Knew *****
Chapter Notes
     Song: Elton John's "I'm Still Standing." It has a silly music video;
     or maybe it's just really British and I need a translator. I spent
     forever trying to figure out what song I wanted Kurt to sing here.
     Another major contender for it is so perfectly amazing that I'm
     saving it for later because I didn't want to cut either of them. :)
Motherfucker. Cocksucker. Fuckface. Bastard. Bitch. Whore. Slut.
Kurt pounded the back of his head against the wall, but not nearly hard enough
to make up for what a fucked-up little asshole he'd been. Even when he told
himself it had been a good idea at the time, Kurt couldn't get over what he'd
done. He'd given Robin his permission. Fuck, he'd begged the man to screw him.
Kurt felt dirty, slicked over with shit to make him nice and smooth for the
sick bastard he'd now given himself to.
At least Sally made it out okay. Her dad paid the ransom, and she left wide-
eyed and scared but otherwise unharmed. For some reason, Rob had thought he
should use some of the ransom money to buy Kurt lavender bath salts. It made
about as much sense to Kurt as trying to get a glass of water by wiggling your
ears, but he didn't complain. Nothing that had happened recently made Kurt feel
he deserved it, but Robbie let him take long, quiet baths now.
Bathing alternated between relaxing and infuriating depending on the course of
Kurt's thoughts. That could have been the reason he showered before, and then
only if he did so quickly. The extra time to think without discomfort or pain
to distract him led his mind in dangerous circles. He couldn't figure out what
had changed—
Except he knew, didn't he? That he had given himself to—
That fuckhead actually left Kurt alone in the bathroom. Oh, he or Kitty sat
right outside, waiting, listening, but they let him bathe without anyone
watching. It almost felt like peace, except for the gun that would watch him
dress when he climbed out of the water.
He had yet to determine if Robbie and Kitty liked it when he sang. That was
probably for the best—he sang for himself, not for them. Well, fuck them, who
cares? He tested a note in the damp air. It echoed back to him softly. Not the
best acoustics, but certainly not the worst he'd worked with. Kurt wanted to
try something more upbeat than he felt, something that sounded like hope.
You could never know what it's like
Your blood like winter freezes just like ice
And there's a cold lonely light that shines from you
You'll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use
And did you think this fool could never win
Well look at me, I'ma coming back again
I got a taste of love in a simple way
And if you need to know while I'm still standing you just fade away
Maybe, sometimes, he did sing a little bit for Robin. Not for Robin, no. For
Kurt, but still hoping Rob would hear. Because Kurt hadn't agreed to anything
after Sally was safely away. He fought back again. Kurt's lips grinned around
the lyrics as he imagined the row of tooth marks on his captor's neck. No way
the man would forget that anytime soon.
Don't you know I'm still standing better than I ever did
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid
I'm still standing after all this time
Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind
A knock at the door told him it was time to get the hell out already. Or maybe
just that someone didn't want to listen to him sing any longer. While he
changed into his cheap, dark clothing, Kitty watched him, alone except for the
gun in her hands.
"Hey, Alex," she said as he fussed with the only scarf he'd convinced them to
buy him. He stopped and looked at her but saw no reason for a more specific
reply. "I got a deal for you, wanna hear me out?"
"Look, hun, I'm only interested if it gets me either away or into a designer
pair of boots." There were fucking Wal-Mart-bought sneakers waiting for him by
the door. They looked like troll snot and felt remarkably like Karofsky's fist
in his face, only on his feet.
She shrugged. "You're full of shit, kid. Look, Robin's a jackass, and I hate
putting up with his temper."
Kurt nodded in agreement when she paused. The man's temper usually led to
pretty girls being beaten, raped, and murdered. Kurt wouldn't want to deal with
it either if he had a choice.
"But he's still my sweetie," she continued, "So I ain't leaving. Problem is:
he'd shoot me quick as he would a duck if I lost you." She stopped a moment
with her head cocked when someone shuffled by the room outside and continued
when they'd passed. "Your part of the deal is simple: just make sure I'm not
the one in charge when you run for it. Me in charge is basically like now
because if Rob's around, he's definitely running things, got it?"
Kurt nodded and wondered if Kitty was insane. It'd be easier to run with Robin
away. The thought made him wonder if he should try it now. But she still had
that gun pointed straight at him.
"When Rob brought you in, you were carrying a knife, but I'll bet you couldn't
use that any more effectively than you could your fists, am I right?"
"No more technique, true, but it was certainly sharper. That helped somewhat."
She frowned. "Not-enough-what." Sometimes Kitty had the strangest way of
talking. "I'll teach you a little. Probably too little to let you get away
because that'd be suicide for me, but enough to make you feel a bit better
about your chances. At least if Robin leaves you with someone else." She waited
for a moment and spoke again when Kurt didn't say anything. "Well, what do you
think?"
Kurt put a hand on his hip and tried to ooze confidence even though he mostly
just wanted to run for it. "I think: how are you going to teach me anything
when we can't be within three feet of each other for risk of you losing that
metal thing you have to point at me constantly anyway?"
"I wouldn't have it on me or within reach when we're practicing, airhead." She
rolled her eyes. "If you aren't going to try and escape, then this," and she
waved the thing about like a toy, "is unnecessary."
"And you, what, think I'm a man of my word?" This was stupid. He should just
agree, wait until she put the gun away, and make a run for it.
"A little boy prone to lies and tricks, actually. Don't worry about me so much.
I've got it covered." She smiled, and Kurt supposed she meant it to be
mysterious.
That could only mean Kitty wasn't actually the only one watching him. And that
could mean either Robbie was just pretending to leave them alone, or they had a
third accomplice who hadn't shown his or her face to Kurt yet for whatever
reason. If this were a crime drama, it'd be because the countertenor knew them
personally.
Or, wait, one more. It could mean Kitty was bluffing. But the only bluff he'd
known them to pull so far had actually been more of a trick, convincing Kurt he
had a chance to escape on that first night away from Lima.
That night Rob had told Kurt that he'd thought of everything before. And he
also seemed to remember every bitchy comment Kurt made—because how else would
he have known to get the bath salts? Kurt whined once that he wanted a decent
bath. So how much else did Robin remember? How much had Kurt said without
thinking about it?
And if the bastard remembered every little thing, why hadn't he used those big
fancy dollars on a pair of shoes that didn't make Kurt want to hurl? Or the
Marc Jacobs jacket he had pointed out to Kitty the last time they let him near
her laptop?
"Fine." The worst she'd do if she caught him trying to escape would be hit him
and stop with whatever lessons she thought she'd give him. If anyone were going
to kill him, Kurt knew it'd be Rob, not Kitty, and not her hypothetical bluff
of an accomplice.
She grinned and told him to get back in the bathroom. He groaned and went to
sit on the toilet lid. Just before he decided to start singing again to pass
the time, another knock on the door summoned him out.
The room looked exactly the same except that Kitty didn't have a firearm
anymore. So maybe she'd been serious about this.
"Okay, Alex. First, I want to see what sort of shape you're in. Why don't we
start simple, like… give me some push-ups. I'll count; you just concentrate on
doing 'em."
"Seriously?"
She nodded and pointed at the floor, frowning. Kurt groaned. He'd already
passed Freshmen P.E. This was supposed to be behind him. Like she said, he
didn't bother counting, not that the number would have been all that impressive
if he had.
Kitty kept forcing Kurt into flashbacks—physical education was pretty much
guaranteed to be miserable for small gay boys, even if he hadn't been out at
that point. She called him names and even made him do jumping jacks. Kurt
couldn't figure out how that was supposed to help, but maybe she just thought
it'd be funny.
By the time Rob returned a few hours later, Kurt was exhausted. He didn't even
have the energy to kick at Robin when he told Kurt he was horny and tore at the
boy's clothes. Maybe that had been Kitty's goal all along. Robbie certainly
seemed to like it when Kurt didn't fight.
To make up for it, Kurt called him "Robbie" out loud and asked him if he'd
forgotten what to do when the man stopped long enough to smack Kurt for it. It
hurt, but in a smug way.
***** Puck: Could Have Been *****
Puck couldn't decide if it hurt because he was just that hard or because it was
sinful and stuff to get off on this sort of thing. He palmed himself through
his jeans for a moment longer before deciding he needed to be out. Now. His
fingers fumbled over the zipper in haste, but it wasn't long before he freed
his cock.
"Oh, thank God," he moaned.
It did sort of bother him to sit at home alone watching porn, but some things
you just didn't share with girls. Not even girls like Santana, who may have
been into this sort of shit for all he knew. But the point here was he didn't
know, and he definitely didn't want to risk her thinking him a sick freak,
especially since he'd never tried it before. But… well, damn. This was hot.
Maybe he was a freak.
The speakers on his laptop kind of sucked, but he could still hear the high,
pretty voice of a woman moaning and begging. That wasn't all that new, really.
Except that usually the girls in the porn he watched begged for more. And he'd
made fucking sure this was all fake before watching it, so he only felt a
little bad that it turned him on when she begged for the man—a tall, muscular
guy with a dick the size of fucking Africa—to please, please stop.
She was tied to the bed with leather straps, and the man used a knife almost as
big as his cock to cut her clothes off. Not that she'd been wearing much to
begin with, but whatever. It was porn, not high literary art shit.
When the man entered her, he hadn't touched her or lubed up, but he slid in a
little too easily, and the woman's pain was a little too faked. Puck was glad
they'd gotten her ready off-screen at some point, but… they could have hidden
it better. He felt a little cheated.
It passed quickly becauseFuck. The man put his weight on one hand and wrapped
the other around the woman's pretty neck as he pumped mercilessly into her. She
screamed. At first there were words, begging him to stop, to let her go, and
asking why he was doing this—that hadn't really been explained, actually, but
whatever: porn.
Then she moaned between screams. Words faded away. She climaxed twice by the
time the man came. So did Puck.
He couldn't decide if they'd done right—since it was porn, not life—or if the
woman should have been against it the whole time. Whatever. He got off on it,
and that was what counted. Counted toward what, he didn't know, and probably
didn't want to.
Next time, Puck decided, he'd look for something that used more toys. Maybe a
leash. And fuck, but he just realized Santana would be hot as all hell with
thigh-high leather stilettos and a whip. That sort of made him wonder which
place he'd take in porn like this, but whatever. He'd switched positions with
Santana a few times, and it was hot either way.
Then he thought of Quinn and winced. Maybe, if he was lucky, Santana was a
freaky bitch and would love to try a few new things with Puck, but not Quinn.
She was genuinely wholesome and sweet. Bitchy sometimes, but overall a good
girl. She would run screaming if he even hinted at this. So had the woman in
the video he just watched, but her getting over it had probably only been
possible because there were actors and something like a script involved.
As he started cleaning up, his phone went off. Quinn. Just great.
"Hey," he answered trying not to sound guilty or weird or nervous.
"Where are you?" She sounded annoyed. He'd forgotten something. Crap.
"Where should I be?" Not at home watching porn, apparently.
She sighed into the phone. "At Ku—Finn's place. Sometimes, Puck, I really
wonder about your brain. Are you drunk or maybe high again?"
Oh. That. "No." Everyone was going over to Kurt's place, which was now Finn's
place too (again), to mope around and be there for each other emotionally. He'd
forgotten mostly on purpose and had hoped no one would think to call him.
"Well, get over here. You're already late enough, so stop wasting time." She
hung up before Puck could argue that he didn't want to get over there. She'd
gotten pretty good at that—hanging up, stopping conversations before Puck had a
chance to take control of them.
He decided to change his clothes rather than risk having missed a bit of cum.
Then he figured he might as well look nice since his face sure as hell
wouldn't, what with the way it'd already started scrunching up and glaring at
things. Otherwise he looked hot, sure, but these glee kids had learned to look
past his stunning good looks and the size of his arms. He wasn't quite sure
how, but they'd managed it.
And as final proof that there was nothing wrong with his brain, Puck didn't
grab a six pack on his way out. He only took a single and stashed it in the
glove box just in case, though he did take a minute to wonder why his mom had
gone back to buying Bud. Whatever.
Everyone glared at him when he showed up. Because he'd forgotten. Since he
hadn't wanted to come at all, Puck knew he probably deserved it, but it still
made him mad. He felt his face shifting into a sneer again. They all knew he
wasn't into this sort of thing, so why did they get upset when he tried not to
come?
"Oh, Puck, so kind of you to join us." Even though she'd been out of practice
for a while, Quinn's bitch voice was still razor sharp. Then again, she'd been
using it on Santana recently.
He shrugged and didn't look her in the eyes. He'd heard somewhere that you
should never look a rabid animal in the eyes and figured it applied to rabid
women too. "I'm sure you're honored and thrilled." He'd kept his dick voice as
polished as Quinn did her bitch voice.
No. That wasn't what he wanted to do. It'd just make her even angrier at him.
Then again, the only time she hooked up with him had been when he'd been a
royal asshole. Puck would have groaned, but Quinn was talking again.
"Try to be civil. You're clearly some sort of sociopath, but a few people here
are confused enough to think you have a heart." Puck winced, but Quinn kept
going. "So just try to look sad and don't talk much. Say you're sorry a lot.
I'll enjoy it, and it'll sound appropriate."
"Quinn, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
She cut him off firmly. "Not bad. But you may want to keep your voice softer to
make it sound more heartfelt."
"Baby, my heart's loud as—Shit, no. What I said before, it just slipped out. I
really am sorry. And not a sociopath." He'd looked it up the last time someone
called him that, and it didn't fit. Puck was a delinquent, a miscreant, a
hoodlum, and sexy as hell, but not a sociopath.
The way Quinn blinked her eyes rapidly as she sighed and shook her head was
strangely beautiful. "I know. It's just… you're hard to get along with
sometimes. Easier to throw an insult and walk away unscathed."
"Wait," Puck scratched at his head. "I'm scathing when you don't insult me?
That makes as much sense as Finn in a gorilla suit. And, trust me, you'll only
see that if one of you is high."
She smiled sadly. "It's harder to take when you aren't even trying to hurt me,
that's all. Play nice tonight, okay. Everyone here wishes they could be family
but can't quite manage it because none of us were before Kurt was taken away,
and he's left a hole we can't fill now."
Puck nodded. "Some of us could have been, you know. Family." The word made him
think of Beth.
"I know." She walked away.
***** Kurt: What the Hell *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
After having been brutally raped by the man, it seemed odd to Kurt that he'd be
weirded out when Robin poked his dick. The bank robber had never minded that
Kurt wasn't hard for him before, so why now?
"Alex," Robin said, voice too soft for the coarse and calloused hand that
suddenly gripped the boy's length, "Don't you like me?"
"Hell no, why should I?"
The searing pain that ran through him when Rob yanked ruthlessly on Kurt's
still flaccid penis convinced the boy that maybe he should have been more
diplomatic. A little.
"Most boys get excited just from having a hand on them, you know." He had
returned to a soft petting that might have been nice if it weren't so creepy.
"I'm a higher-class kind of boy." Kurt made the sentence as haughty as he knew
how, to make up for the lack of creativity. His mind was too tired to show much
wit today.
"Which means either you'd only have a boner for the man you love, or only for a
hand wrapped in a thousand dollar glove. Which is it?" Rob smirked, though Kurt
couldn't have said why.
"Preferably the former, but if the glove had diamond studs on the cuffs and the
promise of a second pair for my own hands, that might be enough, actually."
Kurt tried on an answering smirk, and deepened it when the fit felt right.
Robbie laughed. "You are so damned adorable I don't even know what to do with
you sometimes."
"Ooh, ooh, I know. You could buy me new shoes and get me home by eight." Kurt's
voice was sarcastic, but he almost let himself hope Rob would just give up and
do it.
"Tempting, but I think I'd rather screw you. By a thin margin, I admit."
"Well, what about the shoes?"
As answer, Robin slapped him. It was lighter a blow than usual; Kurt didn't
even taste blood in his mouth. "Do you remember the way out of here?"
"What?" The countertenor didn't see what that had to do with anything.
Robin left Kurt long enough to fetch a sketchpad and pencil from his duffel.
"If I untied you, could you draw the path from this room to the outside? To
where we parked the car would be even better."
Kurt knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't seem to close it or say
anything. And try as he might, Kurt couldn't decide whether Rob wanted him to
answer with 'yes' or 'no.'
While the countertenor stared slack-jawed, his captor loosed the bonds on his
wrists. Once the boy was free, Robin nodded his head toward the sketchpad.
"Now, draw. The better it is, the less I'll hurt you after."
"Gee, Robbie," the threat brought Kurt back to himself. "You sure know how to
bribe a boy, don't you?" But he grabbed the pencil and started drawing lines
for the hallway outside the room before Rob could say anything else.
Kurt couldn't remember how far it was to the stairs, but he guessed, only to
realize he couldn't remember how many flights they'd gone up. Whatever. He
didn't have to draw each floor, just a box with lines to make it look kind of
like stairs. The first floor had a lobby with some plastic trees and a bunch of
chairs. He drew slanted lines for the front door and a grid for the parking
lot. He couldn't remember which row the car was in, but he doubted his grid
lined up right anyway. So Kurt picked a spot and drew a circle a little too big
so that Rob wouldn't know which parking space Kurt meant it to cover.
Only after he finished drawing did Kurt realize Robin had been drawing too. He
tried to peek at the man's work, but Robin pulled Kurt's attempt over it.
"Shit, Alex. If I gave you a ruler, would you maybe draw a straight line? Or
would they still swerve about like a drunk who just got kicked out of a bar?"
Kurt just stared at him. Of course the lines would be straighter with something
to go by; why did Rob complain that they wiggled a little when he had to work
freehand?
"How many doors between here," he pointed at Kurt's drawing to indicate their
room, "and here?" Then he pointed at the stairs. When Kurt just shrugged, Robin
backhanded him. "Answer, princess."
"Three?"
"Five. Why didn't you indicate what floor we're on?"
"Because I don't know." Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and glanced over
to where Kitty sat with the ever-present gun.
"How the hell do you not know what floor you're on?" Robin growled the words
from a place deep in his throat.
Kurt shivered. "I forgot how many flights we walked up. Why does it matter?"
Instead of answering, Rob growled again and showed Kurt the two drawings side-
by-side. Robin's had clean, almost perfectly straight lines that made Kurt's
look downright messy. The man had marked and labeled almost everything, and
Kurt got the feeling that the estimated distances were pretty damn close to the
actual ones. Robin had even made notations on some of the cars in the parking
lot, including the one he'd driven in with. Kurt had no doubt he'd be able to
find them based just on Rob's map.
He probably shouldn't have said anything, but Kurt had always talked too much.
"I still don't understand why you want me to know this." He kept his voice
small and soft and didn't look his captor in the eyes.
Rob decline to answer. The man pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Kurt's
mouth before jerking him bodily to the headboard. Once he had Kurt secured,
Robin positioned himself between the boy's legs.
"You'll know whatever I damn well please, Alex. And you'll learn to pay some
fucking attention." He leaned over his prisoner and grinned in the same twisted
way he had the first time Kurt saw him.
A small whimper broke through the countertenor's lips, though he tried to hold
it back. The sound made Robbie's grin widen as he slid a large hand up Kurt's
chest to the boy's slender neck. He rubbed his thumb over the soft skin. It
felt rough and scratchy to Kurt. Then Robin wrapped his hand around the boy's
neck. He could have squeezed but didn't, just held it there and stared at Kurt.
That creepy stare made Kurt want to squirm away. But he couldn't; he couldn't
even bring himself to look away from the hard brown eyes gazing into his blue
ones. He felt more trapped in that moment than he had since being taken.
When Kurt blinked, Rob looked away to grab the lube he'd set on the nightstand
when they came in. The man squeezed it on his fingers instead of his cock. He
pressed one into Kurt without even bothering to warm the lube. It was cold and
sharp, and weird more because what the hell was Robin doing than anything else.
He opened Kurt slowly with his fingers, spreading them inside the boy in a way
that could only be described as "gently." The word felt so foreign in Kurt's
mind that he knew he'd never try it on his tongue. But he didn't complain.
It made him sick to think, but this actually felt kind of nice.Enjoying
anything Rob did to him was definitely, absolutely, undeniably fucked up, but
Kurt was not about to ask Robin to go back to hurting him.
Robbie even entered Kurt slowly, letting the boy adjust to being filled. Kurt
tried to read his captor's expression but detected only the restraint it must
have taken to pump so slowly into a body Rob was used to taking forceful
possession of. He set a slower pace than usual and explored Kurt's body with
his hands and mouth.
No one had ever touched Kurt like this before. He tried to stay annoyed,
disinterested, hurt, victimized, whatever. But he couldn't stop it when his
body reacted to caresses that almost felt loving. Robin even kissed him, though
never full on the lips. When the man brought a hand to Kurt's cock, the
countertenor decided he couldn't be blamed for responding. His hips jerked
forward into the touch even though his mind told them to stay still.
Kurt groaned when he realized he was going to come. For the asshole who had
kidnapped, raped, and threatened to murder him, no less. He managed to moan
"Fuck" instead of anything Robbie could take nicely when it happened. The
rapist finished soon after and went immediately to the bathroom to clean up. He
ignored Kurt for the rest of the night, which was sort of awesome in a
terrified, lost kind of way.
Chapter End Notes
     I seriously had trouble writing the end of this because… Crap, that's
     just creepy. Why did I ever plan it? T.T I remember feeling weird
     over the beginning of the last chapter, but this is like a million
     times worse. You know that crawly feeling like there are bugs on you
     but there really aren't? That's how this chapter makes me feel.
***** Puck: Dented *****
Chapter Notes
     Song in this chapter: "The Stranger" by Billy Joel. I was staring at
     a few other Billy Joel songs for a slightly different place in Puck's
     arc. Then this song came on in my car (because OF COURSE it's on the
     CD I burned myself) and I realized Puck had to sing it.
Puck didn't much care that he was drunk. Well, no, he cared, just that was the
way he wanted it. Honestly, Puck was sick of sober. It hurt even without a
hangover, and all anyone said anymore was that they understood and missed Kurt
too. Or that it was time to move on and had been for a while. After the first
seventy-two hours, it wasn't likely he'd come home anymore. Seventy-two hours
passed almost a month ago. It had been a long time. And hell, it hadn't been
any time at all. Kurt could still be alive out there. Puck was definitely drunk
right here in the choir room.
The jock crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. Mr. Schue was talking
about feelings again, but Puck had gotten pretty damn good at drowning him out.
He rolled his eyes anyway because even if he hadn't caught the words, Puck got
the tone and could have guessed the overall idea.
"Dude, what the hell is your problem?" Finn nudged Puck in the arm, but not
enough to hurt or tip him over.
"Dunno, wasn't paying attention." Puck chewed at his bottom lip for a moment
before he caught himself. Shit, he he'd broken that habit in fifth grade, or
thought he had.
"That's just it, man." Finn stood up and towered over the seated teen. "You
don't give a damn. The rest of us are struggling right in front of you, barely
holding each other up, and you, you just sit there."
"Finn, I think it's best—" Schuester started, but Puck cut him off.
"No, let's go for it. You wanna cry on my shoulder like a fucking pussy, Finn?
It's not bringing Kurt back. And maybe you've forgotten, but you could barely
stand to be in the same room as the guy for fear he'd gay at you. You're
probably better off with him gone. It's easier anyway."
"What the hell? That's not—"
"Admit it, Finn. The reason you're so Goddamned butt-hurt is that you were a
little relieved for just a moment when you found out you'd never have to worry
about Kurt's little crush on you again." Puck stood and shoved Finn back as he
spoke. He was sick of putting up with everyone's shit.
"Back off, Puckerman." Sam actually tried to make his words threatening as he
moved to stand beside Finn. When Puck made a move toward him, Sam didn't back
down. He did try to talk Puck out of whatever the hell he expected his
classmate of trying though. "I realize I barely knew Kurt, but he seemed like a
nice guy. And these are your friends. You should support them even if you don't
feel the same way."
"Really now? And has the nice-boy act gotten you laid yet?"
"Puck!" Quinn's voice was an octave or two too high to sound properly angry.
Mercedes took hold of the head cheerleader's hand and squeezed it lightly
before turning on Puck. "Boy, you need to calm the hell down." When Puck only
glared at her silently, she continued. "What, not gonna shout and push me
around?"
"You and Asian chick were the only ones who actually liked Kurt." Puck
shrugged.
"That's more than enough," Mr. Schue cut in. "Puck, everyone here was a friend
to Kurt."
"I used to think you were too," Finn said to Puck.
"Finn, not now," Schuester continued. "Puck, I want to see you in my office,
now. Now," he repeated when Puck didn't move.
Puck crossed his arms over his chest. As he walked toward the door, he asked,
"Maybe we were friends to him once, but how many of us still are now?"
Not one that Puck could count. He'd argued and complained and tried to tell
himself he was, but Puck gave up on Kurt as easily as the rest of them. Maybe
more so.
Someone tackled him from behind even though Mr. Schue was right there. The
string of curses from his attacker reached Puck in Finn's voice. It didn't
surprise him.
A softer voice from his left did though. "Do you know what happens when you try
to hide everything and cover it up?" Tina knelt down and leaned forward so Puck
could see her face when she continued. "It blows up in your face. And you… are
you drunk?"
"Hell yes. Why?" he had to grunt it out with Finn's weight still pressing him
into the floor.
"Noah, you can't come to school drunk," Schuester sighed, and Puck imagined him
rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"I didn't. I came to school sober and spent first period correcting that
oversight."
Tina looked at him like he had a second head growing out of his mohawk. "You're
an articulate drunk."
"An angry jerk-ass drunk too," Finn added as he eased off of Puck. "Always has
been."
"So what, being drunk makes everything he's said magically all better?"
Rachel's voice would be nicer if all she ever did with it was sing.
"Last time I saw Puck drunk, he told me something like eighty-seven reasons his
mom deserved to be bludgeoned with a soup pot. When he got tired of that, he
moved on to me, and his sister, and Rachel, and Santana, and Quinn, and
himself. I'm pretty sure he was angry about his dad or something at the time."
"And that's, what, an insult your friends free card?" Sam frowned.
Quinn didn't bother kneeling as Tina had. "There was a time when I thought I
knew you, Puck. But it's like some stranger came along and replaced you when I
wasn't looking."
She looked ready to turn away, but Puck stood first. A stranger. That was more
perfect than the queen bitch knew. When Puck went to retrieve his guitar, no
one stopped him. He hadn't taken a solo in glee club since Kurt was kidnapped.
The way everyone had been at him to sing fucking anything, they'd probably just
stand by until he finished. He shortened the introduction and launched into
singing with more force than he'd done anything in a while.
Well, we all have a face
That we hide away forever
And we take them out and show ourselves
When everyone has gone
Some are satin some are steel
Some are silk and some are leather
They're the faces of the stranger
But we love to try them on
Sure enough, no one tried to stop him. Schuester actually looked a little
relieved. Quinn looked taken aback. She moved to sit down again, and Puck
turned to make sure she knew he meant the song for her more than anyone else.
Though she turned her eyes away, Puck knew she could hear him.
Well, we all fall in love
But we disregard the danger
Though we share so many secrets
There are some we never tell
Why were you so surprised
That you never saw the stranger
Did you ever let your lover see
The stranger in yourself?
Don't be afraid to try again
Everyone goes south
Every now and then
You've done it, why can't someone else?
You should know by now
You've been there yourself
The last time Puck pulled out a Billy Joel tune, everyone joined in and had a
little fun with him. This time they sat and stared like they didn't know who he
was anymore. Well, that was the fucking point here, wasn't it? They thought
everyone had to be the same, had to grieve the same, or they were lying or
crazy. Well, Puck would deal with whatever the hell life wanted to throw at him
in his own way. And maybe he'd come out dented, but at least he'd admit to it.
You may never understand
How the stranger is inspired
But he isn't always evil
And he is not always wrong
Though you drown in good intentions
You will never quench the fire
You'll give in to your desire
When the stranger comes along
When he finished, Puck grabbed his bag and left them there. He didn't need them
any more than they needed him. Puck didn't know how he'd get home, but
whatever. Fuck, though, maybe he shouldn't have had so much to drink after all.
***** Kurt: Reopening the Wounds *****
Chapter Notes
     Song: Katy Perry's "Lost." I really, really don't like Katy Perry.
     But I'm pretty sure Kurt does. He wins since it's his story.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Kitty had hidden her gun again.
"You aren't in bad shape, actually," she said with arms crossed. "You were in
some dance club thing right?"
"Glee club."
"Whatever. Anyway, you're stronger than you look, and we already know you can
take a beating."
The woman seemed still to believe they had some sort of deal, which made sense
when Kurt considered that he hadn't escaped on her watch yet. He shrugged in
pseudo-answer to her comments and rubbed at his wrists. He couldn't quite tell
if they had scarred yet because he kept reopening the wounds there. They tied
him up every night. He struggled most of them.
"Today, you'll just work on blocking, 'kay Alex." The words might have been a
question except that she obviously wasn't asking.
She arranged his arms in front of him and told Kurt to try and stop her from
hitting him. It took a whole set of reflexes he had never even thought to
develop. Kurt wanted to flinch, run, and smart-talk people who hit him.
Choosing which part of his body—arm, not head—they would hit was… different.
And he didn't feel strong enough to manage it except that Kitty was obviously
going easy on him.
Easy or not, Kurt was exhausted after what couldn't have been more than an
hour, two at the most. He wanted to collapse on the bed, but Kitty made him
wait in the bathroom while she pulled her firearm from wherever she had hidden
it. She tied Kurt up but still kept an eye on him while he tried to fall
asleep.
The door woke him. It wasn't a loud sound, but Kurt slept lightly now. He
opened his eyes in time to see Robin walk through followed by two men he didn't
know. One was short and blond, the other burly and dark.
"Oh, good, the princess is awake." Robin hadn't actually spoken to Kurt since
the night he… the night he had Kurt draw the map. Instead he relied on weird,
directionless statements like this one. Otherwise, he acted like normal.
Admittedly, normal for Robin Banks was psychopathic for most people, but Kurt
saw no reason to bother with the scales of most people when they weren't the
ones here.
"You didn't tell us he was so pretty," the blond one said with a lopsided grin.
"To be fair," his taller companion added, "He didn't hardly tell us anything.
Like, can we play with him?"
"I thought about saying no, but no way you two could control yourselves." Robin
scowled. "He answers to 'Alex.' That's his leash holding him to the bed, but we
never got around to buying a collar. He'll probably talk back, and he sings a
lot. Don't lose him."
"Aw, how sweet. Robin wuvs his new pet," the blond teased.
"Why would we lose him?" The other man said at the same time. "I like my head
where it is, thanks."
Robin just rolled his eyes and left. Kitty followed.
The dark-haired man closed and locked the door. He even dragged the ugly,
floral-patterned chair in front of it. Neither of them had drawn a gun, but
Kurt knew they could just be waiting.
"So I'm Jace," the blond said suddenly, "And this is Todd. He's my boyfriend,
but I'm totally willing to share with a boy as pretty as yourself."
"And I'm willing to share with most anyone to be honest." Todd added as he
walked over to join the smaller man.
"He's such a slut, my Todd."
"Oh, please, hun. You only pretend to have standards."
Jace nodded mock-solemnly. "True, true."
Kurt was pretty sure Kitty had slipped him some acid with his toast that
morning but thought it best not to say so.
"Alex, you haven't said a word. What's up?" When Kurt answered with only a
shrug, Jace continued, "I know, you should sing instead!" His face broke into a
crooked grin again.
"The last guy who told me to sing is in jail right now."
"Yeah, but Pierce is a fucking pansy." Todd scoffed.
"Pansy. Isn't that like a flower or something?" Jace asked.
"I think it's a type of violet." Todd crossed his arms and furrowed his brows
as if deep in thought. "But that doesn't explain the 'fucking pansy' at all.
I'm pretty sure it's a flower that shoves itself up your butt."
"No, that's just your butt, Todd. Mine is pansy proof."
Kurt stared at the two men like they'd gone insane. He was pretty sure they
had, though at some point before he met them. "So Pierce is a flower that's
been up your butt?" he asked Todd before he had a chance to shut himself up.
"Oh my God, you totally said that. Todd, you slut!" Jace play-slapped his lover
and giggled exactly like a girl (if she had a deep voice). "If you wanted
bottom, all you had to do was ask me."
"I did ask. You tied me up and went bowling with Kitty. Can I help it if there
was an ugly Pierce-flower on the sheets?"
Kurt decided to start singing just to shut them up. He wished Kitty were there;
she said weird things sometimes, but never this bad. No, he wished he were home
with his dad, Finn, and Carol. He wished they were arguing over something
stupid like dinner. Burt and Finn would want something fit to clog even the
younger's arteries. Carol would secretly agree but side with Kurt anyway
because she knew Burt needed to eat healthy. But Kurt couldn't be with them, so
he would sing to the lightheartedly insane couple here instead.
Caught in the eye of a hurricane
Slowly waving goodbye like a pageant parade
So sick of this town pulling me down
My mother says I should come back home but
Can't find the way cause the way is gone
So if I pray am I just sending words into outer space
Kurt didn't care if he'd started halfway through; he wasn't about to sing the
whole song. It had worked to quiet the men watching him though. Singing with
his arms bound over his head was awkward, but Kurt had practice. He sang at
night when he couldn't sleep.
Have you ever been so lost
Known the way and still so lost
Another night waiting for someone to take me home
Have you ever been so lost
Is there a light
Is there a light
At the end of the road
I'm pushing everyone away
'Cause I can't feel this anymore
Can't feel this anymore
For a moment, the room stayed quiet after Kurt finished singing. Then Jace
broke into another grin.
"You sang that way better than Katy Perry ever could."
Todd's eyes widened, then narrowed dangerously. "You will not insult Katy Perry
in my presence, swine."
"Come on, baby, she can't sing worth a half-pile of naked shit in a field of
cotton candy."
"No, Jace. She is a goddess far more talented than you could ever dream to be.
For particularly mortal definitions of 'goddess,' anyway."
"And particularly crappy definitions of 'talented.'"
"I will cut you, bitch."
Jace smirked. "Oh, baby, would you?" He moaned softly, and Kurt couldn't tell
if the blond would enjoy being cut or just faked it well. The guy was clearly a
lunatic, so it could have been either.
"Now that you ask, no. I could cut your bitchy self any night. But we have a
special one-time chance with Rob's pretty princess." His soft smile fit the
words poorly.
Jace bit his bottom lip. "True, true." He slid a surprisingly soft hand up
Kurt's thigh.
The countertenor jerked away as best he could. "What kind of princess do you
take me for? A proper princess only fucks a suitor after he buys dinner." It
seemed the sort of crazy shit these guys would eat up.
"You're right! How could I forget?" Jace jerked his hand away and even
pretended to look shamed—the poorly-stifled grin gave it away.
"What about for two men?" Todd asked as he leaned over Kurt suggestively.
"Usually I'd say two dinners, but I get the feeling you mean at the same time."
When Todd nodded eagerly, Kurt continued. "Shoes. A true princess only agrees
to a threesome in exchange for shoes."
Jace and Todd laughed openly.
"I will bring you shoes to match Dorothy's ruby red slippers, Princess Alex."
Todd bowed deeply.
"And I'll get you a pair of neon-hued come-fuck-me boots." Jace patted Kurt's
thigh. "Because they would distract from your come-fuck-me ass, which I'm sure
Rob is tired of having other guys check out." He lifted Kurt's legs to get a
better look. "Oh, yeah, definitely."
"In case you missed it, that's shoes anddinner. I'm starving."
"Oh, please, I'm sure Robin only keeps you half-starved," Todd rolled his eyes
but grabbed the phone and ordered a pizza.
Both men undressed immediately, though Todd spared a moment to pull some cash
from his pocket and drop it on the nightstand. Then they played rock-paper-
scissors, but no one had said what the winner would get. Todd won and moved to
sit between Kurt's legs.
"Oh, really now, baby? Don't you love me anymore?" Jace asked, mock-pouting.
"Of course I do, but I'm also going to make sure I'm the one Alex remembers
fondly." He smirked. Then he moved his head down and ran his tongue along
Kurt's length. Shit, Kurt had already had to deal with the raping that felt
kind of okay; wasn't once enough? Though Rob hadn't used his tongue like that,
and holy fuck, but Todd knew what he was doing. Then he pulled back, and the
trails of saliva turned cold as the cheap ceiling fan blew air on them.
"Now, Alex," Jace said as he lay down beside the boy on the bed. "Todd will
blow you into incoherency either way, but will you play nice with us too?"
Kurt stared at him. He'd practically agreed to this, probably. He thought he
maybe had. Whatever. Anyway, wasn't that playing nice enough for them?
"Okay, if I ever spend a night with you again, we're training in subtlety. For
now: will you suck my cock while my baby does yours?"
"Oh." It was not an answer, but Kurt didn't have one. From the start Kurt knew
that if Robin ever tried to shove anything tender in his mouth, Kurt would bite
it as hard as he could. But Jace and Todd… Oh, shit. Kurt had just realized he
thought of them as almost "nice guys," which was stupid because they were
essentially less coarse versions of Rob. They wanted much the same thing from
him—no, that wasn't quite true. They wanted a single night of dubiously
consensual sex. Kurt still had only a vague idea what Robin wanted from him.
"If it helps, we won't tell Rob," Jace offered.
Kurt shook his head. That was too much.
"What if we untied you?" Todd's voice was softer than when he joked.
They would have to move that chair to get the pizza. Then the door would be
unblocked. If Kurt were tied up, it would do him about as much good as asking
Robbie to let him go had. But if he were free, he might have a chance to run
for it. Oh, hell, he might as well. He nodded, and Jace untied him as Kurt told
himself someday he'd figure out how his captors decided between rope and
handcuffs.
Todd's hot, wet mouth returned to Kurt's cock before Jace pressed his to the
countertenor's lips. And, shit, he was really doing this. It tasted salty and
bitter, and Jace took care of most of the movement since Kurt was still lying
on his back. The blond lasted longer than Kurt did, but, well, he had more
experience. It sounded like a good enough excuse.
After, Jace lay on the bed next to Kurt with a contented half-smile playing
across his lips. Todd slinked up the bed and positioned himself atop Kurt with
his erection pressing against the countertenor's pale skin. So Todd would be
the one to actually enter him then.
But the man began to grind against Kurt instead, pressing their mouths together
in the first real kiss Kurt had ever shared with anyone. In that moment, Kurt
realized he had half-hoped to save his first kiss until he somehow got back
home. Whatever, he was getting hard again, and Todd's tongue felt almost as
great in Kurt's mouth as it had on his dick.
Jace stood when someone knocked on the door. Kurt readied himself to bolt or
cry out, but Todd grabbed the boy's tongue in his teeth and dropped his full
weight onto him. Kurt struggled and groaned as loudly as he could with the
man's mouth in the way, but the pizza delivery guy was probably too distracted
by the completely nude man paying him to notice the two on the bed weren't
playing nice. The door closed again, and Kurt heard Jace lock it and move the
chair back into place.
Todd returned to kissing and grinding as though nothing had happened, but Kurt
had lost interest along with his chance to escape. Eventually Todd gave up with
a roll of his eyes and had Jace suck him off.
"Honestly, Alex, you didn't expect us not to plan for that, did you?" Jace
asked once his mouth was no longer full.
Kurt shrugged. He kind of had. Or maybe he'd just hoped.
"Don't worry," Todd ran his fingers softly down Kurt's cheek. "It won't change
how much we like you since Rob all but guaranteed you'd try something."
"I actually like a guy with a little spunk," Jace added and took a large bite
of pizza.
"Speaking of spunk, I want you to know Robin is most definitely not the reason
we didn't go as far as he does. He's got no claim to you that we fear or
whatever." Todd frowned. "Unless we lost you. Then we'd fear."
"So, what, anal's just a backup if I didn't agree to blow you?" Kurt asked the
blond.
Jace and Todd both laughed. "Hell no," Jace answered with his mouth full.
Todd handled the rest. "We don't do it at all. It squicks us both."
Kurt rolled his eyes and lay back on the bed. These guys were too ridiculous
for him to deal with right now. If they weren't criminals, psychopaths, and
friends of Robin Banks, he might have liked them. But they were, and the only
way they could make up for that would be to help Kurt escape.
"Eat your dinner, princess," Jace said. "We bought it for you special, and I
don't think Rob and Kitty'll be back in time to get you something else."
Kurt ate. It was greasy and tasted more than a little like the cardboard it had
been delivered in. When he finished, Jace tied him back up and told Kurt to get
some sleep. Kurt figured he might as well since he'd already missed his chance
to get away tonight.
Chapter End Notes
     Say "Jace and Todd" ten times fast. (If you still don't get it,
     google "Jason Todd.")
***** Quinn: Let the Tears Fall *****
Sometimes Quinn thought losing Kurt had pulled the glee club closer into a
sorrowful huddle over the loss of him. Other times she thought it had forced
them apart, paying no heed to the desperate scrabbling of fingers as they tried
to cling together despite the slowly widening gap separating them. They were
all at Finn's, piled into the basement watching a news report on the computer
they still called Kurt's even though Finn did his homework on it now, when he
bothered to do it at all.
It felt little like togetherness. Everyone avoided the place where Kurt should
have lived just as much as they were drawn to it. Someday, Quinn knew they
would all drift away, but it hadn't been long enough yet. Long enough that the
police sadly admitted they had little chance of finding Kurt, but not long
enough for his friends and family to let him go.
Sam's hand squeezed her own, and Quinn answered with a sad smile. He often
begged her to say how he could help, but the kind gestures he made without
thinking about it soothed her more than anything she could think of.
When the video ended, it still hadn't mentioned Kurt. Instead it talked about
Robin Banks and a woman whose name no one knew robbing a bank in Boston. Finn's
face fell. It always did because, somehow, he still honestly believed that if
he just kept looking, he would find his brother. Quinn had only realized she
had given up the night before. When she prayed before bed, she had asked God to
protect Kurt's soul instead of to bring him home. Then she cried herself to
sleep for the first time since giving up Beth.
She glanced at Puck. She always did when thinking of their daughter.
Giving the baby girl away had been the best choice both for Quinn and for her
daughter. Sometimes, though, she thought maybe it hadn't been for Puck. He had
seemed to soften and grow up knowing he would have a child. Then when Quinn saw
him again at the start of the semester, he had reverted back to the sharp-
edged, rebellious kid Quinn remembered from before.
Now, Puck was scowling. His hands clenched into trembling fists at his sides.
"This is the first time Banks has gone out since…" Artie left the sentence
unfinished, but everyone still understood. The only other recent news report on
him had been Annette Sherwood's. Otherwise, the criminal had lain low.
"Do you think…?" Santana didn't finish either.
"No. He's fine," Finn sounded more like he wanted to convince himself than
Santana. "He has to be."
For once, Rachel said nothing, wrapping an arm around her boyfriend and rubbing
circles in his back instead. Quinn wanted to comfort Finn, but he wasn't ready
yet to listen to someone who had decided to let Kurt go. He and Quinn still had
trouble talking to each other without remembering last year anyway. She wanted
him to feel better, not worse, so Quinn kept her distance.
"It might be better if he's dead." Puck had never learned diplomacy and
probably never would. Quinn had already told him to keep his mouth shut after
what happened last week. Now she frowned and tried to think of some way to
convince Puck she was right because he clearly disagreed.
"Fuck you, asshole." Finn stayed in his seat at the computer desk, staring into
his lap.
"If he's still alive, he's in pain. Guaranteed."
"Puck," Quinn said before he could continue. "Don't try to make Finn feel bad
for wanting Kurt to live." She placed her left hand against his shoulder
without pulling away from Sam's hand on her right.
The trembling of his fists stilled, but Puck shrugged away from Quinn's touch.
"Fine." His eyes narrowed, and he turned with jaw set toward the stairs. He was
halfway up them before Quinn decided what to do.
She sighed as she told Sam to wait here. Then she followed Puck quickly before
he could leave the house.
"Puck, stop."
For once, he did as she asked. When he turned his face to her, though, he
looked ready to bolt. Quinn was used to seeing Puck angry, bored, cautious,
confident, and even hopeful. Frightened looked wrong on him.
"We know where Banks is," he said so softly it nearly came out as a whisper.
"We know where he was a few hours ago; it's not the same thing."
"That doesn't mean it can't be."
Quinn stepped forward to rest a hand on his arm lightly enough that he would
know she wasn't trying to hold him. Her connection to Puck, whatever it was,
always felt stronger with contact.
"Quinn, we haven't known anything since he kidnapped Kurt. Even that girl who
went on TV couldn't give much because Banks got the hell out of town before she
had even reached the police." Of course Puck would be the only one who could
actually fit his mouth around the words to describe what had happened.
"And if he is still in Boston and you somehow find him, what are you going to
do? What can you do?"
Puck ran a hand over his face like he could rub everything away and unveil a
boy with some sort of happiness left to him. "I don't know… Rescue Kurt or find
out what happened to him. Kill Banks."
"Could you really do it though?" Quinn knew Puck talked big; he always had. She
also doubted he could go so far as to murder a man, even one as terrible as
Robin Banks.
"I don't know, I just—I have to try."
"No," she tried to imprint the word on his mind through the force of her voice.
"You don't. The only thing you need to do is make sure we don't lose you too."
Quinn moved in closer and brought a hand to cup his face. "You're kind of an
ass, but your friends still need you here, Puck."
"No, I'm very much an ass, but I don't know what to do with myself anymore.
I..." He looked away. Puck had never shown much interest in sharing. Quinn had
never known him before he had something to shut away inside himself, so she was
unsure how far back the habit reached.
"It's okay," she said standing much too close to him. She raised a hand to his
chest. "You don't have to do anything."
"That's the problem." He stepped back, brows furrowing. "No one does anything,
we just sit around moping, or in my case drinking and surfing the web.
Sometimes those should really not go together."
"I know it's hard, but there's nothing we can do. It's not like you can go
traipsing off and become a bounty hunter. Sometimes the best thing anyone can
do is stay and just be there for the people who need them." Her voice had
hardened, but Puck was no scared child to run off at hearing the truth, and she
had no interest in pretending he was. "Just because it's hard doesn't mean you
get to back out."
When he flinched, she knew she had hit a nerve. Quinn doubted Puck had admitted
to himself just how much trouble he had dealing with emotional problems.
"But who here really needs me, Quinn?" She heard the rest of the thought even
though he left it at that. Everyone had someone to be there for them, whether
friends, boyfriends, or girlfriends. But Puck had pushed them all away so many
times, even when Kurt was still with them, that while he had friends in the
glee club, he didn't have close friends.
"I do." She stepped forward again and caught his face in her hands so he
couldn't look away as she stared him in the eye. "I need you to stay, Puck."
She let her hands slide down his neck to his chest. It wasn't really a lie.
"What the hell is this?" Sam's voice carried easily through the Hummel-Hudson
living room.
"Nothing, Sam," Quinn started to say as she pulled back from Puck.
"I didn't look like nothing."
Puck turned to leave, but Quinn caught his sleeve. She only let go when he
promised, "I'm just going home, no farther."
"Quinn!" Sam voice rose in pitch.
Quinn nodded to Puck and turned to her boyfriend, but she waited until the teen
with the mohawk had left before she spoke. "He wanted to run off to Boston. All
I did was tell him to stay."
"Which was convincing because you all but said you're still into him."
"No." She licked her lips. "I guess it could have looked like that, but we
already talked about this. I don't like Puck; sleeping with him was easily the
biggest mistake of my life. You, Sam, are the one I'm dating because you're the
one I care about."
"Because I'm the one you think is safe."
"Oh, please, there are plenty of safe bets at William McKinley. I know the boys
complain that their girlfriends aren't putting out, but they'd have nothing to
complain about if they were going to force a girl into anything."
"Puck didn't force you, did he?"
"Of course not." Quinn brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and stepped
closer to Sam. "He gave me wine coolers, but I had agreed before that. It was
my mistake, nothing more."
"But it was something more." Sam ran his hands through his hair. "I just met
you two in August, but even I can tell. It wasn't just a hookup. And even if it
started that way, you had a baby. That's got to change things for you."
"I thought you were never going to use my past against me."
"You aren't letting it be the past. If you can't let go of Puck, then you can't
really be with me. We've been trying, Quinn, and it's not working." He put his
hands in front of him to keep her away.
Quinn held back the tears. "Sam, please."
He shook his head. "I love you, Quinn, but I'm not cool with being second best.
I… I'm breaking up with you." He rushed out the door before Quinn could think
of anything to say.
Quinn had had two boyfriends, and both had left her over Puck. She collapsed
onto the couch and let the tears fall.
***** Kurt: All That Mattered *****
Robin climaxed with his hands wrapped around Kurt's throat. They squeezed
tightly enough to make breathing difficult, but not so tight that he would
suffocate. The fingers twitched as Rob rode his orgasm out. Kurt just waited
for him to finish. The man pulled out with a smirk and went to clean himself
off.
"Now shower and get dressed," Robin said as he returned from the bathroom.
"Quickly, mind you. We've somewhere to be."
It was the first time Rob had spoken to him directly since… since before Jace
and Todd stayed the night. Kurt nodded as Rob un-cuffed him, and darted into
the bathroom as soon as he was free. He'd begun to suspect the first thing his
captor said to him would be a threat, probably shouted when Kurt was being
particularly obnoxious. The civility of Rob's words scared Kurt more than a
little. That they were calm meant they were planned. The countertenor was
learning to appreciate Robin's temper if only because his calculations led to
even greater cruelty.
The water was cold and stayed that way, but Kurt finished cleaning himself
quickly and packed his toiletries (he had toiletries again!) away before
getting dressed. Kitty had already taken care of everything else and shoved
Kurt's things in much too unceremoniously. Kurt made an indignant sound but
left it at that. As they walked out the door, he pulled on the black arm
warmers Robbie had gotten him to cover the wounds on his wrists.
Kurt would have tried to bolt, and had before when being moved to the car, but
Rob had a heavy arm across the boy's shoulders to hold him back. The
countertenor thought seriously about asking Kitty to teach him something about
throwing off the weight of a guy much bigger than he was. He was getting sick
of being held down. The thought had not occurred to him before, but when
someone other than Rob—Todd whose name Kurt had trouble thinking without Jace's
in front of it—held him down, the contrast gave Kurt's brain a different
entrance to the problem. But he was still too small.
Rob drove today. Usually Kitty did because she actually enjoyed driving.
Apparently, it was (boring) work for Robbie, so Kurt wondered why he cared to
work at it now. When they stopped at the post office, Kitty went in. So maybe
they'd decided Robin should keep the car running. A wanted criminal would have
some difficulty doing business in a post office, but so far as Kurt knew, law
enforcement and the media had nothing on Kitty.
She returned with two boxes and tossed them back to Kurt.
"Open them, princess," Robin ordered without taking his eyes off the road.
"Really, Robbie? And how to you expect me to get past the packing tape?"
Kitty laughed lightly before reaching back to grab the boxes and swiftly cut
through the tape. Kurt had sort of hoped they'd at least hand him a key or
something. Though he rarely bothered to expect carelessness from Robin anymore.
When Kitty passed the boxes back, Kurt noticed they were addressed to Katharina
Maynard. The first one held a pair of black sued Prada ankle boots. Kurt was
fairly certain Kitty had just haphazardly tossed him a pair of 800 dollar
shoes.
"Now stop whining so fucking much." Rob's tone was strangely cheery.
Lost in something that felt like shock, Kurt didn't notice Kitty tossing back
the second box. It hit him in the arm and tumbled to the floor where it tipped
over, spilling out what Kurt could tell even with a poor view was an Alexander
McQueen Asymmetrical Sports Jacket. He'd drooled over it online often enough,
when he could pull his eyes away from the price. So quickly he almost dropped
the shoes, Kurt snatched the jacket off the dirty floor and smoothed it out.
"I think he likes them," Kitty said with a grin.
Kurt knocked off his shitty sneakers and pulled on the ankle boots. This was
the first jacket Rob had given him despite the cold weather, so Kurt slid it
over his shirt. Then he pretended they were gifts from someone nice instead of
the man who had kidnapped him. He liked them even better when he told himself
they had come from his father.
When Rob stopped the car, it wasn't outside another motel. They were in a
factory district, on a dark street. It looked like the set of either a crime
drama or horror film. Kurt supposed either was appropriate. In front of one of
the factories stood Todd, holing a pair of bright red Zota slip-ons in one hand
and hot pink stilettos in the other. Kurt rolled his eyes as the grin on the
dark-haired man's face.
"I know Robin got you a little something," Todd said as Rob, Kitty, and Kurt
approached, "but it's probably just because he didn't want Jace and me getting
you something first."
"Todd." Rob's voice held more than a hint of warning.
"I know, I know." He shoved the shoes at Kitty and walked inside.
A moment later, after Kitty had sneered at the flamboyant shoes and stashed
them in the car, Todd returned with Jace.
"All ready for you, boss," Jace said, voice flat. "If I weren't so scared of
you, I'd be saying there's fucked up shit in your head for planning this."
"Ditto," Todd added as he pulled Jace away. They disappeared around the corner,
and Kurt heard a car start up before Rob pushed him into the, apparently
abandoned, factory.
It was dark inside, but someone—Jace and Todd, probably—had set up a few floor
lamps to light up the area around a mattress set in the middle of the floor.
Metal posts sat at each corner of the mattress. A young man, probably about
twenty-three, lay on the mattress, chained into place with his arms and legs
stretching out toward the posts. Two chairs with a side table between them
rested just outside the ring of light given off by the lamps.
Kurt wished he'd ridden off with Jace and Todd.
Robin's voice broke the silence in the factory. "I suggest you undress
yourself, Alex. Because Kitty and I would only mess up your pretty new
clothes."
The countertenor froze. His mind hadn't quite gotten that far, but if it had,
he would have assumed Robin would make him watch.
"Well?" Robin had never struck Kurt as a patient man.
Shit, shit, shit. Kurt undressed carefully, folding everything and placing it
in a pile on the side table. Even though he didn't know what Rob wanted from
him exactly, he knew it involved participating somehow in what happened to the
young man passed out on the mattress. And he would find out the rest soon
enough.
Kurt looked around the factory as he dressed, but this section had been walled
off into something like a room. The only entrance was the door they'd come in,
and Kitty stood by it with her gun drawn and eyes trained on Kurt. Either they
had another reason to build a room around the door, or Robin had been planning
this—whatever this was—for a while.
"Oh, good, he's waking up." Robin motioned toward the mattress. "Let's greet
him, shall we?" He prodded Kurt toward the young man.
Rob's new captive was cute, Kurt noted. Not as ripped as Puck or as adorable as
Finn, but handsome in a more refined way. He had reddish hair, and when he
opened his eyes, Kurt saw they were green.
"Alex, this is Jack. Jack, Alex." Rob's smile almost passed for welcoming.
"Oh, God, what the hell?" Jack's voice seemed small even though he shouted. He
struggled at his bonds as Robin laughed.
"Now, Alex, I assume you know how it works by now. I've certainly demonstrated
often enough." He looked at Kurt expectantly.
"I don't know what…" Kurt looked back and forth between the young man in chains
and the man who had kidnapped both Jack and Kurt—or at least ordered that Jack
be taken, since Jace and Todd may have done the deed itself.
Rob backhanded the countertenor. "You know damn well. You just don't want to.
I'll spell it out for the prim little princess: I want you to fuck him. Now."
He pulled a bottle of lube from his jeans pocket and tossed it at Kurt. It
bounced off the boy's skin and fell to the floor.
Kurt backed up a step, eyes going wide. "I can't, Rob, I can't. I…" Damn it,
they'd gotten him shoes; what could he distract himself with now? By their own
will, Kurt's eyes returned to darting through the room, but they found nothing
new. The countertenor knew he should think of something witty to say. Something
clever and scathing, probably more than a little sarcastic. Shit, it'd help if
he could remember any of the words he'd supposedly learned before Robin took
him.
As his captives watched, Rob pulled a knife from his other pocket and opened it
slowly. He approached Kurt with measured steps, but the boy had forgotten how
to run, even if he'd someplace to run to. While Kurt stood frozen, Robin
grabbed hold of his wrist and twisted it around behind his back. The knife
blade, warmed by its time in the man's pocket, pressed firmly against Kurt's
throat.
"You'll do what I tell you, Alex. Or you'll do nothing ever again."
Kurt trembled but hadn't given in entirely to fear yet since leaving Lima. He
wasn't about to start now. "You don't want to kill me, Robbie," he said, "or
you'd have done it already. You can't—"
The blade broke skin and would have found Kurt's jugular if he hadn't pulled
back, pressing his body flush with Robin's.
"What's that you were saying, princess?"
Kurt's breath came in short gasps. He pressed his free hand against his neck
and felt the slickness of fresh blood.
"I've been nice 'till now," Rob continued, "because I was getting you ready. If
you can't do this for me, then it's not worth keeping you around. It's what you
might call essential. You may even add 'to my evil plot' if you like; I know
how dramatic you can be." That the last part sounded almost tender only made it
more terrifying.
For a while now, Kurt had believe Robin wanted him alive and wouldn't kill him.
Not yet at least. Now his yet had come, and fuck, but Kurt wasn't ready for it.
"Are you ready now, Alex?" Robin whispered the question into Kurt's ear.
"I don't think there's such a thing as ready for this," the boy answered
honestly, but it satisfied his captor.
Rob released Kurt's arm and wrapped his newly freed hand around the boy's
waist, keeping the knife trained on Kurt's neck. When the large hand wrapped
around his dick, Kurt gasped and tried to pull back from it, but Robin had
already closed the space between their bodies.
"You'll need this up, you know," Robin murmured as his hand slid along Kurt's
length.
"I know, but I don't—"
"Try. Or die, your choice. Jack's getting raped either way." Kurt hadn't
expected to talk his way out of this anyway.
Jack had been yelling and growling inarticulately, except for punctuated
strings of profanity, since he woke. "Just punch the asshole and take his
fucking knife, you goddamned pussy!" He screamed at Kurt now.
"Oh, yeah, he can't see Kitty, can he?" Rob asked nonchalantly.
"There's a woman with a gun by the only exit," Kurt told the bound man. "Even
if I could somehow disarm Robbie, she'd just shoot me." His voice trembled
remarkably little once he remembered how to speak. It helped to make excuses.
That way it felt like someone else's fault even more than it felt like Kurt's.
"That's a good boy," Rob purred into Kurt's neck before running his tongue
along the pale skin, pausing on both scars, one from Robbie and the other from
before.
Rob kept his hands on Kurt the whole time, and his knife near Kurt's skin. He
cut him more than once, but not as much as he cut Jack. Kurt wasn't surprised
he couldn't sustain an erection, but neither was Robin. Apparently, all that
mattered was that he tried. All that mattered, and Kurt feared all that would
matter again for the rest of his life, was that he was the one to take Jack,
that it was Kurt's cock and not Rob's jammed up the unwilling boy's ass.
***** Burt: Months Still Passed *****
It was December. Burt's son had been taken from him in October. How could it be
December now? He ran a hand over the rough stubble along his jaw and tried not
to think about apathetic eyes sitting above mouths that dripped the most
senseless sympathetic drabble he'd ever heard. The police said they were still
looking, of course they did. They also said, in quiet voices like they thought
that would make it hurt less, that the survival rate of minors who had been
kidnapped so long ago was low.
What they really meant was that they were looking, but for a body, not a boy.
Burt rubbed at his eyes. He wasn't crying, not at work. Not yet. Not again. He
grabbed his jacket and left. Jim nodded to Burt as he walked out the door. No
one had to say it; they both knew he was leaving the shop to Jim for the night.
He usually did on Wednesdays. His son had been taken on a Wednesday.
The house was empty tonight. Sometimes it was. Sometimes it wasn't. Burt
collapsed onto the couch, not sure what else to do. He could call the police
again, but they'd told him only an hour ago that they had nothing new and would
contact him the moment they did. He could try to get the Amber Alert on Kurt
reissued again, but they'd already told him Amber Alerts were for quick
responses, and his son already had one. He could eat something, but the thought
made his stomach twist in on itself.
Eventually he settled for sitting alone in the dark.
When the door opened, it didn't wake Burt because he hadn't been sleeping, but
it felt like being woken up. Someone turned on the lights and dropped a bag by
the door. Burt listened until Finn walked into view.
"Oh, hey," the boy said, shuffling his feet. He never seemed to know what to do
when he found Burt alone like this. "I didn't know you were here."
"Did you need the TV?" Burt's voice sounded too much like a croak.
Finn shook his head. "No, we were going to, uh, go down to the basement."
Burt nodded. "Let me know if you kids need anything."
Finn led the glee kids to Kurt's room. It was Kurt's room even if he'd been
away for a while. When he came home again, Burt knew his son would need it
back, and Kurt would probably complain about the mess Finn and his friends had
left in it.
Mercedes detoured around the coffee table (Kurt had picked it out) and leaned
over Burt to hug him. She didn't say anything, but he heard I miss him too, Mr.
H. I know he's coming home to us, someday.She followed the others downstairs.
This time, Burt sat alone with the light on. It made little difference.
Not long afterward, Carol came home. She sat down beside Burt, silent at first.
"How long have you been sitting here?" She wrapped an arm around him. It felt
like a lifeline, but Burt wasn't sure he wanted to grab hold.
He shrugged. She shook her head.
"You know this isn't what he wants for you." She had learned to talk about Kurt
in present tense after Burt flew off the handle when she had talked about his
son like he was dead.
"I don't know what he wants. He can't tell me."
"But I know. He wants you to take care of yourself, honey. He wants his home to
still be here for him to come back to."
He put an arm around Carol and held her close. "I'll always be here for him."
"Yes, you will. Which is why you're about to eat dinner with me." She stood and
crossed her arms even before Burt replied.
"I'm not hungry."
"You're always hungry. You just forgot about it, so come on. I can't make a
meal fit to feed us plus all those kids downstairs on my own."
He stood slowly and rubbed the palms of his hands against his jeans. "How did
you know they were here?"
"Cars, honey. Mike is in my space again."
"Oh." They walked to the kitchen where Carol gave him something to (poorly)
chop. "It's December," he said because nothing else came to mind. He doubted
much would come to mind at all until he'd seen his son alive and well again.
His world had stopped though the months still passed. All he could do was wait
for it to start back up.
***** Kurt: What You've Done *****
"So, Alex, do you want Jack to tell everyone what you've done?" Robin smirked
from where he lounged in one of the chairs. Jack sobbed on the bed. He gave up
shouting when he realized Kurt wouldn't—couldn't—help him
Kurt trembled and curled in on himself in the second chair. He was still naked.
"You don't, do you? You remember Annette? She went on the news and told
everyone what an angel you are. I'll bet Jack here would do the opposite. What
if your family found out?"
At that Kurt flinched. He hadn't been ashamed before, not like this. He'd been
scared, angry, and sad, but he had always known his father would take him in
again if Kurt could only get home. Even the dirtiness he felt at giving himself
to Rob could wash off because he had done it to protect Sally.
This, though… Sometimes, people stopped deserving forgiveness, and Kurt had
found his time. He had never doubted that he would do absolutely anything to
get home again. Not until tonight. Now, maybe, he didn't deserve to go home.
Kurt blinked the tears from his eyes and shook his head. He didn't want anyone
to know about this, ever.
"Then there's only one thing to be done. We make sure he can't." Only Robin
Banks could sound so… something between gleeful and aroused… while suggesting
murder.
Kurt's eyes grew wide, and he shook his head frantically. They had to… to what,
let Jack go? Yes. But Jack would tell; Kurt knew he would tell. Well, he'd be
telling on Alex. Jack didn't even know about Kurt, not like Annette had.
While Robin held them captive, Kurt did his best to help Annette and Sally get
away safely. He owed Jack the same. He owed Jack more.
He didn't owe Jack anything. This could never be repaid with currency as meager
as favors. Wasn't his life enough? Of course it wasn't enough. Kurt sneered,
not listening to Rob ramble about how dangerous their—he said 'their', but Kurt
wanted to just say 'Rob's'—captive would be if freed. He didn't owe Jack the
red-haired man's life. He owed Jack his own life; if Kurt believed in souls, he
would believe he owed his to Jack too. Or maybe that it had been destroyed
tonight. It was hard to say which.
"Pay attention when I'm talking to you, Alex." Try as he might, Kurt couldn't
ignore the threat in Robin's voice. "Good, now, I want you," he jabbed his
finger at the countertenor, "to stab this," he waved around his knife, "in his
throat," he pointed to Jack.
Again, Kurt shook his head. "We should let him go. I don't care if he talks."
The tone of Jack's murmuring changed, though he continued to cry.
"He's more dangerous than Annette was, you know."
"How?" Kurt traced patterns on the arm of the chair with his finger instead of
looking Rob in the eye.
"Because he thinks you're a villain too. The girls, they both thought you saved
them."
"Save me! Please, save me, Alex!" It came out between sobs and gasps, but Jack
managed to cry out to Kurt nonetheless.
"How cute, he thinks he'll remember the help more than the harm. He might for
tonight, but tomorrow, he won't. You always remember the one time some guy was
a jerk, but never all the times he lent you a quarter before that."
"Maybe he'll do his telling tonight before he forgets," Kurt whispered.
Rob only laughed.
"He could, and you know it." Kurt made his voice firmer this time.
"Sure," Rob visibly stifled another chuckle, "but he could just as easily
retell it when he thinks his mind has cleared. And why would he leave out what
you've done already even if he thinks what you could do now is more important.
The police, at least, will demand the full truth from him."
"I won't tell." Jack's voice was somewhat more coherent this time. "If you let
me go, I won't say anything. Ever, I swear!" He struggled weakly against the
chains binding him to the mattress and metal posts. Some of them slid more than
before, lubricated by his blood.
Kurt didn't believe him. He had tried empty promises on Robin before and
recognized the sound of them. Whatever; Jack deserved to live, more than Kurt
did anyway. "Please," he said to his captor, "Please let him go."
"And when he talks?"
"I won't!"
"I don't care." Let Jack talk, it would all be about Alex. No one would know to
connect him to Kurt Hummel.
"And when Annette hears it? And when she realizes you aren't an angel? And when
she tells the world who you really are?" Robin smirked again and fiddled with
the knife.
Kurt had no answer for that. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself. "I
still think we should let him go."
"Please…" Jack fell back into hysterics.
Rob leaned over to pat Kurt on the head. "Too fucking bad, princess. Let's get
him dead now so we can sleep at a decent hour."
Kurt knew he screamed something as Rob dragged him forcibly to the mattress,
but he had no idea what. Probably something similar to the noises spilling from
Jack. Robin rammed the knife hilt into Kurt's hand but held the boy's arm
firmly. Even though Kurt tried to turn the weapon on its owner, he wasn't
strong enough to break Rob's grip. So he tried to kick the man in the balls
instead. He tried to bite him. Tried to claw at him with the nails of his free
hand. Tried to squirm away. Tried anything at all, but nothing worked.
Robin brought the blade, held within Kurt's fist held within Robbie's, to
Jack's neck. The young man screamed. The countertenor screamed with him. Rob
licked a path from Kurt's shoulder to his ear and whispered, "Do it."
Though Kurt tried not to move because moving away had failed, the murderer
holding him steadily pressed their hands forward. The knife broke Jack's skin.
A bead of blood slid down his flushed neck to the mattress.
Their captive began to plead again, but it turned to unintelligible gargling
noises when Rob dropped his weight onto Kurt, pressing the knife firmly into
Jack's throat.
"We missed, you know," Rob said matter-of-factly. "He'll die slowly."
"Then fix it." This time, Alex let Robin move his hand to slit Jack's throat
properly. If nothing else, he could help the poor boy die a little more
quickly.
***** Puck: I Need To *****
If she was so totally into him, why the hell wouldn't Quinn return any of
Puck's calls? Or just answer the phone in the first place? Scowling, Puck
tossed his phone on the floor and marched to the bathroom for a shower. A hot
one because who needed cold showers if girls wouldn't even talk to, much less
make out with, him?
As he squeezed out the last of his shampoo, Puck made a mental note to tell his
mother he needed more. She was supposed to wash his hair tonight—a mother-son
ritual they had never quite given up on—but Puck didn't care. He was going out;
he'd decided so about three minutes ago. And, hell, he was out of body wash. So
he could either hope he didn't stink too badly or use his sister's fruity-ass
shit. Just great. He sniffed at his armpit and decided maybe a little fruit
wouldn't be too bad if he covered it with deodorant and cologne.
Okay, so maybe it smelled kind of pretty, but he was supposed to smell manly,
not like a fertile garden in bloom or whatever. Though the manliest he ever
smelled was probably when drenched in sweat after football practice, and he
wasn't about to go around smelling like that.
Once Puck had dried off, he stood between the pile of clean clothes and the
pile of dirty clothes in his room deciding what to wear. Well, he knew he was
going out; deciding where the hell to might help somewhat. He wanted to go to
Quinn's. Could he get away with that? Probably not, but he hadn't expected to
get away with screwing her either. That hadn't worked out too badly, or at
least not as badly as it could have.
Puck pulled a dark red button-up shirt from his closet but wore it with jeans
from the clean pile. He didn't want to look like a fucking tool, just kind of
nice. For a moment he wondered if the mohawk really let him look nice, but he'd
shaved it off before and wanted to keep it now. It was like his signature. No
one else at William McKinley, or maybe in the whole town of Lima, had a mohawk.
Before he left, Puck texted Quinn again, but he still hadn't gotten a response
by the time he knocked on her door holding a rose he'd taken from his mother's
I'll-buy-myself-flowers-because-the-father-of-my-children-won't bouquet. Maybe
the flower was overdoing it, but girls ate that sort of thing up.
Quinn opened the door and sighed, "Puck, what are you doing here?"
"You won't answer my calls, or texts, or talk to me at school. It's sort of a
last resort." He gave her his charming smile and offered the rose.
"Did you think that maybe I don't want to talk to you?"
"Yes." He nodded his head. "And then I thought I'd ask if you think maybe I
need to talk to you anyway. This," he lifted the rose, "Is a peace offering,
not a romantic request." Or it was now that he'd thought of that, anyway.
"Where did you get it?" Her voice was flat. He should have realized she'd know
he hadn't bought the thing.
"My mom, so it's not stolen, if that's what you were worried about."
"Look, just make it quick. I'm supposed to meet Mercedes at the mall." She
crossed her arms.
"Well, can I come inside?"
"No." Quinn did step out of the house and move to the bench on her front porch
though.
Puck sat down next to her and stared at his hands for a moment. He was still
holding the rose. As he drove over, Puck had figured he would know what to say
when the time came, but he still didn't. He wasn't even certain why he had
come. For a long time now, Puck had liked Quinn, way more than he could seem to
like any of the girls who wouldn't mind if he fooled around. But that wasn't
it, not entirely. Sometimes, he wanted to talk with her about Beth, but that
only ever sent Quinn running. Then again, the one time Quinn tried to start a
conversation about their daughter, Puck had run too.
"Why did you tell me to stay?" he asked instead.
"Because chasing after him is only going to get you lost or killed."
"But you don't actually want me around; you just said that because you knew
it'd work." His fist clenched around the rose before he remembered the thorns.
She turned her eyes to the ground. "I… I know I avoid you, Puck. It's not
because I don't like you, just… I don't need to define my life by who else is
in it. I need to just be me for a while."
"Which is why you started dating Sam, right?"
"It's why I shouldn't have. I don't need a boyfriend in order to be worth
something, but it's like I don't even believe that myself sometimes."
Puck laughed. "Baby, if a guy tried to define you the pressure would drive him
mad."
"I'm not saying this to amuse you." Oh, fuck, she sounded pissed.
"Neither am I." He placed the rose in her lap even though he knew she would
just let it fall when she went inside. "I'm not here because I measure you by
whatever guy is closest to you. I'm here because you're the only scale I know
to measure myself by." That sounded too much like touchy-feely. Besides, Puck
could measure by how many times he'd gotten laid in the past week, right? But
he didn't know whether the winner was a high or low score. That, he thought,
depended on whether Santana or Quinn was his girlfriend at the time. Maybe.
"Then maybe you're the one who needs 'me time' right now."
He shook his head. "Tried that. Drank too much. Pissed off everyone who I
should've been friends with."
Quinn's fingers fiddled about in her lap beside the rose. "Puck, I can't…"
"You know some people can't fix things all on their own." Of course she knew.
Quinn hadn't even had a home for a while last year; she'd taken help from Finn,
Puck, and Mercedes for that before her mom showed up out of nowhere to take her
back. Or, Puck thought she knew, at least.
"I know, but what makes you think I can help?"
"I'm sober, aren't I?" He tried the charming smile again, and this time Quinn's
lips curled up in answer for a moment.
Then she hardened her expression. "I think that's as much as I can do though. I
need to find myself before I can find you, Puck. And I need to do it alone."
It had the same ring of finality as when she hung up on him. Puck left.
***** Kurt: Since the Night *****
Chapter Notes
     Song: "Dead Boy's Poem" by Nightwish.
Kurt handed the driver's license to the woman behind the counter. It had his
picture on it and the name Alexander Hood. When Robin gave it to him that
morning, Kurt hadn't even bothered to comment on the last name.
Now Rob stood behind Alex with the hood of his jacket up to cover his
distinctively scarred face. The gun in Robbie's pocket pressed against Kurt's
back the same way it had on the day the countertenor left Lima. This felt like
a sick reproduction of the day Kurt had killed Wayne Garcia. It was the first
time he had entered a bank since.
The teller smiled and asked Alex if he'd like a checking account and debit card
connected to his new savings account. Alex smiled smoothly and replied that he
would, thank you. Kurt tried not to tremble or make a run for it. The pressure
at the small of his back reminded him to stay calm, or at least look it.
Jace and Todd showed up right on time, faces hidden behind ski masks—though why
Jace's was orange, Kurt honestly didn't want to know. They pulled guns, much
larger than the handgun Rob had, from their long jackets. The bank patrons fell
to the floor easily enough—they'd seen it in movies, no doubt. Alex had to
catch the teller's wrists before she could hit a silent alarm under the
counter. Rob had planned this for a time when only one teller would be on
shift.
Kurt mouthed "sorry" to the girl but held her firmly until Robin took over.
Then the boy took his ID and sat down near the others on the floor. They
shifted away from him, but whatever. Alex was clearly with the bank robbers
even if he also clearly wasn't one of them.
Apparently, Robin disliked dealing with people and usually left that to the
others, but he watched over them today, probably so he could keep an eye on
Kurt too.
"Why don't you sing a little something for us, Alex? You've been quiet
recently." Rob sounded like he was laughing at Kurt.
Alex hadn't sung anything since the night he and Robin killed Jack. He didn't
want to anymore. And, oh fuck, a request for music made this almost dead-on for
a reenactment of the last time he'd been to a bank.
"Come, now, I thought we were past all this," Robin growled.
"Chill the fuck out, Robbie." Kurt rolled his eyes. "I'm just trying to decide
on a song." Lying was easier than arguing.
Born from silence, silence full of it
A perfect concert my best friend
So much to live for, so much to die for
If only my heart had a home
The song sounded entirely different a cappella. Softer, but also somewhat empty
or hollow. Hollow, Alex decided, suited him just now.
Sing what you can't say
Forget what you can't play
Hasten to drown into beautiful eyes
Walk within my poetry, this dying music
My love letter to nobody
One of the men on the floor looked ready to try something—Kurt remembered the
look from Wayne and Pierce's robbery. Robin noticed too and stopped him with a
solid kick or three. The bank robber hadn't lied when he told Kurt that he had
thought of everything, planned against every possible action. Some nights he
even suspected the man had somehow engineered Annette's escape.
Never sigh for better world
It's already composed, played and told
Every thought the music I write
Everything a wish for the night
Alex wrapped his arms around his knees and tried not to look the downed man in
the eyes. He continued singing, though, because Robbie had asked him to.
Wrote for the eclipse, wrote for the virgin
Died for the beauty the one in the garden
Created a kingdom, reached for the wisdom
Failed in becoming a god
Kurt finished singing as Jace and Todd finished robbing. He helped them carry
the bags out to where Kitty waited in the car while Robbie shot the teller. She
drove off before the cops arrived, and they switched vehicles before an hour
had passed. When they were certain they'd gotten away safely, Robin smiled and
kissed Alex full on the lips. The boy kissed him back because what else was he
going to do? When Robbie decided he wanted to fuck, Alex closed his eyes and
tried to enjoy it for much the same reason.
***** Puck: A Hope in Hell *****
Chapter Notes
     Song: "For No One" by the Beatles.
This was how Puck said goodbye. He knew it wasn't enough.
Your day breaks, your mind aches
You find that all the words of kindness linger on
When she no longer needs you
Puck's voice mingled with Will Schuester's. The man hesitated at first when
Puck asked him to do this duet, but they had sung to the club together before.
Besides, Puck figured he could protect his Jewish-artists-only streak if he
didn't sing alone because group songs didn't count. Puck had encouraged his
teacher to invite Ms. Pillsbury because he knew the Spanish teacher had reason
to sing this song too.
She wakes up, she makes up
She takes her time and doesn't feel she has to hurry
She no longer needs you
Quinn looked uncomfortable, but that just meant she knew Puck intended the song
for her. She had lied. She didn't need him.
You want her, you need her
And yet you don't believe her when she says her love is dead
You think she needs you
Robin Banks was on the news again, robbing another bank. This time there was a
boy with him who no one had seen before. The cameras had been disabled and the
teller who may have seen his picture ID killed. The police sketches looked a
lot like Kurt even though witnesses all said Banks called him Alex. Maybe the
freak had a type.
You stay home, she goes out
She says that long ago she knew someone but now he's gone
She doesn't need him
Maybe Kurt had changed his name. Maybe he was alive, living under a pseudonym
as Robin Banks tortured and raped him. Maybe he had saved Annette Sherwood.
Maybe he was just another hostage instead of a new addition to the team. The
witnesses from the robbery did say Alex had been unarmed.
Your day breaks, your mind aches
There will be times when all the things she said will fill your head
You won't forget her
And in her eyes you see nothing
No sign of love behind the tears
Cried for no one
A love that should have lasted years
When they had finished, Puck didn't wait around to see if Quinn wanted to talk.
He left immediately for the long drive to New York. It was a massive city; he
knew there wasn't a hope in hell that he would actually find Banks or Kurt, but
he had to try. Puck's patience had run out. Or maybe it wasn't patience at all,
but something between survival instinct and social apathy. Puck couldn't sit by
and do nothing just because it would keep him alive, not anymore.
So he went to New York. The drive sucked ass; the city was crowded and loud.
Pretty much what he had expected, as was the utter lack of Kurt that turned up
in his aimless wanderings through the city. He slept in his car—his mom's car
really, but whatever. He'd taken her credit card too, but she hadn't
deactivated it yet. Maybe she was using the charges on it to find him.
What Puck had not so much expected was to find himself wandering through a park
in the middle of the night asking drug dealers if they knew anything about
Banks because no way would more upstanding citizens know a damn thing. And they
kept making him buy from them before speaking enough to reveal they knew jack
shit. Puck got back at them by giving the drugs away for free or leaving them
on park benches once he was out of sight.
A real fox of a woman sat on one of the benches. She clearly wasn't a dealer,
but she lacked the twitchy look of an addict. Puck sat next to her with a
charming smile and asked how she was doing.
She smiled back, but her words sent what felt way too much like a shiver up
Puck's spine. "Oh, well enough considering I've been put to work in the middle
of the frickin' night. I forgot which one you are... one of the jocks,
definitely. Is it Mike or Noah?"
He stood and backed away, but she followed and somehow managed to twist Puck's
arm around and pin him before he had a chance to even make a fist, much less
swing it. "Mohawk means Puckerman," he said in place of empty threats. How the
hell did she (almost) know his name?
"I should've known that. Sorry, Noah." She brought something sharp and
glittering—a knife, it had to be—and pressed it against his throat.
"Puck." He tried to think of ways to get out of this, but he couldn't break her
grip even if the blade had been less convincing than it was.
"Puck then. You've been looking for my Robin, right?" The way she whispered
into his ear would have been hot if not for… well, everything else.
"Yeah." Either Banks or Kurt, Puck still wasn't sure sometimes.
"Goodie then, right this way." She shoved him forward. Puck walked with her to
a motel not far from where he'd parked his car. So now all he had to do was get
the woman to let go, pull Kurt's knife from his pocket, kill Banks, free Kurt
from whatever bonds they had on him, and get them both to his car. Then he
could drive home a hero, and people would stop giving him so much fucking shit.
Puck already doubted the plan would work out.
Puck counted the doors between the exit and the room the woman shoved him into
(six), and he made sure he knew which way his car was even from inside the
building. He needed to be ready to get the hell out of there at a moment's
notice or less.
"Honey, I brought a present!" The woman called as she opened the door.
And holy fuck, it was Kurt. He sat, naked, on a piece-of-crap motel bed with
his hands in his lap and scars on his skin. The thought that Kurt would never
feel comfortable shirtless at a pool flashed through Puck's head before he even
registered the tall, domineering figure leaning against what passed for a chest
of drawers. It was Robin Banks. So Puck had found them both.
"Look, Alex, it's one of your friends. So kind of him to pay us a visit." Banks
leered, and the only thing Puck wanted more than to punch him in the mouth was
to kill the fucker.
Kurt had been staring into his lap, at either his fingers or his battered
wrists. Now he turned his eyes to Puck. When they went wide and his mouth fell
open as those fingers curled into small fists, Puck realized Kurt hadn't even
looked afraid before. Just kind of resigned. Now he was scared, but something
told Puck it wasn't his own safety Kurt bothered to worry about anymore. It
made Puck want to kill Banks more.
"Puck, what…?" He clamped his jaw and swallowed heavily.
"He's been asking about Rob, y'know," the woman offered. Her voice actually
sounded helpful. "I think he wants to save you."
What the fuck else would he have come for? Well, murder, but rescue of Kurt
came first anyway, especially now that Puck knew he was alive.
Banks pulled a .45 from where it sat beside him on the chest of drawers and
said, "Okay, then, get him undressed." His voice sounded lazy, but he leveled
the gun at Puck.
"Robbie, I didn't realize he was your type." Kurt didn't sound like a hostage
or captive. He sounded like a jealous girlfriend. Oh fuck.
"No, but I think he's yours." The man's eyes never left Puck.
Kurt rolled his eyes and sighed. "You think a lot of things, many of them
silly."
Puck kept his mouth shut as Robin's girlfriend pulled off his clothes. Even if
he opened it, Puck wasn't sure any coherent string of words would come out. His
brain was stuck on 'what the fuck.' After the woman pulled his pants off, Puck
tried to cover himself with his hands. He knew he looked damn hot in the nude,
but this felt less like nude and more like naked. And really fucking weird. If
he was honest with himself, it was also more than a little terrifying.
They made Kurt help the woman—Banks called her Kitty—tie Puck's arms to the
bed. He threw up a little in his mouth when he thought it might have been hot
if not for the men and guns. Getting tied up like this, and struggling against
those bonds, had to be what had torn Kurt's wrists the hell up. And oh, damn
it, Puck felt both freaked the shit out and like a fucking moron because he'd
just realized they were planning to rape him. He tried to will Banks' gun to
explode or fly out of the man's hands even though Puck had given up on having
psychic powers when he turned seven. Kurt's knot felt less tight, but Kitty
seemed satisfied when she yanked on it after he had finished.
"Alex, I can't remember. Is your friend gay?" Banks cocked his head as if
trying to think of something.
"No." Kurt's voice didn't sound flirty or jealous anymore, just hollow. He sat
beside Puck on the bed with his shoulders slumped. Even though no one had tied
him up yet, he looked like he already was.
"Too bad. He won't enjoy this like we will." The man grinned. It made him look
like a cartoon villain. "Now, touch him." He scowled when Kurt pressed a finger
to Puck's bicep. "You know what I mean, Alex. Don't get cute now." He adjusted
his aim with the .45 as if to remind Kurt it was there.
Kurt swallowed, licked his lips in a scared rather than sexy way, and brushed
his fingers along Puck's cock. They were going to rape him and make Kurt
fucking do it. Puck was pretty sure Banks had already killed him, and this was
some sort of hell.
***** Kurt: At Least Try *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
There were probably words to describe this. Kurt felt like he didn't know them,
though maybe he had at one time. Puck squirmed under Alex's touch, trying to
pull away even though he had nowhere to go. He looked scared, defiant, angry,
confused, and maybe a little hopeful. Some part of Puck still believed he could
get out of this.
Kurt had been here before though. The other's name had been Jack, not Puck, but
it was all the same. What Robin wanted Kurt to do was the same.
It wasn't though. Jack had been planned carefully; Puck was a spur of the
moment decision. Jack had been chained in an abandoned factory; Puck was tied
up in a hotel room. Just because things were similar didn't mean they had to be
the same. And just because Kurt couldn't help Jack didn't mean he couldn't at
least try to help Puck. He had already saved Annette and protected Sally. Why
not one more?
Hope, it turned out, was contagious. Rob had never once complained about Kurt's
singing, at least not until after he finished the song. So Kurt felt safe
choosing a slow song. A perfect song.
You think that I can never laugh again
You'll see
You think that you destroyed my faith in love
You think after all you've done
I'll never find my way back home
You'll see
Somehow, someday
What could he do though? The gun that prevented him from escaping on his own
kept him from helping Puck just as effectively. It hurt to realize he probably
couldn't do anything for Puck until after tonight. Not just because Kurt didn't
want to do this, but because he didn't want his friend to live with it.
All by myself
I don't need anyone at all
I know I'll survive
I know I'll stay alive
All on my own
I don't need anyone this time
It will be mine
No one can take it from me
You'll see
Alex turned his eyes toward Robin to make sure the man knew he meant the lyrics
and wasn't just mouthing them. He let the corner of his lip shape itself into a
smirk when Rob looked pissed. The fucker had thought he'd broken Kurt. It
wouldn't be so easy a thing to manage as that. And Robbie had made a mistake in
reminding Kurt of this by bringing Puck to him.
You think that you are strong, but you are weak
You'll see
It takes more strength to cry, admit defeat
I have truth on my side
You only have deceit
You'll see
Somehow, someday
Rob's phone (Kurt was still trying to figure out how Robin could have a cell
phone) went off during the last verse, and Kitty answered. Alex watched her
jerk in shock and shove the phone at Rob. The bank robber scowled. Kurt kept
himself from smiling and continued lightly petting Puck. Bad news for Rob might
actually be good news for the man's captives.
"Cuff him and grab the bags. We'll pick up the boys later."
Alex had never heard Rob's voice so clipped and strained. He could think about
it later; for now, Kitty was cuffing him beside Puck on the bed. Unfortunately,
she was still aware enough to cuff both of his hands and use the cuffs whose
key Robin wore around his neck. Kurt hadn't really expected her to screw up
anyway.
But she only grabbed two of the duffel bags under the bed when she left. The
third was technically Kurt's, but he had watched her pack a smaller handgun
into it last night when the other two bags had been too full. If he could get
free…
"Kurt, I…" Puck swallowed the rest of the sentence into a strangled mess. He
probably hadn't known what he was going to say anyway.
"Can you get either of your hands free?"
Puck scowled. "I've been trying." His breath smelled like McDonald's. Kurt
hated that place more now than he had in Lima.
Maybe if Kurt could reach… His hands wouldn't move toward the rope, but he
pulled himself up and reached for Puck's bonds with his mouth.
"Puck, can you push me to reach that?" he gestured with his head toward Puck's
wrist.
"Probably not without dislocating your arms."
"Well fucking do it."
He felt Puck jerk in what was probably shock, but then the other teen used his
legs to push Kurt across the bed. Alex grabbed the rope in his teeth and began
pulling. He ignored the pain in his shoulders and arms. It wouldn't matter so
long as he could free Puck.
"Kurt, do you know where the key to those cuffs is?" It felt strange to be
called Kurt again. Sometimes he didn't even bother to call himself that
anymore.
"Yes. Around Robbie's neck." He kept it short so that he could return to
working at the rope.
"Why do you call him that?" Puck sounded… disgusted wasn't quite the word, and
neither was frightened.
"Because it bugs the shit out of him. I can't talk and try to untie you at the
same time, so shut the hell up, okay." His lips and tongue were already sore,
but he would keep working the rope until either Puck was free or Rob showed up
to stop him.
"Oh. Okay." The silence felt awkward, but Alex ignored it.
He finally managed to pull the rope loose enough for Puck to slip his hand out
and untie the other wrist. Puck immediately began pulling at the headboard,
trying to pry it apart. Alex let him play a moment as he finished thinking out
his plan.
"Puck, listen. You'll have to go without me."
"Hell no, Kurt. I'm not—"
"There's a duffel under the bed. I need you to take a gun out of it and tape it
to the back of the toilet tank. Then I need you to leave."
"Dude, if I have a weapon, I can stay and shoot the motherfucker." He pulled
the bag from under the bed and unzipped it.
Kurt shook his head even though Puck wasn't looking. "No, he'll expect
something if he notices you're still here. Or he might use me as a hostage
against you. I've helped someone escape before, so he'll think it's like that
time. He'll think I'm unarmed."
"You mean Annette Sherwood?" The jock returned the duffel bag to where he'd
found it once he pulled the handgun and duct tape out.
"I suppose I should have expected that," Kurt mused.
"What?"
"Her last name. Now put that on the back of the toilet. Quickly. I don't know
how long they'll be gone."
Puck didn't move. He looked torn. "Would you have done it?"
Alex wanted to pretend he didn't know what the other boy was talking about, but
he didn't have the luxury of time. "I have before. Now move."
When Puck hurried to the restroom, it looked a lot like running away. Well,
good. Maybe if he thought Kurt was evil now, he would be willing to save
himself.
"You remember my phone number?" Puck asked as he walked back into the main
room. He continued after Kurt nodded, "Call me when you're free. I can drive
you back home." He pulled on his pants and took some change from the pocket.
"This should be enough for a payphone." He found Kurt's pants easily enough and
pressed the change into the left pocket. Then he pulled a knife—Kurt's knife,
left in the choir room so long ago—from his pocket and left it in Kurt's pants
pocket as well. "I'm only leaving so I can go to the police." It sounded honest
enough. "They'll come for you soon, and I bet they can get those cuffs off."
When Puck finally left, Kurt settled back and got some sleep. If nothing else,
he would be rested when he faced Robbie again. This was the closest he'd ever
felt to escaping.
Chapter End Notes
     Remember way, way back in chapter 11 when I said I'd been debating
     about using another song but loved it so much I would save it for
     later? This is that song. It's Madonna's "You'll See." I'm glad I
     saved it because I believe it has more impact here than it would have
     as part of a random bath scene.
***** Mercedes: We Will Wait *****
"It's my fault he left like that." Quinn was usually so in control of herself,
but now she cried openly. Mercedes hated to see her friend hurt like this, but
everyone hurt now. They had ever since Kurt was taken from them.
"You know that's not true. Puck ran off because he's kind of stupid sometimes,
not because you didn't want to go out with him." She handed her friend a fresh
tissue and rubbed her hand along the other girl's upper back. Most nights Quinn
comforted Mercedes, but Puck had been safely in Lima for most nights.
"He stayed until I pushed him away."
"That boy's been wanting to run off and chase Kurt down from the start, and you
know it. It's a miracle he held back this long." Puck hadn't dealt well with
waiting. Mercedes saw him as more of a lashing-out kind of guy anyway. Being
left behind didn't work for him because he didn't have the patience to realize
he couldn't do anything. Mercedes tried not to think about her own lack of
patience. Tonight was about Quinn; they'd talked about missing Kurt already.
"And youknow that's not true. Everyone wanted to go after Kurt, not just Puck.
And he would have stayed back the same as everyone else." When she blew her
nose, her friend knew she'd finally given up trying to keep a hold of herself
because it was a real blow, not one of the dainty little things she usually did
into a tissue.
"It's not like he'll find anything anyway. He'll be home in a few days, moping
around even though he knew going to New York wouldn't actually help." Though
she still worried about Puck, Mercedes knew it was true. If Robin Banks could
hide himself from the police, he could hide himself from a confused teenager.
Quinn excused herself to use the Jones' restroom. Mercedes focused on staring
at her fingernails. They were unpainted now, and she needed a manicure,
especially since she'd been biting them. It was easier not to cry if she had
something to focus on. Comforting Quinn helped as much as anything else that
kept her brain busy. Mercedes had learned to keep herself occupied throughout
the day because she couldn't cry if she had no time for it. The tears still
came at night when she tried and failed to fall asleep, but at least no one
else saw them.
When the head cheerleader returned, she wrapped an arm around her friend's
shoulders. "I told him we couldn't lose anyone else," she said. "We've always
only been able to wait, but now it's for both of them."
Mercedes nodded.
Quinn continued, "I hope he doesn't find anything. It sounds terrible to say
that. I should be wishing for him to find Kurt and bring him home to us."
"No, you're right." Mercedes returned the other girl's hug as proof she meant
it. "Puck can't handle Banks. The only way he's coming back to us is if he
doesn't find anything." She didn't know Puck all that well compared to some of
the other gleeks. What Mercedes did know about the jock was that he was, in a
lot of ways, still just a kid. A tall, hunky kid who didn't know how to deal
with his life anymore. She thought he had run away from his own emotions as
much as he had run toward Kurt.
The cheerio shivered. "I should have stopped him."
"I thought we covered this. You couldn't have."
"I did before." It came out as a whisper, but Mercedes heard it clearly.
"By letting him think something that wasn't true. Girl, stop blaming yourself.
Puck left because of his own problems. You're not the issue; he is." She
believed Puck would come back, and Quinn would feel better when he did. The
difference was that Puck left.Kurt was taken. She turned her thoughts back to
Quinn as the blonde began speaking because she didn't want to start crying now.
"The last time we talked, it was the only adult conversation I've ever had with
him. And it's not really a lie he believed. I do like him. He's cute and sweet
when he's not a jerk, and, oh, what am I going to do, Mercedes?" She ran her
fingers through her hair.
"You and Sam had just broken up. Whatever else was going on with you, he should
have known better than to think you'd be interested in seeing someone else so
soon. I'm pretty sure he doesn't actually know much about dating."
"Like he and Santana still can't figure out whether or not they're dating at
all."
"See. He's just confused."
"So confused that he ran off after a serial killer." Quinn bit at her lower
lip.
"That's not the same thing at all." Mercedes needed something that would
actually reassure Quinn, but she suspected the only thing that would work was
Puck's safe return.
"I tried to call him again this morning." She ran her tongue over the spot on
her lip she'd been working at with her teeth. "I think he hit ignore. That
means he still has his phone, right?"
Mercedes nodded. Maybe someone else could have hit ignore, but only Puck would
have a reason to keep his phone around, right? Unless some homeless guy picked
it up and thought he could use it for something. She decided not to mention
anything like that to Quinn. Puck had his cell phone; that was the story she'd
stick to tonight. "He's probably just afraid to talk to you."
"He's never been afraid to talk to me, even when he's scared of some of the
things we might say." She glanced at the clock and pulled her lip back between
her teeth. "Can I stay here tonight?"
Mercedes shrugged. "I don't know how much sleep you'll get," she left out the
'with me crying all night' part, "but you know you're welcome here."
"Thanks, Mercedes. I wouldn't sleep well at home either."
She had resisted for so long and knew she wouldn't last the night, so Mercedes
let the stupid question she'd been holding in slip out. "I know it's not
likely, but… do you think there's a chance he could bring Kurt home?"
Quinn looked about to cry again. "Oh, sweety, you know I don't." She pulled her
friend into a tight hug.
"I know." Quinn had admitted she thought Kurt was in heaven by now. She
obviously hadn't wanted to, but Mercedes had worked it out of her. "I just…"
She just wasn't ready to accept that her best friend was dead. The tears broke
through then, and Mercedes cried against her friend's shoulder.
"Come on. I know you probably aren't hungry, but you need some comfort food."
Quinn helped Mercedes up and grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed. She
led Mercedes to the couch and left her with the blanket wrapped around her.
When Quinn came back, she was holding two tubs of ice cream. She usually
declined the ice cream part of moping sessions with Mercedes, but maybe she
needed it too tonight.
Quinn handed Mercedes the chocolate as she climbed under the blanket and opened
the strawberry for herself. Ice cream wasn't as effective when the boys they
were hurt over could be dead, but at least it was something. They didn't put on
a movie because there weren't any movies they wanted to watch right now.
"I miss him," Mercedes whispered. "Both of them. I need them to come home safe,
Quinn. I don't know what I'll do if they can't."
"I know." Quinn began crying again. Mercedes understood. Their boys could be
dead, and they couldn't do anything but sit around weeping and stuffing their
faces. "We will wait for them together. All of us."
"And when they come home, we'll give Kurt all the kisses he can handle and
smack Puck upside the head for being an idiot."
Quinn nodded her agreement. The girls settled into the couch with their snack.
It felt like waiting as much as anything else would, as everything else already
did.
***** Kurt: I Will Go On *****
Chapter Notes
     There's a song in here: Breaking Benjamin's "Until the End." I
     believe Kurt is talented enough to reinterpret the song in a way that
     better suits his voice on the fly while waiting for something that
     could end with him dead. That's not sarcastic; he probably could.
Kurt waited. He knew Robin and Kitty would come back for him, even if he didn't
know when. If they took too long, the police would arrive first. He hadn't
slept for long. He was too excited. Instead, he settled for singing to himself
while he waited. His voice was soft. Not timid, but tranquil. Something would
end tonight, whatever happened.
So clever
Whatever
I'm done with these endeavors
Alone I walk the winding way
(Here I stay)
It's over
No longer
I feel it growing stronger
I'll live to die another day
Until I fade away
Rob burst through the door almost before Kurt realized it had opened. Kitty
scurried to grab the last of their things.
"Fuck, should've cuffed you both," Robin growled as he freed Kurt's wrists.
"C'mon."
"Hey, asshole, can I pee first?"
A shove toward the bathroom was all the answer Robbie gave. Kurt managed not to
smile until he reached behind the toilet and found the gun Puck had hidden
there for him. He made sure it was loaded before leaving the bathroom, thankful
for the second time in his life that any self-respecting redneck would make
sure his son could handle a gun.
Why give up, why give in?
It's not enough, it never is
So I will go on until the end
We've become desolate
It's not enough, it never is
But I will go on until the end
As soon as she saw him, Kitty froze. Robin stared at her for a moment before
turning to Alex. The boy's smile widened. His captors were both armed, but he
wasn't scared.
"Alex," Rob said, frowning, "You know two on one pretty much guarantees you'll
lose."
"One of you will lose with me then." He leveled the gun, pointing it toward
Robin. "Wayne Garcia didn't think I'd shoot, at least not before he did. You
could learn a thing or two from his mistake. Kitty, cuff Robbie to my bed."
She hesitated, but Rob nodded. He still expected to get out of this. He
probably thought Kurt would let him live. Maybe Rob even saw binding him as a
sign that Alex just didn't want to be followed when he left.
Surround me
It's easy
To fall apart completely
I feel you creeping up again
(In my head)
It's over
No longer
I feel it growing colder
I knew this day would come to end
So let this life begin
When Kitty finished with the handcuffs, Kurt told her to leave the keys on the
table by the door. Then he put a bullet in her brain. By the sound Robbie made,
he hadn't expected Alex to shoot. Hadn't Kurt just reminded them of how he'd
killed Wayne?
"Alex, by now you've guessed this wasn't actually part of my plan."
Kurt ignored him as he dressed himself. Then he pulled the knife Puck had left
out of his pocket. He used it to cut off Rob's clothes.
"What's this then? Payback?"
"Yes."
This, Alex thought, must be what going insane feels like. He had a thousand
deaths planned for Robin Banks, imagined sometimes angrily, others hopefully,
and occasionally even lovingly as he lay awake at night unable to face his
nightmares. Could he kill him? Of course he could kill him. He'd done it
before, hadn't he? Fewer than five minutes had passed since he shot Kitty.
He thought of Jack screaming 'Save me,' but pushed it aside. Jack would want
this too. Alex positioned himself between Robbie's legs, and the man tried to
kick at him and pull away.
"Relax, moron. I'm not putting my dick anywhere. You may have noticed I have
pants on."
Rob stared at Alex like he'd gone insane (maybe he had), and the pause gave the
countertenor the chance he needed. He gripped the knife firmly and rammed the
blade as far as he could up Robin's asshole. He frowned when the man screamed
and used the rags of Rob's shirt as a gag as he sang to cover up the noise.
I've lost my way
I've lost my way, but I will go on until the end
He pulled the blade out to bring it to Robin's chest. Alex used his body weight
as best he could to hold the larger man still. He wanted this to be readable.
Red letters stared up at Alex from where he had pressed them into Robin's chest
as the man writhed and screamed. They said, "The death of Kurt Hummel."
If a little hint was enough to scare off Puck, this should be enough to keep
the rest of those he had left behind in Lima away from him too. It certainly
looked like the work of a psycho. (It certainly felt like the work of a
psycho.) He shivered.
Alex slit Robbie's throat like the man had shown him with Jack. He left the
robber there and went to Kitty. He closed her eyes because even if she was
insane to be with Robin and to help him, Kitty had been nice to Alex sometimes.
Before he left, Alex piled some of Robin and Kitty's things—money, phone,
laptop, chargers, and knives, but not guns—into his duffel. He swung the strap
over his shoulder and left the bodies of his captors for the police to find.
The final fight I'll win
The final fight I'll win
The final fight I'll win
But I will go on until the end
***** Finn: Anything at All *****
It was the middle of the night, and that usually meant Finn was lying awake in
bed. Sometimes he just couldn't sleep however hard he tried; others it felt
like cheating to sleep easily when he knew Kurt probably couldn't. Tonight,
someone had called Burt. It was too late for phone calls, but after answering
with a grumpy midnight complaint, Burt had shut himself in the basement.
Finn and his mom waited on the couch. Something was happening. They knew it.
Burt had been kind of all over the place recently, but this was different.
Something important was happening while Finn fiddled his thumbs and ignored the
sound of the ceiling fan clicking.
The only important thing left was Kurt. It had to be about Kurt.
Was he dead? Had someone found a corpse? No, Kurt couldn't be dead. Burt would
have simply collapsed, not gone into a frenzy in the basement. Had they found
him? Was Kurt safely in police custody, maybe on his way to a nearby hospital?
No, Burt would have rushed to his son's side if he could, not locked himself up
to stay on the phone. It couldn't be Kurt because Burt was still here and still
functioning. What else could be so important? Finn ran a hand through his short
hair, trying to think.
Robin Banks. They had found Robin Banks. Or at least a strong lead. Finn hoped
it was Banks. He hoped the fuckhead had pulled a gun on the cops and forced
them to shoot him. If they had found Banks but not Kurt, what would that mean?
Was Kurt rotting in a ditch somewhere waiting to be found long after Banks had
disposed of his body? Finn hoped Kurt had gotten away. He could have escaped
from Banks and left an anonymous tip with the police about where the criminal
was. Then Kurt could have tried to find a way home. It was dumb not to just go
to the police, but Kurt didn't like relying on others too much, so maybe he'd
try to make his own way back.
Finn decided that was the story he like best. He knew that meant it was the one
least likely to be true. If he had his way, Finn would call truth a liar and
leave it at that, but he found out a while ago that refusing to face facts
never made them go away. It only gave people another reason to call him dumb.
When Burt finally came out of the garage, he had already finished on the phone.
Finn wanted to ask him about Kurt, but his jaw clamped shut and refused to work
with him. His hands clenched into fists, unclenched, clenched, until he shoved
them in the pockets of his pajamas.
"Is it Kurt?" Finn's mom asked after a silence that lasted too long. The teen
flinched; they rarely said Kurt's name anymore. Not out loud.
Burt nodded, shook his head, shrugged, and collapsed into a chair. Carol was at
his side immediately, to comfort him.
When neither adult said anything else, Finn worked to find his voice. "Is it
Banks?"
"They found him." The emptiness in Burt's eyes and the way he stared ahead
without focusing on anything said they hadn't found Kurt with him.
"Then they can make him talk. Make him tell us where Kurt is." Finn paced the
room. Banks had to talk. They had to find Kurt. If they didn't… they just had
to.
Burt shook his head though. "He's dead."
Finn froze. "'He' means Banks, right." The jock didn't let a question enter his
voice. When Burt nodded, Finn's entire body relaxed. He hadn't even felt tense
because, for that moment, he hadn't felt anything at all. "Do they have, um,
leads? For Kurt?" Someone had to find him. It didn't matter who.
Burt shook his head and buried his face in his hands.
"What aren't you telling us?"
The question surprised Finn. What else was there to tell? Banks was dead; Kurt
was still missing. Only two questions mattered, and Burt had answered those.
Apparently the boy's mom saw something more there. And by the way Burt
flinched, she was right.
"I don't… I… Don't say anything until it's been on the news, okay? I don't even
know if we should know yet since Kurt was already gone and it didn't even
happen in Ohio."
As Burt spoke and shivered in a way Finn had still believed only kids could,
the other question found its way into the teen's mind. "How did he die?" Puck
had gone to kill him. Finn never believed his classmate could do it, but he
never believed Puck could fool around with his own best friend's girlfriend
either. If Puck killed Banks, then maybe he was driving home with Kurt right
now. Maybe it would all be okay, and everyone could feel alive again.
"By knife. His accomplice was shot." It sounded like an answer to what Finn had
asked, but didn't even come close to what he'd meant.
"But who did it?"
Burt cried.
That wasn't right. Adults were people too, Finn was old enough to have realized
that, but this was different. It wasn't that an adult was crying, or even that
Finn's surrogate father was crying, but Burt was crying. Burt was strong. He
never gave in. He never cried.
"It was…" For a moment, Finn couldn't even say the name. Burt didn't cry (but
he was now), and Kurt wasn't a murderer (but he shot Garcia). "They think Kurt
did it."
By this point, Burt couldn't speak, but he nodded weakly. Carol asked Finn to
bring Burt some water. He did even though he knew she just wanted him out of
the room so she could talk to Burt alone. Finn sat down on one of the stools in
the kitchen. He felt like maybe he should have collapsed into it, but only in
the way he felt like lightning should have flashed and thunder boomed through
the sky. He watched too many movies.
Kurt had killed a man. Another man. Or two more, counting whoever the
accomplice was. The countertenor had been a mess after the first time, when all
that had happened to him was pulling a trigger after having been called some
names he regularly was at school anyway. Now he had spent almost two months
with a psychopathic serial rapist and murderer and killed a total of three
people. Finn had no doubt they were all in self-defense, but that sort of thing
would mess with a guy's head.
He grabbed two glasses of water and carried them out to the living room. "Why
do they think it was him?"
All the answer Burt gave was to shake his head. It didn't help. Finn watched
enough crime dramas to make random, shot in the dark guesses, but he wanted to
know. Not so much 'what put the suspect at the crime scene?' as 'why Kurt
instead of someone else?'
The boy waited in the living room while his mother helped Burt up to their
room. No one believed he could sleep, but Carol said she would feel better if
he would at least lie down. When she came back, Finn thought maybe it had been
as much a way to get Burt out of the room as asking for water had been to get
Finn out.
She motioned for her son to sit and held onto him once he had. "It's the way he
was killed," she said in a quiet voice. For a while, she didn't go on. Finn
waited. He could feel her crying even though she had turned her face away. "He
car—there were words in his chest. One of them was Kurt's name."
Finn wanted to say something. For a long time he couldn't. When he finally
could, only a question would come out. "What were the other words?"
His mom shook her head. "I don't know. Burt couldn't say. I think, if we're
lucky, we'll never find out."
"I don't feel lucky." If he were lucky, Puck would be driving Kurt home now. He
wanted Kurt to be home now.
"I know, sweetheart." She began to cry now too. "We can only wait and see, but
at least we have reason to believe he's alive now. It's not much, but yesterday
everyone told us he was probably dead."
"Puck said it'd be better for Kurt if he were dead."
"We can't possibly know that, but… maybe it would. I know I should tell you
everything will be okay, Finn, but I can't." She fell into sobs and clung to
her son. Finn held to her just as tightly. When he found out Quinn was
pregnant, Finn had thought he learned what it was like to be an adult. Now he
thought adulthood felt a lot more like standing on a sinking ship because
someone else rode in his lifeboat. He closed his eyes but didn't sleep before
his mother pulled away to check on Burt. Finn didn't fall asleep after either.
He saw no reason to try.
***** Alex: You Don't Sleep *****
Chapter Notes
     So… you probably already noticed the Alex thing… you can't really say
     no one saw it coming.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Alex didn't call Puck. He scrolled through the contacts on Robin's phone until
he found Jace and called him instead.
"Fuck, Kit, that was quick." It was Jace's voice. He sounded terrified and
short of breath.
"It's Alex."
The line went silent without going dead. When the man spoke again, his voice
was cautious. "Did you…?"
"I killed them. Kitty quickly. Robbie less so." His voice didn't crack or
waver, though Alex felt like maybe it should have. His hands were shaking, and
his knees trembled as they carried him away from the man who had taken
everything in his life away from him.
"Then why are you calling me?"
"You were the one who made the driver's license for me, right?"
"Well, yeah, but what does that matter? It's not like you need another from me
when you can just get a real one once you're back home." Alex realized then the
tone of Jace's voice came from crying. He should have recognized it sooner;
he'd heard it often enough in his own voice.
"I'm not going home. Jace, what happened?" Did he care? Maybe. Whatever was
bothering Jace could have been what pulled Rob and Kitty away in time for Alex
to save Puck.
"It's Todd. He… oh, fuck. Nothing. No one knows the name on that license; you
can still use it."
"Can you get me a social security card too?" Alex would probably need a number
to get a job, and if he gave his real one, Burt might have been able to track
him down.
"That's not as easy as a fake ID, and they usually come with names."
"Just tell me if you can do it." Alex was surprised by how angry he sounded.
All he felt was tired.
"Give me a few days. Keep Kitty's phone on you, and I'll call."
Alex nodded even though Jace couldn't see him. "Is Todd… is he alive?" He still
didn't know if he cared or not.
Jace hung up.
Alex kept walking. He wanted to get as far from Rob as possible and dedicated
the last few hours of the night to moving. After a couple hours of probably
illegal rest on a park bench, the countertenor started walking again and passed
by a small theater. He doubled back. It was a real theater, not just a modern
movie theater. He had always dreamed of traveling to a real city, working in a
little theater just like this one, and eventually moving on to become a real
Broadway star. Enough of his dreams had died. Would this one too?
"Hey, hey, I know that look."
The voice made Alex jump and curse himself silently. Hadn't he learned by bow
to pay some fucking attention?
A girl, probably in her late twenties, approached Alex from the theater,
grinning innocently enough. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." She offered
her hand; Alex shook it. "Megan Oursler. Call me Meg. You want to come in? I'm
here covering one of something like five people who couldn't be bothered to
work today. I bet the boss'll be happy for the help." Her smile was nice. Alex
had forgotten what that looked like. He nodded. "So what's your name?"
"Alex."
Meg smiled again. "Just Alex?" So she was one of those full-name people. The
way she introduced herself probably should have given it away.
"Alex Hood."
"Hood? Very spooky and theatrical, actually. You'll fit right in. Though it
would flow better with Alexander. It feels cropped as is."She laughed lightly.
"I assume someone's told you by now that you're a bit strange." Not the
weirdest Alex had known by far, but Alex was pretty sure he'd heard people just
ignored everyone else in New York. He wasn't used to feeling like someone was
trying to take him under their wing, but that was definitely the vibe he got
from Meg.
"Well, sure. Don't worry though, Alex; I don't let it go to my head."
The theater's owner made it clear he considered Alex a volunteer, but Meg
treated him more like a trainee. Somehow she got Alex to admit to recent
homelessness and offered the countertenor a place to stay. This sort of thing,
Alex knew, didn't just happen, especially not to people who didn't deserve it
in the least. Or maybe it only happened to people who didn't deserve it.
Certainly enough good, decent, deserving people suffered without having earned
an ounce of their pain. Alex stopped thinking about it and tried not to focus
on how it felt more comfortable if he lay at night with his arms above his head
rather than at his sides.
When he heard from Jace again, Alex was still living in Meg's apartment and
working for free at the theater. He was also still fingering the pocketknife he
kept on him at all times, freaking out in crowds, and sleeping little more than
two hours a night. It was fucking stupid. If he could handle a psychopath like
Robbie, then everyday life should be easy.
Jace wanted to meet in a coffee shop. It was public enough for Alex, so he
agreed. A lot of places were closed for Christmas Eve, including the theater
where Alex now kind of not really worked, but coffee shops knew better. He
found Jace sitting at a small table near one of the windows. The blonde's eyes
were red, and his hands twitched in his lap.
"You look like shit," Alex said as he sat across from the older man.
"You too, princess." He pulled something from his breast pocket and passed it
over. "There. It'll work for you. Don't ask me how; I'm too magical and
wondrous for you to comprehend with your puny human mind. Now leave me the fuck
alone, okay."
"You never answered me. About Todd." Alex still hadn't decided if he cared, but
he was curious.
"Fuck about Todd. He's not your business." Jace jerked his eyes away from
Kurt's and stared at the floor.
"Is 'about Todd' why Robbie and Kitty left in such a hurry that night?" The
shop was starting to fill up. Alex tried to keep his hands from shaking the way
Jace's did and let one of them slip into his pocket to stroke the pocketknife
Puck had returned to him.
The blonde's head bobbed in a jerky and hesitant affirmative. "I…" He stared at
his hands. "I thought he would help."
"Well didn't he? He certainly rushed to your side." The countertenor's eyes
darted from person to person. He knew he was looking for threats even though he
knew there weren't any. Jace was probably the most dangerous person there, even
if he did look little more than broken and small right now.
"The fuckface rushed over all right. So he could pass a bullet through my
baby's lips before any words Rob didn't like had a chance to pass the other
way." The last came out in a growl. Alex didn't know how to respond to that,
but Jace kept talking anyway. "My Todd was no fucking squealer, but that's how
Robin takes—took—care of things. Of people. You're lucky, Alex; you killed the
son of a bitch before you found out what it was like to be on his team."
What the hell did he mean by 'before'?
Jace left while Alex sat frozen by words colder than the winter winds. Robin
hadn't expected Alex to work with him, had he? That was fucking stupid. The
countertenor left the coffee shop and began the walk back to Meg's apartment.
Robbie hadn't recruited Alex; he had kidnapped the boy. He hadn't trained Alex—
But sort of he had. Could that be what the hell was up with teaching his
captive to memorize floor layouts and escape routes ? Could he have ordered
Kitty to teach the boy to fight so he could operate as part of their team?
Could he—
Rob had fucking raped him. He kidnapped, beat, raped, and tortured Alex. That
wasn't how you went about picking up recruits. That was how Robin played with
his toys before he killed them—
Except he never killed Alex. He almost did when the boy didn't want to kill
Jack, but he hadn't. And, fuck, what if he wanted to turn his prisoner into a
murderer, to turn him into a criminal. To make him part of—
Alex ducked into an alley before he collapsed. When he blinked the blurriness
from his eyes, it came out as water, as tears. His hands and knees hurt from
the fall, but he'd had worse. He needed to stand up and walk the rest of the
way back to the apartment where he could pretend to sleep until he stopped
shaking. But his legs wouldn't move except to collapse further, letting his
butt fall to the cement. He leaned against the wall and felt the tears flow
down his cheeks though the knot in his chest wasn't the kind that felt like
crying.
Stockholm Syndrome. Alex had heard of it. Robin probably had too.
He was still wearing the clothes Robbie gave him. Of course he was; he didn't
have any others. But when Meg had offered to take him shopping for something
that wasn't 'black and depressing,' Alex refused. He told her he didn't have
any money for clothes and ignored it when she heavily implied she'd be the one
paying. He rubbed his cold fingers against the legs of his black skinny jeans.
A reasonable person would have gone with Meg, especially since he only had
three pairs of clothes.
Alex pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He didn't
want to be something Robin Banks had made of him. But his fucking name was
something he used because of Rob. The rest of his identity may as well be too.
"Merry fucking Christmas, Alex. You're a freak now too." Putting it into words
helped because the sound of them made him angry. He stood and finished the walk
to Meg's.
She grinned warmly when he came in and offered him a mug of what turned out to
be hot coco. "Have a nice walk?" Meg dropped herself onto the couch without
appearing clumsy or spilling her coco.
Alex shrugged. "Not really." He hung up his coat.
"Usually it helps if you don't fall on your ass and get your fancy coat dirty."
She pointed at the jacket, and Kurt brushed the dirt off its bottom.
He sat beside her on the coach and sipped at his coco. It should have felt
homey and peaceful, but Alex just wished Meg would go out somewhere so he could
be alone.
"You wanna tell me what's wrong?" She arched an eyebrow and stared at Alex over
her mug.
"Not really." He turned his eyes away to stare into the steam rising from his
drink.
"C'mon, Al, you're paying me rent in words until I can convince the boss man to
hire you. So dish some up and tell me what's wrong."
"That is the strangest attempt at getting someone to open up I've ever heard."
"Just you wait until it starts to work. Then you'll know we're crazy." She
grinned but the smile fell off when she noticed Alex flinch. "Alex, please talk
to me."
"You remember I told you about Robbie?"
Meg nodded. She thought Robbie (no last name) was Alex's ex-boyfriend. She
thought they had been traveling the country until they broke up for a reason
Alex hadn't mentioned, leaving the countertenor homeless and stranded.
"Did I mention he was a fucking psychopath?"
"No, but the way you don't sleep hinted at it."
He flinched again and took a large swallow of coco. It was too hot, but
whatever. "Well, I'm pretty sure I'm insane too."
"I'm pretty sure you're not."
"I'm pretty sure I miss him." And if that wasn't insane and fucked up, then
Robin Banks was an alpaca.
"I'm pretty sure that's normal."
"It's not." Well, Meg thought he had been with Robin because he wanted to.
Maybe that made a difference.
"Look, I don't know for sure anything you don't tell me, but I can tell he hurt
you. And I think you're here more because you ran the hell away than because
you had a peaceful, mutual breakup. Even if he was terrible the whole time you
knew him, you were still together. And now you're not. It's normal to want
something you used to have."
It was scary how right Meg was, especially considering how much Alex had lied
to her about his history with Robin. He didn't answer, but despite what she
said, Alex was pretty sure Meg didn't need him to. He didn't deny anything.
That had to be enough. When she scooted over to hug him lightly, Alex knew that
it was.
Chapter End Notes
     Meg was originally a guy named Sidney. Easiest rewrite ever 'cause
     all I did was change the name and gender-specific pronouns. I think
     Kurt has saved enough female characters that I wanted one who existed
     solely to help him, to balance things out. I like her; dunno if you
     will.
     It's hard to remember not to type "Kurt."
***** Puck: Come Home with Me *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The papers said Banks was dead, but Kurt had never called. Puck didn't know
what to do with himself, so he continued living out of his mom's car and trying
to find Kurt. It sucked ass, but it was better than running back home now that
he had found and lost Kurt again.
He fidgeted in his seat and smiled apologetically at the older woman next to
him when he bumped her elbow. In trying to find Kurt, Puck had realized that
the boy's goal in life was pretty much to come to New York and become a star on
Broadway. So he'd begun looking for him in plays and musicals, mostly in
smaller theaters because no one would have heard of Kurt yet. Puck searched for
anyone with the names Kurt, Alex, or Alexander and used his mom's credit card
to buy tickets for the shows he hoped to find his friend at.
Puck wanted to tell himself 'maybe this time,' but it seemed unlikely. It was
too good a part. Not the lead because Kurt simply wasn't masculine enough for
most male leads, but still a good part. Still, Puck wasn't ready to risk not
finding Kurt because he had underestimated the boy's talents. Because even if
no one had heard of him, Kurt was damn good. And Puck was desperate. He would
try everything he could think of.
The musical started, and some girl sang something about something. Puck didn't
pay attention. Someone joined her onstage with a stupid costume on, but Puck
couldn't even tell from this distance if it was a girl or a guy. It'd be tall
for a girl, but hey, some girls were tall.
When the second person started singing, it sounded like a girl, but Puck knew
it wasn't. It was Kurt. He had too crappy a seat for a decent look at the boy's
face, but Puck was certain. He had found Kurt. Now how the hell was he going to
get backstage? And what the hell had convinced Kurt that Hood was a cool last
name?
Through the rest of the musical, Puck fidgeted and bumped the elbow of the
woman beside him. She seemed pretty annoyed by it at the end, but he dashed off
almost before the curtains had closed. He needed to find Kurt.
There was a guard or security personnel or whatever blocking the way to getting
backstage, and Puck, for once, couldn't flirt his way through. He cursed and
waited outside near the parking lot instead. If he was lucky, he wouldn't miss
Kurt. If he wasn't lucky… well, Puck hoped he hadn't used up all his luck in
getting away from Banks.
He hadn't. Kurt was leaving on foot with an auburn-haired woman. Puck hurried
to catch up to them.
"Kurt, wait."
The countertenor turned stiffly, and the woman with him looked confused. Oh,
yeah, she would know him as Alexander.
"Why did you stay here? I told you to call me so I could take you back home."
He held up both hands in a gesture that he hoped made him look harmless because
Kurt seemed ready to bolt.
"Are you that fucktard Robbie?" Whoever she was, Kurt's new friend positioned
herself between the boys from Lima. At least he'd found someone who would
protect him.
"Hell no." He'd have laughed if it weren't so scary a thought that it left him
scowling fiercely instead. "I'm Puck. Robbie is… long gone." What had Kurt told
her? Something, obviously, but not the truth.
"It's okay, Meg," Kurt said, sounding resigned. "Puck's okay." He turned to
Puck then. "It's cold here. Come one, we'll talk at Meg's place, if that's
okay." She nodded but definitely continued giving Puck the stink eye.
Meg's apartment was small but clean. It looked like the kind of place Kurt
would be comfortable in, but before the Kurt took over and redecorated phase.
Kurt sat on the big brown couch, and Meg lounged over the rest of it. Puck sat
on the floor because he didn't feel much like standing.
No one spoke for a while. Eventually, Meg cut through the silence with a frown.
"I'll go first then. Two questions: Who's a Puck, and why do you know Alex as
Kurt?"
"I'm a Puck." That much was pretty obvious. "I go to school with Kurt, and
that's his real name, by the way. I still don't know what the hell is up with
the other."
She looked to Kurt for confirmation, but the countertenor stayed quiet and
studied his nails.
"Fine," Puck said, "I'll go next then. Same question as before: why didn't you
call me and come home? Your dad's a mess, you know. Everyone is."
Kurt didn't answer.
"You sure you're not his boyfriend?"
Puck frowned and scratched maybe a little too hard at the back of his neck.
"I'm straight. And painfully single. The guy he told you about wasn't his
boyfriend either. Just a sick freak who took Kurt who knows where."
Kurt made a strangled sound, but he shouldn't have worried so much; Puck wasn't
about to say more than that.
Meg caught the warning as easily as Puck had though. The way her eyes narrowed
and darted back and forth between the boys from Lima made it obvious she had
caught on in a big way. She knew Puck knew more than she knew about what Kurt
knew about Banks. Though she didn't even know his name was Banks. She had asked
about Robbie. It still made Puck kind of want to puke that Kurt called the man
that. It was a fucking pet name, however the countertenor tried to explain it
away.
"If Alex isn't his real name, then his ID is fake. So how old is my baby-faced
roommate?" It was a surprisingly practical and simple question. But maybe this
Meg was just smart enough not to dive in with 'so what form of abuse has my
roommate suffered?' or 'where does he live?'
"Seventeen."
"Puck!"
"And he just proved me right." He smirked. "What does the ID say?"
"Twenty-two."
"Meg!"
"I see what you mean by proof. He's so… bad at hiding indignation."
Puck chuckled. "And you believed it, the ID?"
"Apparently not. How old are you?" It was just flirty enough that she was
probably trying to get more information out of him. Fine, she could have it.
"Same age. We're classmates."
"Where at?"
"High school." He held up his hand. "You'll have to ask Kurt for the rest. He's
already giving me a fucking convincing death glare." Puck didn't know her well
enough to trust Meg with the information she'd need to stalk them home either.
And they were going home. He just hadn't figured out how to convince Kurt of
that just yet.
Meg nodded and turned back to the silent boy beside her. "Alex, is your name
really Kurt?"
"My name is whatever I tell people to call me by. But, yes, the one my parents
gave me is Kurt." He crossed his arms and legs in a way that looked defensive.
"Why did you change it?" Puck was glad Meg had asked; he wanted to know too.
"Because I decided the old one didn't fit right anymore." Kurt looked
uncomfortable. He even looked a little scared. Puck wanted to stop it, to make
his friend feel better, but he couldn't. He wanted to know, and he felt sure
that Kurt would only come home after Puck had learned enough to argue him into
it.
"Because of what Robbie did to you?" Meg's voice, playful before, had turned
softer than silk. The sound of it had a delicacy to it that Puck couldn't quite
grasp.
Kurt nodded and pulled his knees up. His shoes were on the couch, but Meg
didn't say anything. When Kurt spoke, his voice was even quieter and more
fragile than Meg's. "Because of what he made me."
"I've only known you for just over a week," she said as she moved over on the
couch to put an arm around Kurt. "But I know you're a good person." There was
more to the thought, but she didn't say it. Puck didn't know why until he
realized maybe she knew too little to realize the rest.
He finished it for her: "Whatever he tried to make you, he failed." Kurt had
said Banks forced him to have sex with someone before, but Puck could tell Kurt
hadn't wanted to. Something told him Banks had wanted more than grudging
obedience from Kurt. The thing he would have changed Kurt into would have
wanted to tie Puck up and screw him against his will.
Kurt glanced at Puck but pulled his eyes away to stare at a spot of nothing on
the floor. "Maybe I'm not what he wanted, but I'm still not the same."
"Do you love your dad?"
"What?"
"Do you lo—"
"Of course I do." Kurt frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?
Puck turned to Kurt's roommate. "Does he still sing, and is he maybe a little
arrogant about just how good he is?"
"Yup, but he's good enough to get away with it too. Unless the neighbors are
trying to sleep. Then nothing's good enough." She rolled her eyes in what had
to be exasperation at her neighbors.
"And I know he's only been here since Monday night or Tuesday morning last
week, but he's been a good friend to you, hasn't he?"
"Yeah, um, that's a rather specific timeframe."
Puck sighed. Kurt offered no answer, so the jock went on. "I helped him get
away, but we got separated. That's why he was supposed to call me. I've been
trying to find him since then."
Meg poked Kurt on the arm. It didn't look forceful, but she kept doing it in a
way that had to be annoying. "You shouldn't worry people like that. What would
you have done if I hadn't found you?"
Kurt shrugged.
"I see. Your master plan astounds me, kid. Do your parents have any idea where
you are?"
"Wait, wait, wait," Puck cut in. "I wasn't finished. I was making a point.
Kurt, some things about you may have changed, but that's what people do. Things
happen and they change. The parts that matter and make you who you are though,
they're the same. Okay, point made. Carry on. Oh, and no, no one knows where he
is."
"So you get away from the guy who dragged you around the country, but you don't
even let your dad know you're alive?" Her voice should have sounded angrier
based on the words, but mostly she sounded sad.
"He probably guessed by now."
"How?" Oh, yeah, she didn't know about the, uh, body.
"I sent something like a letter."
"About that," Puck ran a hand over his mohawk. "They could think it was me. I
did sort of leave a little before that happened, and, um, I haven't exactly
called anyone either. And where else would I have been going but to find you?"
"To join the circus." It wasn't the best insult Kurt had ever sent Puck's way,
but everyone had a bad day every once in a while. Kurt's days had been mostly
bad for a long time now.
"Wow, so you're both adolescent morons who have left your families to suffer
without even a hint as to whether or not you're alive?"
Puck nodded. Kurt stared at the wall.
"Why didn't you go home?" Meg's voice had gone soft again. "Is it the same
reason you changed your name?"
Kurt nodded without bringing his eyes to hers.
"I don't know your family, but I bet they'll accept you no matter how you think
you've changed. They'll just be glad to have you back, especially if they're
even a little like your friend here."
"The lady's right," Puck added.
"Don't call me a lady; it makes me feel old."
She looked about twenty-seven, which was a lot older than a couple of
teenagers. "How old are you?"
She shoved her chin up and stared down her nose at him in an obvious parody of
high societal behavior. "It's rude to ask a lady her age." She paused and
cocked her head. "I just did that didn't I?"
Puck chuckled. "So can I call you a lady now?"
"Have at it, whippersnapper."
He turned back to Kurt to find the countertenor was trying to hide the
beginnings of a smile. "Come home with me, Kurt. Please."
"Puck's right, you know. You should go home. But if you don't, you'll still
have someplace to stay." Meg smiled encouragingly. Puck was beginning to think
if things didn't work out with Quinn… that way led dangerous thoughts. He
avoided them for the moment.
"You don't understand. Neither of you does. You can't."
"We could if you told us the parts we don't have yet. But I swear to you, it
won't change you for the worse to go home. And even if you leave, I'll still be
here. You can come back here as easily as you can go back there. Wherever there
is."
"Ohio."
"No wonder you stayed."
Kurt smiled a little. "It makes a difference that you don't know. What if I
slip? What if someone finds out? What…" he turned away.
"No one will care. No one who matters." Puck believed it, and he tried to pour
that belief into his voice. It came out sounding choked with it.
"It will! You don't understand. I can't live there again. It won't work."
"You don't know until you try." Meg had way better control of her voice than
Puck did. It was perfect.
"I do know. You're the ones who don't."
"Then prove it." Puck stood up and brushed off the seat of his pants. "You
can't convince us by telling us what's wrong, so convince us by completely and
utterly failing at living at home."
Kurt scowled. The expression looked foreign on his face. "Fine. I will. And
then I'll run away from Ohio and never look back because you were all too
stupid to leave me alone." His voice echoed the harshness of his words, but
Puck didn't care. He was bringing Kurt home.
Chapter End Notes
     I'm not sure it makes sense in text, but when Puck says 'body,' all
     he means is 'body.' The police have kept the rest of it under wraps
     so far.
***** Alex: That Name Again *****
Chapter Notes
     Song: Neil Diamond's "Dry Your Eyes." Is good song, but I only used a
     little of it.
Puck and Alex had stayed the night at Meg's and waited to begin the drive to
Lima until the next morning. They still wouldn't arrive until eight or nine.
Puck had wanted to call ahead, but Alex stopped him by saying everyone would be
up late and gathered together for New Year's Eve anyway. He still didn't want
to go. He still thought maybe he'd change his mind.
"This food is shit," he said and hoped it would annoy Puck into kicking him out
of the car even though he knew it wouldn't.
"Yeah, but it's cheap."
Puck wouldn't let Alex drive. He said he'd made the drive up, so going back
down wouldn't be any worse.
"Sorry I pulled you away from having a real part in a real musical." Puck
smiled in a way he probably thought was charming. "But, hey, you can always
audition for more parts after you graduate."
"You're assuming I'll be able to get a part again." And that he would graduate.
"Well you got this one. It's like proof that you're as good as you keep telling
us you are."
"Puck, I got this part by sleeping with the guy in charge of casting."
"Oh." Puck's eyes darted over the road nervously. "That's fucked up, man."
"You think?" He took a bite of his burger to avoid having to say more.
The jock fiddled with the radio but couldn't find a decent working station.
"We'll be in Lima pretty soon," he said once he had given up on finding music.
"Will you text Quinn for me? Just to ask where she is." The quick glance he
shot at Alex said 'you don't have to mention yourself, so stop glowering'
clearly enough.
Alex shrugged and texted her. She replied almost immediately, and he read it
out for Puck, "Finn's. Where are you?"
"Say, 'About an hour and a half from Finn's.'"
Alex did. Then he dropped the phone back into Puck's lap. When another text
came in, he declined to check it.
"You can do… it? It doesn't freak you out?"
A few times already Alex had pretended to be confused to avoid answering Puck.
This time he really was lost. "Come again?"
"Sex."
"Oh. Why not? It's as much a tool as my voice." He managed not to flinch. He
had used it as a tool, but it didn't feel much like one.
Puck frowned. "I don't believe any of that. Sex may not mean much to me or
Santana, but I know it does to you. And your voice is more than just a tool."
"Sex seemed like something special and important back when I was a virgin. Now
I know it's just something bodies do." Lying had gotten easy. He had freaked
out while having sex after killing Robin, even though the guy was nice and even
kind of cute, if a little on the chubby side. Luckily, only Alex himself had
noticed. He could lie about plenty of things now.
"Fuck."
Alex didn't know if Puck meant it for an argument or not, so he ignored the
expletive. They remained silent the rest of the drive. The shaking in his hands
and knees didn't start until Puck pulled up in front of the house Alex could
remember having lived in. It wasn't his house. It was Kurt's house, and he
wasn't Kurt anymore.
Quinn had obviously been watching for Puck because she ran out from the house
before the jock had a chance to open Alex's door and force him out of the car.
She reached the boy and threw her arms around him just after he had opened the
passenger door. Then she turned her head to see what Puck was looking at
instead of her.
"Oh God, Kurt."
He slammed the door back shut and locked it. Alex didn't want to deal with
these people. With crying and 'welcome home's and everyone calling him by a
name he didn't want to use anymore. Puck had the keys, so it was a useless
gesture. The jock just unlocked the door and pulled Kurt out with Quinn's help.
Some of the others were coming out of the house now. They had already begun to
exclaim Puck's name (how long had he been gone?), but their voices fell when
Alex cam into sight. Then Mercedes rushed to him crying and Rachel darted back
into the house. When Rachel returned, Mercedes was still clinging to Alex and
babbling incoherently. Puck and Quinn had moved out of the way.
Behind Rachel came Finn, Carol, and Burt. Fuck, it was Burt. His father. What
was he supposed to do around Burt? The man would expect to find his son, not
the husk Robbie had left behind. Alex tried to pull away from Mercedes and run
for it, but Finn reached his side before he could and began dragging Alex to
the house.
"Oh, thank God. Kurt, I was so…" Burt choked on tears he didn't want to let out
and finished the sentence by throwing his arms around the boy. Alex trembled
and tried not to move too much. Their hugs felt like restraints.
Everyone talked to him, but all at once. He couldn't understand most of it, but
it all amounted to 'Welcome home. Thank the God you don't believe in that
you're back. We missed you. Kurt. Kurt. Kurt.'
It felt wrong to be called by that name again.
They dragged him inside, set him on the couch, and piled themselves all around
him. Puck sat on Alex's right because he had brought him home. Burt sat on his
left side because he was the boy's father.
"How did you find him?" It was the first coherent thing anyone had said.
Strangely, it came in Rachel's voice.
Puck shrugged and looked at Alex. He couldn't know how much Alex wanted to
share yet, and at least he had the decency not to give it all away. "Luck,
mostly," he said.
Everyone went silent after that. No one wanted to ask the next question, but
they all wanted to know which of them had killed Robin. At this point it should
have been obvious; Puck would only have written that if Rob had literally
killed Kurt Hummel.
Finally Tina licked her lips and asked, "Wh-which of you…?"
Alex declined to answer. "I thought your stutter was fake." He crossed his arms
but kept his feet spaced so he could get up and run for it if they gave him a
chance.
"Everyone stutters sometimes." She turned her eyes to the floor.
Alex frowned. Everyone was still staring at him. Some of them didn't look as
happy as before. Well, fucking good. Maybe he could prove his point to Puck
sooner than he thought. "It was me." He said. "Puck wasn't even there at the
time."
No one had a response to that. He hadn't expected them to.
"Where did you stay for the week and a half since… then? Both of you,
actually." Quinn had decent control over her voice, but she still sounded
nervous.
Puck answered when Alex didn't. "I stayed in my mom's car. Kurt was with a nice
lady named Meg. She works in a theater and apparently found him staring
longingly at it." He tried to smile and make it funny but failed. Everyone had
noticed by now that "Kurt" wasn't happy to be "home."
"Is that how you found him too? By scoping out theaters?" Carol was the first
of the family to recover. Well, she had always been more of a friend than a
mother.
Puck nodded. "I didn't really think it would work, but Kurt's strangely
predictable enough that it did."
What was that Alex smelled? A poorly concealed attempt to make him feel like he
was still the same show tunes-loving boy who left Lima? Fuck, but Puck was a
moron.
"I'd rather be called Alex." He managed not to flinch when he felt Burt pull
away in shock. That had been his intent; it shouldn't have bothered him so
much.
"Kurt," Puck stretched the name into a plea and a warning. And unintentionally
an accusation.
Alex shook his head.
Some of the girls were crying again silently. They understood well enough then.
Finn didn't. "What the hell, Kurt. It's your name; why would you say you want
another one?" He looked like an oversized puppy that had just been kicked until
it fell, then kicked some more.
"I just don't feel like Kurt anymore." He hadn't for a while now.
Burt forced another embrace on Alex as he lost control over his oh so fucking
fatherly tears. "You don't have to feel like anything. You'll always be my son,
no matter what, and I'll always love you for it."
It was exactly the sort of thing that used to make him feel better, exactly the
sort of thing Burt had always said to him. Said to Kurt. All it made Alex feel
was uncomfortable.
Everyone went silent again. There were still questions no one had the courage
to ask. Since they were the same questions Alex lacked the patience (or
courage) to answer, he let them wait. He tried to scoot as far from Burt as
possible, but Puck refused to give him any extra space. The older Hummel kept
his hold on the countertenor anyway.
"When you were gone," Puck cut through the awkward gap in conversation, "Mr.
Schuester wanted everyone to sing for you. I told him it was stupid because you
weren't around to hear it, but you are now. So…" He shrugged before leaving the
room and returned tuning a guitar a few moments later.
Most of the others stared at Puck like he'd grown a wart on his nose, so Alex
wasn't the only one unused to having Noah Puckerman be the guy to smooth out
any situation at all ever. The jock didn't seem to notice even though he looked
at everyone before beginning, like he wanted them to feel included in his song
somehow.
Dry your eyes and take your song out
It's a newborn afternoon
And if you can't recall the singer
You can still recall the tune
Alex heard the plea in the song. 'Please stay here with us,' it said, 'Please
learn to be Kurt Hummel again because we can't live without him any longer.' It
pissed Alex off so that he almost didn't notice when the song continued,
'Please don't cry for the loss of him. Whatever he calls himself, Kurt has come
home to us. Show him he can live again.' It was nauseating.
Alex scowled, tried to ignore it, and focused on his cuticles instead. He
needed a manicure.
And it was more than being holy
Oh it was less than being free
And if you can't recall the reason
Can you hear the people sing
A few of the others joined their voices with Puck's. Alex knew it was supposed
to be something like heartwarming. This was how a glee club welcomed a friend
home and told him everything would be alright. Alex avoided meeting their eyes
because he didn't feel at home and nothing would be alright. They just didn't
know it yet.
Right through the lightning and the thunder
To the dark side of the moon
To that distant falling angel
That descended much too soon
And come dry your eyes
When he had finished, Puck left the guitar leaning against the wall and
reclaimed his seat beside Alex. At least he knew enough by now not to smile
encouragingly. The others tried it though, and found that all it gained them
from Alex was a glare. He needed to make them see that he wasn't their Kurt
anymore. And when they did, he would return to New York and live a life that
left him feeling less smothered and trapped than this one did.
***** Burt: Warmth in His Heart *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Burt's son had come home to him. The boy was hurt, angry, and confused, but he
was home. It was enough. Burt believed they could work through anything just so
long as he had Kurt with him again.
"Fuck all of them. Robbie's already dead. I don't have to do anything else."
The boy crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. Burt wondered if Kurt
was aware of the ugly sneer he wore on his face now.
The older man sighed and ran a hand over his head, back and then forward again.
"You need to give the police a statement. That's all, just a statement, and
then we can come home again. You know you won't be charged with anything." He
didn't have much practice keeping his voice soft, but Burt tried anyway. He
wanted his son to feel safe again.
It broke his heart that Kurt clearly didn't feel at home here.
The boy turned his head, and Burt found himself facing the scar again. It was a
thin, but dark thing that wound up from the collar of Kurt's shirt and stopped
along the right side of his jaw. Just seeing it made Burt want to wring Banks'
neck. But the man was already dead, and Kurt needed his father to support him,
not go off hunting after people who had hurt the boy.
Even though Burt knew about them in an abstract sort of way, he hadn't seen
Kurt's other scars. Puck had told him what was under Kurt's arm warmers but
just shrugged and looked away rather than telling the boy's father what else to
expect. Burt was worried because his son refused to share with him. He knew it
was hard and Kurt would need time, but he wanted so badly to help. Not being
able to help his own child left Burt feeling useless and unwanted.
"Please, son," he said. Kurt glanced at him for just a second before turning
away again. Usually, Burt made a point of calling his boy by name because he
wanted Kurt to be used to it again. But it always put Kurt's defenses up.
Calling him 'son' instead seemed to soften his resolve. Kurt still remembered
his family and connections; he was just clearly afraid to admit to them again.
"All I have to do is say I killed them?"
"They probably want to know how you did it too." Burt was curious, but the
details were unimportant next to the scars, physical and mental, the now-dead
psychopath had left Kurt with.
The younger Hummel scowled. "They know how."
"I mean how you armed yourself. Son, you don't have to tell me if you don't
want to. I can wait outside."
The scowl fell off and left Kurt looking tiny and scared. Burt wanted to hold
his son and say everything would be okay and he would always love him. In that
moment, he decided not to ask Kurt about what had happened. The boy was afraid
of him knowing; his expression made that clear enough.
"Will they ask about… about before too?" Kurt asked, wrapping his arms around
himself.
Burt nodded. "I expect so, but you don't have to tell them more than you're
comfortable with. They only need the big picture, not the details, okay?"
Kurt stood up. "Okay." He grabbed the black jacket he had come home with from
the coat rack and let Burt lead him to the car.
Burt waited in a hard chair with a little paper cup of water while Kurt spoke
to the police. He shifted his weight awkwardly and wished he could be with his
boy now. Kurt could be hurting, having to relive the most painful time of his
life, while Burt sat around uselessly. It felt like waiting had, except for the
warm glow that filled him every time Burt thought the words, "Kurt is home."
When Kurt came back out, led by one of the officers who he had been speaking
to, the teen was trembling. He looked ready to break into tears, and Burt
rushed over to trap him in a hug. He tried not to squeeze too tight.
"You're okay, son?"
The only answer Kurt gave was to bite his lip and nod.
"Is that it then? We can go home now?" Burt asked of the officer.
"Yes, sir. And thank you, Kurt." The officer nodded to Kurt before walking
away.
Burt drove his son home. Kurt leaned his forehead against the window pane and
cried. When they reached the house, the boy went straight to his room. Puck had
been waiting around with some of the other kids and looked ready to follow, but
Burt stopped him.
"Just give him a few minutes to cry it out and clean himself up, okay?"
Puck nodded. Burt would always be grateful to the boy for bringing his son home
to him, but Puck clearly didn't know the difference between when someone needed
space and when they needed company. To be honest, Burt didn't know either a lot
of the time.
"Doesn't your mom ever worry with you here so much instead of at home?" he
asked to fill the silence.
The teen shrugged. "At least I'm still in town."
"I guess there's that." He put his hands in his pockets and watched the way
Puck's eyes kept darting to the basement door. Burt didn't remember the jock
spending much time with Kurt before the kidnapping, but he was glad his son had
him as a friend now anyway. The kid had to be more than a little off in the
head to have chased after Robin Banks like he did, but it worked out better
than alright. Noah Puckerman had brought Kurt home. Burt smiled just a little.
"Go on. Just leave if he asks you to, okay. He's had a hard day."
"'Kay, Mr. Hummel," Puck called, but he had already made it halfway into Kurt's
room.
Burt went to the kitchen to find Carol. He needed to tell her how it went at
the police station, and then they needed to figure out dinner. Even though they
still had a lot to handle and work through as a family, Burt felt the warmth in
his heart surge through him again. His son was home at last.
Chapter End Notes
     I know nothing about police stations or protocol, so just assume any
     and all paperwork was filled in between the lines. There's a great
     big gap where it would fit.
***** Alex: A Damaged Version *****
A few more days here would drive him mad. Alex suspected he already was at
least a little mad, but the way these people simpered over him could only make
it worse. And they kept calling him Kurt. He didn't want to be Kurt. Or he
didn't want Kurt to be him. Something like that. He ran a hand through his hair
and groaned because he had just combed it. Fuck, it was hard to remember things
like that sometimes. Alex wasn't used to it.
Someone knocked at the door. There wasn't a lock on it, but they all knocked
for him. All it took was pseudo-hysterical screaming and a mostly-faked attempt
to claw Finn's eyes out.
"Fuck off," he shouted. How much longer would he stay? At first, he'd thought
until they stopped trying or caring, but some of them (Burt) never would.
"It's Puck," the answer came from behind the door. Alex had made his deal with
Puck, so he would measure his stay by Puck. Once the jock believed Alex was a
lost cause, and not just a damaged version of his Kurt Hummel, then the
countertenor could leave.
The door opened. Alex hadn't said Puck could come in, but he hadn't shouted a
second time either. Puck usually took that as an invitation even though the
others would have left. Why the fuck should he be so special?
Because he had been taken too. Even if Robbie hadn't gotten to do everything he
wanted, he had started. Puck had seen Alex's scars. Puck knew what Robin did to
him. He knew more than anyone else because the countertenor never even hinted
at Jack again.
Puck wasn't so special. Annette had been raped and scarred. Sally had watched
Rob as he raped someone else and feared he would do the same to her. Jack had
been raped and killed. Puck had been, what, embarrassed and a little scared? He
got off easy.
As the jock sat beside him on the bed, Alex made no other sign of recognition
but to scowl at the wall he had been staring at for the past hour.
"I think they're scared you're going to freak out in a homicidal kind of way.
Finn only has one scratch on his face, but the way he keeps fingering it all
wide-eyed, he's gonna have nightmares of a Kurt-piranha or something trying to
eat his face." Puck leaned back so he lounged on the bed. "They also warned me
not to come down here, and I think they were serious."
Alex nodded. "They fucking were, moron. You just missed our episode of When
Rape Victims Attack."
"Was that supposed to be clever?"
"Not particularly." Alex pulled his knees up to his chest and tried to think of
how to scare Puck off. He'd gotten brave since Robin got dead. That hint of
fear Alex remembered seeing in the motel room had disappeared.
"How long do you think it usually takes a girl to 'find herself'?"
"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" And why would he ask it of
Alex even if it were relevant?
"Nothing. I was thinking of asking your friend Meg though. Such a distinguished
lady could probably pop out advice like a PEZ dispenser does candy, right?" He
seemed so… laid back and in control. It seemed more than a little wrong. Puck
was supposed to be a mess. A delinquent. That kid who tried to act cool and
tough because he didn't know any other way to deal with the world.
"Is this about Quinn again? Seriously, Puck, just because you only recently
learned to talk about relationships and your feelings in general does not mean
I want to hear about them. Why don't you go practice a speech in front of a
mirror. It's the only audience likely to be interested in your babbling."
"I got tired of watching myself make a fool of myself to myself." He grinned.
"Besides, you got no one else to talk to because they'll give you space for at
least another hour or two. You're all mine. Now, dish: why are dating and self-
enlightenment or whatever things that have to stay separate."
"'Mutually exclusive' is the phrase you're looking for. And because you're
dumb. I wouldn't date you while trying to find myself either." He frowned at
his nails because he didn't want to look at the jock sitting beside him.
"You know you're famous?" Puck shrugged and continued when the only response he
got was a scowl. "Reporters finally got something on who killed Banks instead
of just in general that it happened. They got your name and have since
discovered that you returned home safely after two months with that sick freak.
They're calling you a survivor and a hero."
"Fucking wonderful." Alex didn't want anyone to call Kurt Hummel anything.
"Did you think the police would let anyone know or not? What you did to the
body, I mean. 'Cause so far they haven't. Finn slipped up but won't admit how
he knows."
"I didn't do anything to a body. He was still alive."
"Dude, that's fucked up." Strange how only Puck would say that to him. "I know
you hate the guy that much, but I thought you cared more for yourself than
that."
"I don't see how my self relates to what I did to Robbie. He deserved it. Have
you ever seen a murder weapon?" He still kept the knife in his pocket.
"No, and I don't think I want to." Puck sat up and crossed his arms. "It's
like, when you shot Garcia, no one had hurt you, but it still messed you up. Is
what you did to Banks the reason you want to be Alex instead of Kurt?" He was
also the only one who admitted to hearing the name Alex come from the
countertenor, even if he refused to use it.
"Maybe it's because you never learned subtlety." Alex knew it would seem
unrelated to Puck. He counted on it, but all it got him was a steady stare. Not
even a glare, just Puck watching him. It had worked so much better in the first
few days before Puck figured out that Alex was just trying to push his buttons.
He sighed. "No one else will come out and fucking say anything around me."
"They were the same way when you were gone. It was all soft sighs and hanging
sentences." He groaned in a mostly annoyed way. "They wanted to talk about
their feelings all the fucking time, but mention what was happening to you
right then, and fuck, but they freaked the hell out at me. Like I was some kind
of sicko for admitting why they all cried themselves to sleep."
Puck seemed more like himself as Alex expected him to be while he complained,
even if the act of sharing should have been more foreign to the jock.
"If you're so keen on admitting facts," Alex asked, "then why do you still
insist I should stay in Lima?"
Puck frowned. "You family is here. Everyone upstairs may be a pile of sappy
idiots, but they love you. And it nearly killed them to lose you. It's still
killing them because you're too scared to tell them you aren't lost anymore."
"I'm not scared." Alex didn't expect to lash out until his fist swung into
Puck's cheek. It was too late to take it back.
"You don't have nightmares?" The jock rubbed at his cheek as he reclaimed his
seat but otherwise didn't react to the blow even though it had knocked him
back. It made Alex want to punch him again.
"You know I do. I'm used to them." As much as it was possible to be used to
nightmares. Mostly Alex was used to not sleeping.
"They still scare you."
Alex laughed. "Not half so much as the other dreams do." No part of him liked
admitting to how fucked up he was now, but maybe that explained why Alex was
still stuck in Lima. He couldn't be Kurt anymore because he was too screwed up
for that. How had he expected to show Puck the first part but not the last? "I
don't just have nightmares about him, you know. Most nights I have a dream
about Robbie that I wake up from hot and sticky and still so hard even though I
never was for the fucker while he lived." He barely managed not to shiver
thinking about it.
Puck stared at the countertenor like he'd grown a second head and tentacles.
Alex should have tried this sooner.
"You remember earlier when I said 'that's fucked up'? Well, I take it back.
This is." He rubbed his arms like he was cold for a moment before placing a
hand on Alex's shoulder. "I don't know if I'm supposed to say something now.
So, did you tell your therapist or whatever?"
"Hell no. I haven't told that woman anything." Burt had called Janice the
morning after Alex got to Lima. It was New Year's Day, but she had taken the
call and scheduled an appointment. She seemed a lot more annoying than Alex
remembered, but so did everyone else.
"Then why'd you tell me?"
"So you can let me go. Admit you were wrong and let me lead my own life instead
of the one you've all set up for me."
"It's creepy how that almost sounds reasonable. Except for the part where you
had a fake driver's license and social security card, which I'm pretty sure are
illegal."
"Oh, yes, because you've never broken the law." Puck had left his hand on
Alex's shoulder. It gave the smaller teen an idea. A sick, twisted idea that
would probably work only because of how messed up it was. He turned to face the
other boy. Even without closing the distance between them, their bodies felt
closer this way. "You're trying to act like you know who you are now, suddenly,
because you put me in a car and drove me here." The words would keep Puck's
attention on Alex's face, leaving his hand free to creep toward the jock. "You
didn't save anyone, Puck. You didn't even save yourself." His fingers reached
the other boy's inner thigh and steadily moved upward.
When Puck got the idea, he leapt off the bed. "What the hell, Kurt?" He shouted
it. He wasn't so in control after all.
Alex followed Puck off the bed. "What? You barge in a boy's room, lie back on
his bed, and expect him not to get any ideas?" When Puck stopped to stare at
Alex like he'd gone completely insane, it gave the countertenor a chance to
grab the taller teen by the belt and pull him forward. He slid his hand easily
up Puck's t-shirt to feel the warm, bare skin of his abs.
Puck pushed him away. "Dude, cut it out. You're just trying to scare me off
like you did the others. See, I figured it out. Now leave off."
Alex frowned, but he wouldn't be beaten so easily. "What? It never occurred to
you that I might actually be interested? Not even a little?" He stepped forward
slowly. "You described it yourself the last time you whined to me about your
girl problems. You're dead sexy, charming, strong, talented, and passionate.
Why don't girls like you? Why doesn't Quinn like you? Why can't Ilike you?"
"Because you don't. You never have." Puck shrugged. "Though you're right, I
can't argue with the rest."
"You mean I didn't. I haven't told you yet, but I gave up. I gave in to Robbie
because I believed I could never get away. You changed that, Puck. Even if you
couldn't take me when you left, you're the reason I tried to escape again at
all. Isn't that enough to change my feelings?" There was enough truth in there
that he might even sell Puck on the idea that Alex had feelings for him. It
shouldn't be hard since the guy believe everyone should fall for him at some
point or another.
Alex pressed himself against Puck. He hadn't been so close to a man since…
since using sex to get a part in a stupid fucking musical. Then he hadn't even
stayed through the musical's time in the theater—he'd left to come to Lima with
Puck. That would be a good argument, actually, if Puck still didn't believe
him. Say he came back for Puck, not the rest of them.
Puck fucking rolled his eyes. He took hold of Alex's shoulders and used them to
push him back. "I'm sure there's a point to this. Can we skip to that part?"
Scowling seemed the most appropriate response besides kicking the jock in the
balls. Instead he smiled softly and whispered, "Can I blow you?" He left his
lips parted and eyes wide. A guy wouldn't even have to like him to want a free
blow job.
"Hell no, dude. I meant the point after the fake point. The real point."
This time, Alex did scowl. "To convince you I'm too fucked up to go back to
being Kurt. I'll still suck you off if you want me to though."
"Just say you don't really like me. Please."
Alex laughed harshly. "You know I don't. No one would deny you're hot, but that
alone doesn't make you my type." He paused for a moment. "You're smaller than
I'd like anyway." He didn't have to say he was measuring the other teen against
Robin. Puck's expression made it clear he knew. Maybe this hadn't been a
complete waste of time. The wide-eyed, uncomfortable expression on Puck's face
looked exactly like progress.
***** Puck: No One Else *****
"You… you're good with him," Quinn said to Puck, though her eyes remained fixed
on the carrots she was chopping.
"You mean with Kurt?" So far as Puck could tell, no one was good with Kurt,
mostly because the countertenor didn't want them to be.
The cheerio nodded though. "Or maybe it's that you're better with him."
Puck frowned and wondered if that meant he was usually worse. "Better than
what?"
"Than the mess you were when you were stuck here and helpless."
"Well, yeah," he scoffed, "I was mostly drunk."
He had thought when he returned and Quinn threw her arms around him that they
would be together. But he was still single, and Quinn was too. So far, she had
avoided being alone with him. They hadn't spoken at all since he got back, and
Puck was pretty sure she didn't want to talk now either.
"Is it really just about you?" he asked, bringing his eyes to watch her hands
work on the food too. "You just need to focus on yourself, and it has nothing
to do with me?"
Quinn sighed and set down the knife. Puck felt a little safer, actually,
knowing that she wasn't holding a sharp object. "Puck, you're the reason I feel
like I lost track of myself in the first place."
"What does that even mean? 'Lost track of' yourself?"
"I carried a child, Puck, our child. For nine months, she lived inside of my
body. I couldn't be just myself for that time; I had to be both of us, mother
and child together. Everything I did, even down to what I ate, could have an
impact on her."
Puck stared at his feet.
"And she's gone now, Puck, in case you hadn't noticed. I realize you've been
busy getting laid, drinking, and risking your life to chase after people you
should never have been able to find. I get that. You have your own life, and it
needn't intersect with mine. But you could at the very least have the decency
to admit that a single night of carelessness with you altered the course of my
life forever." She was panting and halfway to tears. "I don't know if I would
change it if I could. In some ways, my life is better now. But every day I have
to carry the feeling in my heart of giving up my child and of being abandoned
by my own daddy; and the knowledge that if not for you, he could still love
me."
Puck grabbed Quinn then and pulled her into a hug. "That wasn't about you or me
or Beth, and you know it. Your dad should never have kicked you out over a
mistake. He's a jackass."
"Well, maybe I didn't have to learn what he is, at least not yet." She leaned
into the jock's arms though and cried into his shoulder. "I'm not the same girl
I was, but just saying that doesn't tell me who I am now."
"Who do you want to be?"
"I don't know. I only…" She hiccupped and took a long, shaky breath. "I want to
be someone my daughter could be proud of, even if it's not someone she'll ever
know."
"Baby, if she weren't too young to understand, I know she'd be proud of you.
She probably is anyway." He ran his fingers through Quinn's hair and thought
that he liked it when she wore it down. It was pretty, and he loved the way it
framed her face.
"I… Puck, I can't." She pulled away. "I'm not ready to deal with my feelings
for you yet. It's still all too confusing."
"So? Feelings are that way sometimes. It's not that big a deal. I know I love
you, and whatever else there is to it, that's enough for me. Why can't it be
for you?"
"I don't know if I love you. I think I could, but I also think I could be hurt
trying. What I don't know, Puck, is if you're worth it. I've already been hurt
so much because of you… What if I can't take anymore?"
"I won't hurt you."
"You won't mean to. It's not the same thing. Puck, you," she paused and ran her
fingers through her hair nervously. "You aren't like the other guys I know. I'm
not sure what it is; maybe it's the same as what sent you off to New York to
chase a man who could easily have killed you while everyone else stayed here.
You're different, and sometimes that means it's harder for you to stay with
people who aren't."
"I just couldn't stand not doing anything. And it's not like I really expected
to do any good." He had almost gotten himself screwed over in much too literal
a way. Only a lucky phone call and Kurt had saved Puck from his own stupid
rescue mission.
She smiled, but it was sad. "No one else could stand it either, but we didn't
do anything about it. Not even Burt or Finn could have run off the way you did.
It was insane. And, somehow, it worked out; you brought Kurt back home to his
family even though you should have ended up just another guy who got mugged and
shot in New York City."
Puck shrugged. "I was lucky, but that doesn't make me insane."
"No one else could have made it work."
"No, they probably could have." He hadn't really done much. Kurt had. "Just no
one else tried."
She shook her head. "You really don't get it, Puck, but it's not important.
What matters is that Kurt needs you right now. You should be spending your time
with him—"
"I do."
"Instead of with me."
"Oh."
"I need space. He needs you with him. I don't know if you remember, but Sam
broke up with me, not the other way around. The time I've had so far isn't
enough to have sorted out my feelings about him, much less the more complicated
ones about you. So, please, just focus on helping Kurt. If I… if I ever think I
can face loving you, I'll come to you."
Puck frowned. "What if you never do?"
"Then I chose to protect myself rather than take the risk."
It wasn't what he wanted to hear from her. He wanted to hear Quinn profess her
love for him and say she wanted to spend the rest of their lives together.
Instead, she fed him a huge mound of weepy, girlie crap.
Puck hadn't meant to hurt her. He loved her.
He shoved his fists into the pockets of his hoodie and went to see what sort of
depressing shit Kurt was doing in the basement. The sound of Quinn's light sobs
and the knife rhythmically hitting the cutting board followed him.
***** Alex: Why You Told Me *****
Chapter Notes
     We have a song! It's "Haven't We Been Here Before" by Styx. I heart
     Styx. :D
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Puck spent too much time in Alex's room. Since he was always there, the others
started to think they could come down too. Sometimes he could ignore them, but
other times the countertenor drove them out. Screaming was usually enough to do
it. He was pretty sure the others actually lectured Puck sometimes for not
giving Alex his space when he flew off the handle. Puck didn't much seem to
care though.
"Dude, you're hella boring. Can we at least watch TV?" Puck groaned form where
he lay on the bed.
Alex lay down beside him before answering, "No. You could go home and do
whatever you want there."
Puck frowned and turned toward the countertenor. "My mom is kinda scary, dude.
It's like she thinks I'm gonna run off again." He shook his head. "At least
your family thinks I'm all kinds of awesome. And they give me free food. I
don't think it's kosher, but it's still damn good."
The countertenor rolled his eyes. Of course Puck would be thinking about food.
All the guy did was bother Alex and eat. "Someday, they're going to sneak you
some pork. Just wait for it." He inched closer to the other boy.
When the jock jerked back, it could have been either the thought of eating pork
or the way Alex's leg slid between his own. The countertenor suspected the
latter.
"Kurt, I thought we were past this." Puck scowled, and Alex moved in to bite
lightly at his neck. The jock flipped his friend over and pinned him easily.
"You are such a dipshit. Just drop it, okay."
Alex sneered into his pillow. "You know I couldn't come on to you if I were in
New York."
"Sure you could. 'Cause I'd be there too, to bring you the hell back home
again." He kept his weight on Alex a moment longer before pulling back.
"Someday, Puckerman, I will make you cry for your mommy. Then you'll let me
go."
"Dude, not likely." He grinned. Grinned! "I know what you're doing, which kind
of ruins the chances of it working on me."
"I hate you right now. Go away."
"So you can mope about your room like a sad little emo kid? Not likely. At
least when we argue, you're doing something exciting."
Alex rolled his eyes. "Arguing with you isn't exciting. It's boorish and
bothersome."
"Which explains why it gets you so hot you can't keep your girlie little hands
off me." The jerk smiled in a way Alex could only describe as 'cocky.' The
countertenor was going to have to think of another way to convince Puck of his
fucked-upedness.
A knock came at the door, so Alex shouted "Go away!" He didn't want to deal
with anyone else. Puck was bad enough.
The door opened anyway. "Kurt, you have a visitor. She, uh, her name is
Annette." Burt's voice preceded him down the stairs. Behind him walked Annette
Sherwood.
The scar had healed well, but it was too large to hide. She wore her hair down,
and Alex suspected she let it fall forward over her face a lot. He rubbed at
the arm warmers covering his wrists. He understood.
"Hey, Kurt. Can I call you Kurt again?" She smiled in a way that was too
peaceful. She should have been more upset. More like Alex.
"No," he answered.
"But do so anyway," Puck added as he stood from the bed.
"Oh, are you his boyfriend?"
Puck frowned. "Why does everyone think that? I'm straight. I'll let you two
talk, or whatever it is people do when they're near each other." The way he
stormed from the room almost made Alex laugh. Except that he'd been trying
since New Year's to make Puck upset like that and couldn't. Burt followed Puck
out, leaving Alex alone with Annette.
"You made it home," she said.
"Clearly."
"But you aren't happy?"
He shook his head. "I don't want to be here. It's… suffocating."
"Like seriously or are you just being moody? I have major mood swings
sometimes. Last week I broke all the china in my house. Now we don't have any
because it's too expensive to replace."
"I really don't get why you told me that." He turned to glare at the wall.
"I'm pregnant."
"Or that." He wanted to know if it was Rob's child, but he didn't want to ask.
Fuck, he was as bad as the morons upstairs. Fine then. "Is Robbie the father?"
"Yes."
"Are you keeping it?" He wouldn't. He'd get rid of the thing. Alex felt
suddenly lucky not to be a girl.
"Yes. I'm not going to let a dead man ruin my relationship with my child."
"And if he were alive?"
"Then I wouldn't let a live man ruin it. She—I don't actually know it's a girl,
I just hope so—won't know about Robin. She doesn't have to."
Alex crossed his arms and stared down his nose at her. She was either
optimistic or naïve; he suspected they were the same thing. "And when she finds
out anyway?"
"Then I'll tell her that it doesn't matter."
"And if you get married and have other children whose father hadn't raped you?
Will she feel you love her as much?"
Annette held up her hand to show off her wedding band. "Been married almost two
years now, and my husband can't have children. Even if he could, I would still
love this child as much as any other."
"How can you be sure?" Eventually, he'd find the question that stumped her,
just like eventually he'd find the barb that stung Puck.
"You." She paused, probably to admire the stunned look on Alex's face. He
hadn't even spoken to her until today; how could he have made her sure of
anything? "You saved me, Kurt. You made me believe that people can be good even
when surrounded only by pain and cruelty. I didn't know how long he had kept
you, or how long he would after I got away. I just knew you never let him stop
you from being a genuinely good person. And I know he has even less power to
take the goodness out of my child than he did to take it from you."
So that was it. Well, he had the counter argument, and its name was Jack. He
had raped and killed Jack. Alex wondered suddenly if Annette knew what he had
done to Robbie just before killing the rapist freak. When he realized he had
been biting his lip, Alex stopped; he wasn't a fucking twelve-year-old.
"You sang for me, Kurt. Even when you couldn't do anything at all, couldn't
even stand up, you reached out with your song and tried to help me. I don't
have as nice a voice as yours, but I don't think that's the point." She took a
deep breath.
Haven't we been here before
Footsteps lead down to the note on the door
That says I can't stay here anymore
And haven't we felt this same way
Sure in our hearts, but afraid just the same
To say I can't stay one minute more
She was right. Her voice wasn't as good as his. It didn't seem to matter. Alex
avoided looking her in the eyes, focusing instead on the walls, floor, ceiling,
chair, bed, anything. But he could feel her gaze, soft as a baby's blanket and
penetrating as any knife.
You might think that it's hopeless
Beyond our control
But that's not necessarily so
Can't you see there's a chance
For the daring young soul
Who's finally learned to say no
No, I won't be misused
Ignored or refused
And I won't just give up and let go
Alex sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his knees to his chest as he wrapped
his arms around his legs. He didn't want Annette to sing to him. He wanted her
to go away. But this… understanding flowed out of her and rammed itself against
him in waves. She wanted him to feel better, and all he felt was accused. She
didn't know. She couldn't know. No one knew. They had killed Jack to make sure
no one ever would.
So tonight hold me close to you
And don't give up what's important to you
And as time rolls on
Nothing can stand in our way
The once-lovely woman stepped forward and placed her hands on Alex's shoulders.
One of them moved to his chin where it turned his face to hers. She looked into
his eyes. He saw the tears but ignored them. He couldn't share this with her.
Maybe he had once, but he wasn't that boy anymore.
And I believe if we learn from the past
We'd say haven't we been here before
And I believe if we open our hearts
We'd find keys to unlock every door
Hearts could change overnight
We'd be strong
We'd be right
So stay with me now
The future is ours
And we'll be the ones who go on
Alex pushed her away. He had lasted through to the end of her little song, and
it was enough. Annette should have understood; she should have known better.
Even Puck knew better, compared to the rest of those who called him by the old
name. Alex didn't want to feel at peace. He wanted to hurt something, had
already hurt something and felt it wasn't enough. It was too much; he shouldn't
have done it. He should have put a bullet in Robin's brain and left, not cut
him up like some circus side show.
He should have saved Jack.
He should have let Robin kill him rather than letting the man force him into
raping and killing an innocent man.
"Go away," he said.
She forced a hug on him but left afterward. Unfortunately, Puck came back down
as soon as Annette was gone. He sat beside Alex and put an arm across the other
boy's shoulders. For once, he had the sense to stay quiet. The countertenor
knew he was crying because Puck's fingers brushed the tears from his cheeks. He
let the taller teen hug him even though it was stupid and he didn't deserve it.
Then he let Puck press him to lie back on the bed and rest. The jock's presence
should have bothered him, but he was too tired and strung out to deny right
then that having Puck nearby was comforting, even if he never said it aloud.
Chapter End Notes
     I dunno if any of you care, but Annette will have a girl and name her
     Alison.
***** Finn: Try to Help *****
Chapter Notes
     Song: Evanescence's "My Immortal."
While he sat next to Kurt on the couch, Finn let himself smile. It felt kind of
crooked on his face. Rachel had the cheap little microphone because she had
taken it on herself to lead everyone in karaoke. When Finn glanced at his not-
quite-brother, Kurt just looked tired and maybe a little grumpy. Everything was
supposed to be happy now. All the bad things were supposed to have been left
behind in a crappy motel room with Robin Banks where he lay on what in Finn's
mind always looked like dirty, bloodstained sheets.
Finn shook his head to knock the dark thoughts out of the way and stretched his
arm across Kurt's shoulders. The smaller boy gave him a look exactly like a
haughtily displeased cat. Finn smiled at him widely, but Kurt just turned away
to stare again at a spot of nothing to the left of the TV screen. Finn coughed
but left his arm around his brother.
When the doorbell rang, Rachel let off a smile that Finn was pretty sure
literally lit up the room. She was awesome like that. Rachel handed the mic to
Artie and dashed off to the door. She had invited Mr. Schuester to come over
today because he hadn't seen Kurt at all yet. Somehow, Rachel thought it was a
secret, but everyone except Kurt knew Schuester would be there.
The Spanish teacher shuffled in behind Rachel, who skipped in beaming with a
self-satisfied sort of light. He looked nervous, and his eyes kept darting
around until they landed on Kurt.
"Oh, Kurt, I'm so glad you're okay." He stepped forward quickly then and knelt
on the floor in front of the countertenor, who only raised an eyebrow. "I
should have noticed something was wrong. I should have stopped him from taking
you. I am so, so sorry, Kurt."
It had been a while since Finn thought much about how Mr. Schue saw Banks and
Kurt leaving McKinley. It made sense to him then why the teacher had been so
worried about seeing Kurt again.
"I don't care. Go away." Kurt rolled his eyes and looked away from the man
kneeling in front of him.
Schuester looked crushed, so Finn said, "Don't worry. He says that to
everyone." He tried to smile again, but it felt wrong.
"I know it's my fault, Kurt. I just want you to know that if I could—"
"I just said I don't care," Kurt snarled. It felt wrong for such a mean, angry
sound to come from him. "You couldn't have done anything, Mr. Schuester. He had
a fucking gun in his pocket pointed at me the whole time. If you had tried
anything, all you'd have managed was to get us both shot." He scowled. "So stop
simpering on my carpet before the pity drips off of you and stains something."
"He says stuff like that to everyone too," Finn offered when Schuester looked
too shell-shocked to move. "I don't think he means the mean parts." The smile
fit better this time because he thought that was true. A lot of the time, it
felt like Kurt was just trying to push everyone away instead of like he really
believed the things he said.
Mr. Schue looked like he didn't know what to do, so Finn helped him up and led
the man to a chair. Then the quarterback went back to sit by his brother.
When Rachel tried to get the mic from Artie, Brittany held up a hand to stop
her. "I think Kurt should sing too." She smiled, and it was sweet; but everyone
knew Kurt didn't want to sing. Or everyone but Brittany did anyway.
No one said anything for a moment.
"No, Brit, it's cool. Just let Rachel sing every song until Kurt decides he's
ready," Puck said from where he had leaned against the wall with his hands in
his pockets. Finn had forgotten the other jock was there.
Rachel seemed pretty happy with this suggestion, but Finn noticed that Kurt's
eye kind of twitched. The Jewish diva made it through three and a half songs
before the gay diva snatched the microphone from her with a glare way meaner
than the one he'd given Mr. Schue. It was the only time Finn could remember
that his girlfriend hadn't freaked out over losing a chance to sing. Now she
actually smiled and sat down by the quarterback while Kurt chose a song.
I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
'Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone
His voice was as great as ever. For a while, Finn had wondered if Banks had
hurt Kurt's throat and messed up the boy's voice. It would have explained why
the gleek didn't want to sing anymore. It was definitely something else though
because Kurt sounded amazing.
You used to captivate me
By your resonating light
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away
All the sanity in me
Rachel was crying. When Finn looked around, the others seemed upset. None of
the tears were happy ones at hearing Kurt sing again. When Finn thought about
what Kurt was singing, thought about who he could be singing to, the
quarterback felt like a fucking moron. Of course Rachel was crying. Kurt was
singing "My Immortal" to the man who had kidnapped and raped him until the boy
finally found a chance to kill the bastard. Finn felt like he had deserved
every time someone called him stupid and all the times they hadn't gotten
around to it yet too.
These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
Until this moment, Finn hadn't really realized that Kurt wasn't going to just
get better. Kurt could spend the rest of his life halfway to broken, and Finn
had never even bothered to think it. He felt like the world's worst brother. He
was the world's worst brother.
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me
Kurt threw the mic down into Rachel's lap and stormed to the basement. Finn
followed him because maybe if he was there for Kurt, he could make up for being
such a stupid, worthless almost-brother.
"Leave me alone, Finn. I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now." Kurt
collapsed face-down onto his bed.
"You, um, you sang good." Finn realized a little late he didn't know what to
say.
"'Well,' Finn, I sang well."
"Yeah, that too." He pulled the computer chair over next to the bed and sat
down. "You know I'm not always great at knowing what to say, but I just want to
tell you I'll be here for you. In a brotherly way, not a weird way."
Kurt actually bothered to lift his head, probably so Finn could see him stare
at the taller boy like he was an idiot. "You can skip it. I already got almost
exactly the same speech from my dad."
"Yeah, but I bet his was in a fatherly way." He laughed a little at the way
Kurt stared at him. "Just… whatever happened to you, whatever you did," flashes
of words carved into a man's chest darted through Finn's mind before he could
push them away, "I still love you because we're brothers, even if our parents
aren't really married. We're family."
"No, you just want to be family. We aren't though. We weren't before, and you
know what, Finn? We never will be." He sneered around the words, but Finn tried
not to feel hurt.
"We can be friends too if you don't like brothers."
"We aren't friends either. We aren't anything. I don't want to be."
It didn't feel like Finn kept the hurt from showing, but he tried to press on
anyway. Kurt didn't mean it. Kurt couldn't mean it. Finn took a long, slow
breath. "Doesn't matter. I still love you."
The countertenor let his face fall back to the pillow and didn't say anything
more. Finn sat with him without speaking, trying to send happy, loving thoughts
at Kurt even though he felt a little silly doing it. Maybe this boy would never
be the old Kurt again, but it wouldn't be because Finn had been too scared to
try to help him or too stupid to know he needed it.
***** Alex: Too Much Like Truth *****
So, Puck had been pissed when Annette mistook him for Alex's boyfriend. He'd
seemed annoyed when Meg did the same thing. But if the countertenor tried to
flirt with him, Puck ignored or deflected it. He didn't mind being treated like
Alex's boyfriend, just being accused of it. Alex didn't see the difference, but
he knew it was there. It had to be.
The first time, Meg hadn't used the word 'boyfriend.' She had asked if the jock
was Robbie. Was that it? Could it be that simple? If Puck didn't want to be
compared to Robin, then he must have done so himself. He must have found
something, a similarity that he tried to hide.
Alex tapped his foot and brushed his bangs back. He would figure this out. And
he would freak Puck the hell out. Then he would go back to New York. He
wouldn't be able to live with Meg any longer because Puck could find her, but
Alex was confident that he could locate another place to stay until he had
enough money to afford his own apartment.
When a knock came at his door, the teen ignored it. He had managed to pull his
smaller chest of drawers up the stairs, and now it blocked the door.
Puck was kind of tall, but not so much as Rob. They were both in pretty good
shape and had dark hair but otherwise looked very little alike. It probably
wasn't physical anyway; it would take something more profound to get to Puck as
it clearly had.
The chest of drawers crashed down the stairs followed by the sound of Puck and
Finn swearing loudly. It had taken him much longer to get the thing up there
than it did for them to shove it back down. The boys rushed down the stairs and
looked relieved to find Alex sitting at his desk with his browser open and a
forgotten search on designer sunglasses still pulled up.
"Jesus, Kurt, what the hell was that for?" Finn panted a little, probably from
the excitement of worrying about a guy he still thought might be sort of like a
brother to him.
Alex shrugged. "It couldn't possibly be that I'm sick of having to put up with
all of you fucking morons any time you damn well please, now could it?"
Finn looked hurt, but then he always looked hurt. The puppy eyes thing probably
wasn't even an act. "Sorry, man, we just worry about you."
"And yet it would solve so many of our problems if you just wouldn't." He
clicked on a couple links to make him look busy. "You can go now," he added
with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Your presence makes my brain tired."
Finn made a sound like he wanted to say something but turned and left instead.
Puck, unfortunately but predictably, stayed.
"You too, stupid. That last part was actually for you."
"I'm a bit thicker skinned than Finn. He's like a tiny, six-foot-something,
helpless animal. The kind that follows you home and looks pathetic enough that
your parents actually let you keep him. Don't tell him I said any of that or
he'd punch me though."
"Hasn't he already punched you?"
"Lots of times." Puck grinned but then dropped it in favor of a frown. "You
don't keep up with the news, do you?"
The countertenor sighed and shook his head, wondering what that had to do with
anything.
"Someone found a body. They think it's another of Banks' victims based on the
wounds and the way the body was left. If so, he had the guy while you were with
him too."
Oh, fuck, it was Jack. It had to be Jack. Alex managed not to flinch, but his
fingers tapped nervously on the desk. "What was his name?"
"They aren't releasing it. To protect his family or whatever."
If Puck didn't even know Jack's name, then maybe he knew little enough not to
connect the other dots. Alex turned back to the computer and hoped (stupidly)
that Puck would go away.
"I remember you told me…" He paused and licked his lips. "Banks had forced you
before to have sex with another captive." Fuck, he remembered. Of course he
remembered; it had obviously freaked him the hell out. "You weren't able to
save that one, were you?"
Worse than that, Alex had killed him. "Get the fuck out of my room, Puckerman."
Instead of leaving, Puck knelt on the floor beside Alex's chair and placed one
hand on the boy's leg, just above his knee. "I realize you're kind of an idiot,
so I probably have to spell this out for you, but you know it wasn't your
fault, right?"
"You don't even know what you're talking about." He turned his chair and kicked
Puck firmly in the chest. The jock fell back.
"He's the one, right?" He rubbed at his chest and coughed, keeping his eyes on
Alex as he pulled himself back up. Alex declined to answer. "I'm taking the
bitchy silence as assent. So you didn't want to do it. Banks forced you, which
makes it really not your fault."
"This is sweet and all, Puck, but you can shut up now. I don't need you
misinterpreting events you don't actually know anything about." The jock had
too little information. He didn't know what had happened. He couldn't know.
"Fine then, I'll talk about what I do know. I know you didn't want to do
anything to me. I was fucking there for that part." The jock's brow furrowed,
and his hands clenched into fists.
Alex rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, and it took so very much convincing to change
my mind."
"Hell, dude, I'd say a gun is about as convincing as it gets."
"Get out." Alex lacked the patience for this. He wasn't going to talk it out
with Noah fucking Puckerman. That wasn't how it worked. Puck ran away from his
problems and used bullying and petty crime as roadblocks so he could stay ahead
of them. He didn't pull people into sharing sessions.
"No. I know you're messed up, but that doesn't mean you're as bad as he is."
"I said get out!" He screamed the words and flung his hands to his head. This
was stupid and fucked up. He needed Puck to go away.
"You know throwing a fit doesn't work on me." Puck reached one hand between
Alex's arms and pressed a finger to the bottom of the countertenor's chin. "Are
you upset because you think I'm lying or because you believe you don't deserve
to be accepted and forgiven anymore?" He raised the countertenor's eyes to meet
his as he spoke.
It sounded too much like truth. Alex shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled
out the knife Puck had returned to him. The knife he had killed Robbie with. He
used his thumb to push out the blade and slashed at Puck's forearm. It worked.
Puck pulled back.
"Holy fuck," he shouted, pressing his free hand to the slice running up his
arm. Blood seeped past his fingers and fell to the carpet. It would stain. Alex
didn't care. Puck stumbled back. "Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? No, I
know what's wrong, but how did that seem like the thing to do about it?"
Alex held the knife in front of him. It took all the control he had to turn his
scowl into something like a smirk. "Get the fuck away from me before I do it
again, Puckerman. I think I'll try it on your face next." The countertenor even
managed not to flinch saying it. Robbie would be proud.
"Goddamnit, Kurt." He held the arm high, probably to try and lessen the blood
flow. "I just want your little bitch ass to know I'm coming back later when
I've stopped bleeding all over your shit. And then I'll say something sappy
just to spite you. Because I'm just that fucking pissed." When Puck walked out,
his face held none of the fear Alex remembered from the motel room. Alex
thought it should have.
He cleaned the knife and hid it. This one was important. He had others and put
one in his pocket and another in his desk drawer for whoever came down next to
find what he had attacked Puck with. They would definitely try to disarm him
after that. Maybe Puck would have tried to hide a smaller cut, but Alex hadn't
exactly been planning ahead when he lashed out.
Then it hit him that he had just hurt someone. Not like Rob or Kitty—they had
deserved it. Puck may have been an asshole, but he wasn't a criminal, and he
had never really hurt Alex. Fuck, he should have left the room like Alex told
him to. Maybe now he'd let the countertenor leave. Maybe now he'd see that they
couldn't be friends anymore.
It was Burt who came down to take the knife. His eyes were strained. Alex
handed over the one he had placed in his pocket while Carol went through his
things and found the weapon he'd planted in the desk. She didn't find the
others.
"Son, why did you do it?"
"He wouldn't leave me alone. He kept talking about when I was with Robbie."
Maybe he should have tried to sound pathetic, but Alex spat the words out with
enough acid to corrode any chance of Burt taking sympathy with him. Whatever.
"You can't just hurt people when they upset you. That isn't how the world
works." He frowned. "You're lucky it was Puck; he'll be angry but not too
afraid to come back."
"Then maybe I should have waited for someone else to come down."
Burt clenched his jaw, and Alex couldn't tell if it was to keep himself from
shouting or sobbing. "Kurt," he bit off the word like an old, tough piece of
jerky. "We're putting you on the meds Janice prescribed, and I'm giving her a
call tonight. I wanted to give you some space, but clearly I was wrong to. I
won't let you hurt anyone else, especially not yourself." The man's voice was
hard the way the trunk of a massive old tree was hard. Alex doubted he could
cut through it alone.
"I won't take those fucking pills, and I won't talk to Janice." Alex's secrets
were his own. They wouldn't have a chance to ruin anyone else.
"Son, we only want to help you. I will always be here for you, and I will
always try to do what's best for you, whatever else happens. And right now, the
only way I can do that is to keep you from driving off your friends."
"That's cute, father, but I am remarkably disinterested in your being here for
me." He pulled away and wrapped his arms around himself. It only made listening
to Burt's drabble worse knowing he wouldn't stand by it if he knew what Alex
had done and what he had let Robin make him into.
"I'm also putting a lock on your door. Puck tried to tell me you want to leave
but won't run away, but he also thought you wouldn't hurt him."
"So you're locking me in? Like a fucking prisoner?"
"Like someone who I'm truly worried is going to do something stupid and hurt
himself. Once you're feeling better, we can flip the lock. Then you'll finally
be able to lock your door after, what, six years of bugging me about it?"
"Hey, prince of the assholes," Puck shouted, hurrying down the stairs ahead of
Mercedes and Finn. The two looked like they wanted to drag him out of the
basement but were afraid to touch the already injured teen.
Alex arched an eyebrow and tried to look superior and impatient. It felt weird
to be called a prince instead of a princess.
"No matter what you do, I will never in all of time stop being your friend
because I believe you are a good person in your heart or wherever the hell
puppies and rainbows would fit inside someone's body." He paused as if waiting
for a reply. "Come on, dude! I got most of that from Schuester, and he's the
sappiest bastard I know. I told you I'd do it." He pointed accusingly at Alex
with his uninjured armed.
"Puck, did you keep your mind in your right forearm where it could bleed out
after I cut you? Because I honestly suspect you've lost it." Alex crossed his
arms.
"Everyone keeps saying that." He looked confused, like it had never occurred to
Puck that chasing after a man as terrifying as Robbie, especially with no real
chance of doing any good, was crazy. That he (mostly) succeeded only made it
more insane.
"Come on, Puck. You should head back upstairs," Burt said, placing a hand on
the jock's shoulder.
"Why?"
The look on Burt's face at the question might have been funny if Alex weren't
so determined to be pissed off. "Because you're hurt."
"This?" He held up his injured arm. "It's all antibacterialized and bandaged. I
had way worse when those jackasses ripped out my nipple ring. I'm fine."
This time, Alex did laugh at the look on Burt's face. It felt all wrong since
he'd spent so long convincing these people he'd lost any sense of humor not
directly linked to insulting them, but… Burt looked like he'd just realized the
adorable little kitten he found on the street could talk, but all it would say
was 'motherfucker'.
Everyone looked at Alex, but their faces couldn't seem to decide on disbelief,
worry, or relief. Except Puck who grinned and used his cell phone one-handed to
take a picture of Burt before the man had a chance to correct his expression.
"Now, if you would all fuck off…" Alex said, but he let a smirk stay on his
face. Let them think what they would, he had just found a completely arbitrary
and useless link between Puck and Rob that would no doubt annoy the jock. Alex
he slashed them both on the right forearm to keep them from touching him. Now
he just had to figure out the rest. When he did, Burt's lock wouldn't matter.
Puck would want him gone so badly he would probably help.
***** Quinn: Kept the Smile *****
Chapter Notes
     Song: Billy Joel's "You May Be Right." Yes, I already used a Billy
     Joel song. Yes, I can do so again. I debated on it a long time since
     I've only used other artists once each, but Glee canon reuses artists
     regularly, so why can't I?
When Puck confronted her, Quinn freely admitted she had been avoiding him, or
avoiding being alone with him at least. She had already talked to Sam,
apologized to him and listened to him apologize to her. They weren't going to
date again, but she thought maybe they could be friends now. Puck was another
matter.
He stood in front of the whole glee club—minus Kurt who had declined to
come—with Artie beside him. Quinn silently thanked Artie for offering to play
guitar during Puck's attempt to serenade the cheerio. If he had to make a fool
of himself, at least he wouldn't risk tearing open the slash Kurt had left in
his forearm while he did so.
"I know you said you wanted space," he said to Quinn with too wide a grin on
his face, "but it's just a song." Even though it was dumb and untrue, Quinn was
glad he said it if only because he took her mind off of Kurt attacking people
with knives.
Friday night I crashed your party
Saturday I said I'm sorry
Sunday came and trashed me out again
I was only having fun
Wasn't hurting anyone
And we all enjoyed the weekend for a change
Just a song. Just a song trying to convince her to date him. Quinn sighed and
rested her chin lightly on the palm of her hand, but she kept her eyes on Puck
as he sang to her. She owed him very little, but this much she probably did.
I was stranded in the combat zone
I walked through Bedford Stuy alone
Even rode my motorcycle in the rain
And you told me not to drive
But I made it home alive
So you said that only proves that I'm insane
It was the second time Puck had sung Billy Joel to her. The first time, he had
been drunk, and it had been for the group as a whole too. He had wanted them to
accept that he didn't have to be what they thought he should, and that it was
okay to be something that maybe most people believed was wrong or at least
strange.
You may be right
I may be crazy
But it just may be a lunatic you're looking for
Turn out the light
Don't try to save me
You may be wrong for all I know
But you may be right
This time was different. Somehow bringing Kurt home had helped Puck accept
himself in a way singing never had. The boy had been away for two weeks, and
Quinn wondered seriously for the first time what had happened to change him so
much. Sometimes he still behaved like a child, but even then he lacked the
volatility she remembered.
Now think of all the years you tried to
Find someone to satisfy you
I might be as crazy as you say
If I'm crazy then it's true
That it's all because of you
And you wouldn't want me any other way
At least the jock had the sense not to look hopeful. Quinn wasn't ready to leap
into his arms and kiss him, even though she knew Puck wanted her to. The others
applauded and filed out, leaving Quinn and Puck painfully alone. Or most of
them did, Finn actually carried Santana out, and Mercedes had to encourage Sam
to move.
"Puck," Quinn said softly when she realized she would only get away after
speaking to him. "Life isn't as easy as singing a song."
"I know." His lips formed a small smile without a hint of smugness. "But it'd
be awesome if it were."
"Did you think this would get you something?"
"Not right now." He shrugged. "Maybe eventually, after you've had time for your
thinking and stuff."
Quinn carefully kept her distance. Falling into Puck's arms now would
accomplish nothing. "So why not wait to sing it later?"
"Babe, I don't know. It just felt right. I know everyone set us up in here or
whatever, but I'm even cool if you don't want to talk about it right now.
Unless you do want to, and that's awesome too." The uncertain expression on
Puck's face reminded Quinn of the way he had looked when their daughter was
born.
"What do you think Beth is doing right now?" Sometimes she thought of the child
by name, and others just as her daughter. Puck had been the one to name her.
"Well, it's right after lunch, so probably napping with a full belly. Do you
feed babies at lunch time?"
"I don't know, Puck, probably. I was just curious." Really, Quinn should have
asked how he thought Beth was doing. It was the question she wanted answered,
but also the one she feared. Quinn had given her child up with no way to know
if the little girl would have a good home. A better home than a couple of
teenagers could give her. "You know, you are kind of crazy sometimes." Talking
about the song just seemed easier.
"And I was serious when I said you wouldn't want me any other way." He smirked
this time, but it turned into a genuine grin when then cheerio answered with a
smile of her own.
"I still haven't decided if I want you at all." She tried to keep the words
soft. It was something he needed to know, but not something she wanted to hurt
him with.
"I know, but when you do, it'll be because I'm not like all those other guys."
She let herself laugh just a little. "You're quite the confident one now."
Puck caught her eyes with his and grinned widely. Then he turned and left the
room to join the others. It had been a long time since being around the jock
left Quinn feeling anything but depressed. She kept the smile on her face as
she moved into the other room.
***** Alex: The Knife *****
The only time Alex wanted Puck to come down to the basement, he had to wait for
the bastard to get out of school first. And he'd probably have homework or a
sport to play or something after that. The countertenor groaned and tapped his
knuckles against the wall above his headboard while he waited. Then he rolled
over to lie on his side but kept his arms over his head. When he realized that,
he pulled them down to his chest and tried to curl himself around them.
Someone came down the stairs, but it was just Burt. "You know, son, you should
be at school with them."
"Fuck school." He turned his back to his father. They had already talked about
this. Everyone wanted Alex to go to school as Kurt Hummel. He kept threatening
and scaring them to make sure no one would trust him near other students. Burt
seemed to have realized it was an act. Alex felt like shit when he thought that
he could have really hurt Puck. Somehow, it hadn't bothered him until after.
Maybe they were right to keep him away from others. Maybe the only person right
for him anymore was the man he had already murdered.
"It'll be okay, Kurt." Burt rubbed Alex's shoulder. "Janice said that when you
first start taking antidepressants, they might make you more depressed at
first, so this is normal."
"And fuck that bitch and her pills too."
Alex wasn't depressed. He was angry, out of place, and screwed up beyond
belief. Those weren't the same thing at all. He tried to shrug off his father's
hand, but the man was persistent.
"Have you noticed any of those side effects she mentioned? Like nausea or dry
mouth or—"
"No. I'm fine. So leave me alone."
"Janice says you still aren't talking to her." He sounded exactly like a
concerned parent should, and it made Alex twitch.
"She claimed she wouldn't tell you what I say."
"And she didn't, especially since you haven't said anything. Or if you have, it
wasn't anything helpful. Kurt," he paused and took a deep breath. "We all know
you're hurting, but you can't work through it if you won't accept our help.
Please, just talk to someone. I don't even care who, okay."
Alex ignored Burt until the man walked slowly upstairs. Then he ignored
whatever else happened until Puck came down the stairs. He sat up and turned
toward the jock.
"Terrify any nerds today, Puck?"
"Dude, I scare them just by walking by. But I did get to throw Jacob in the
dumpster—for purely noble reasons. He called you a basket case." He sat down at
the foot of Alex's bed.
"You know, I just thought of something interesting. Maybe it's why I put up
with you so well."
"Is it because I'm hot? 'Cause, dude, check out my arms." He flexed to show off
his biceps, then laughed and let his arms fall.
"No, moron. You have a way of intimidating people, like a dangerous aura.
People know to stay out of your way." Alex leaned back against the headboard
and hoped this didn't backfire.
"Hey, I've gotten a lot nicer since joining glee club! To you anyway. And I
don't get the rest, mostly the part you didn't say."
Alex forced himself to raise the corner of his lip. It came out as a smirk;
much better than a grimace. "I think it reminds me of Robbie."
Puck blanched. "That's fucked up, Kurt."
"You mean that I'd say it, or that I'd like it?"
"You are such a bitch." The jock took a slow, deep breath. "And I know you
don't like me anyway." But, Alex noted, Puck didn't try to deny that the
countertenor liked Robin.
Alex shrugged. "Not much, but enough. You do know that's why they think it,
right? That you're the guy I'd want as my boyfriend after being with Robbie
long enough to kind of want something like him." His voice quavered, but Alex
reigned it in. "They can tell you aren't like other people, and in just the
right ways too."
Something there made Puck flinch. Alex still needed to determine in which ways
Puck hated being similar to Rob. He hoped the jock would give himself away.
"Dude, I don't even know what you're talking about anymore."
"Which explains why you look ready to strangle something. It's okay if you want
to try; I'm actually somewhat used to it."
The jock stood a little too quickly and spun toward Alex. He grabbed the
countertenor by the shoulders and stared him in the eye. "Why the fuck would I
want to do that, Kurt?" It sounded honest.
"I know you lash out sometimes. I understand. I do it now too." Alex let his
eyes dart to the bandages on Puck's arm.
For a long time, Puck stayed silent. Alex waited. "I'll make you a deal," the
jock said finally. "When that girl Annette came to see you, she left something
for you. She gave it to me because she didn't think you were ready to have, uh,
weapons. But I kind of know you already do." He rubbed self-consciously at the
back of his neck. "I'll trade you the knife you used to help Annette escape for
the one you used to kill Banks."
"What makes you think I still have—"
"You asked if I wanted to see it."
"I don't remember that."
"It happened. And I bet it was the same one you used on me too, but that part's
just a guess."
Alex studied Puck's expression for a moment but found nothing. "It is," he
said. "It's the one you brought back to me."
The jock nodded. "I recognized it, which is how I know your parents didn't take
it from you."
"Why do you want it anyway? Do you miss it? Want a souvenir of Robbie's death?
A souvenir of that slashed on your arm?"
"I want you to have something you used to help someone instead of something you
used to hurt someone."
"Did you borrow that from Schuester too?" Alex's voice turned bitter. This
wasn't the way he meant the conversation to go.
"No, Kurt, if anyone else knew about the knives, you wouldn't have them
anymore." He sighed and crossed his arms.
"And why don't you tell them? I thought I was a danger to myself and others."
He scowled and picked at a speck on his pants.
"I don't think you'll hurt anyone else. You obviously feel like shit over it."
And how the hell did he figure that? He was right, but Alex didn't see how Puck
could know that. "Don't look so surprised, Kurt. You've been even more emo than
before. Everyone else thinks it's the meds." He cocked his head. "Are you
actually taking them?"
"Burt makes me."
"Dude, he's your dad. Don't call him by name. It's creepy."
"It's because you like having power over me." Alex narrowed his eyes. It didn't
matter if it was true or not, so long as he acted like it was.
"Huh?"
"Not telling about the knives. It gives you a hold over me. I can tell because
everything Robbie did was meant to increase the power he had over me. It just
took a little while to recognize because I didn't actually expect it from you."
"You know that's bullshit." But he did look nervous. "I just want to trade,
okay. Say you'll trade."
Alex didn't want to. "This one is important to me," he said. "You left it for
me, and it saved my life. It makes me feel safe."
"Fuck, if any weapon saved your life, it was the goddamn gun. But I think you
saved your own life. Knives and guns are just tools."
The countertenor curled in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest. "I need
it Puck."
"You saved Annette with this." The taller teen placed a hand on Alex's shoulder
and pulled the other pocketknife from his jeans pocket. "She wants to save you
too."
"And what about you?" Alex spat the question.
"You didn't use a weapon to save me. You didn't need one."Puck set the knife
Annette had brought on the nightstand. He moved his hand to Alex's hip, then
slid a finger lower to touch the bulge in the countertenor's pocket. "I know
this is it," he said, and he was right. "I can take it. Please don't make me."
"Robbie wouldn't have asked. I guess you're a watered down version."
The finger curled into a fist but didn't move otherwise. "I'm also much better
looking than he is. That scar doesn't do anything for him."
"It makes him distinctive, like your mohawk."
"Kurt. The knife." He frowned darkly.
"No."
The jock easily flipped Alex onto his stomach and pinned him. He slid a hand
into the countertenor's pocket. It felt less like he was taking the knife and
more like he was reaching to grope the other boy's cock. Alex trembled, caught
between screaming and moaning. He almost cursed himself, but turned the sound
into Robbie's name instead. Puck jerked back like he'd been bitten. Too late,
he already had the pocketknife.
Alex swung his torso around and reached for the knife, but Puck pulled back.
"Dude, I amsorry, but this thing is like poison. At least that one's a little
better." The jock backed away as he spoke and ran upstairs with Alex's
pocketknife.
He needed that knife. It protected him, made him feel safe when he started to
freak out. He'd even kept it on hand when he fucked that guy at the theater,
and it had helped then too. How did Puck expect Alex to survive without his
knife?
The countertenor lay on his side with his knees pulled up to his chest and his
arms above his head. He cried and stared at the pocketknife Puck had left
behind. It was his too, but not in the same way. It was like a ghost built of
sharpened metal. Alex remembered pulling it from Robbie's pocket just after
taking on his new name.
But that made him think about Robin. And that made him miss the man.
The countertenor jerked his arms down and rolled to face the other way. He
wasn't in love with Robin Banks. He hated Robin. He had killed Robin. It didn't
matter anyway because he was dead.
But Alex wasn't dead, and he was crying now over a man who had never deserved
anyone's tears. He fervently wanted Puck to return, to distract him. Why had he
left that fucking knife? If he wanted to disarm Alex, then why not just leave
the boy with nothing? He should have. He hadn't.
Before he could change his mind, Alex swung around to grab the small weapon and
shove it in his pocket. Rob had held this one. Alex couldn't decide if that
made it different somehow. As far as he knew, it had never harmed anyone. That,
he knew, did make it different. That made it unchristened. He ignored the
thought in favor of wondering whatever had happened to the knife that left the
trails all over his back. Alex ran a finger over the scar that reached to his
jaw and thought about sex with Rob even though he thought maybe he shouldn't.
***** Puck: Story Told *****
It was all kinds of uncool how much Puck wanted to run away right now, to drive
all the way back to New York and hide away at Meg's like Kurt had. The way
everyone kept darting looks at him made the jock fidget in his seat beside Kurt
on the couch. Coming together like this had been his idea—well, sort of it had
been Meg's and Puck's together, but the theater worker wasn't exactly in Ohio.
She had called him freaked the hell out because she found out who Kurt was.
Even worse, she found out who 'Robbie' was. And, of course, the woman wasn't
even a little upset at Kurt for lying to her. Instead, she decided to be pissed
the hell off at Puck. How the hell did that make any sense? He barely knew the
lady and had no reason to share all of his and Kurt's secrets with her.
Whatever.
"So, Puck, are we gathered for a moment of silence no one told us about?" It
could have been a sort of attack, but Quinn kept her voice soft enough that it
didn't sting badly.
"No, I uh…" He scratched at his neck, then ran a hand over his mohawk. Fuck.
"Kurt doesn't talk to people, you know, and I can't really blame him because
it's not like I've talked to anyone. Quinn doesn't count 'cause that was
something different," he added, though it didn't seem to make the blonde any
happier.
"I think his reasons aren't quite the same as yours." Mercedes added. She
didn't sound mean either. That didn't suck.
"No shit, he's been through way worse crap than I ever have. That's not the
point. I… okay, I know there's a point and I wrote it down somewhere, but I
have no idea what happened to it."
When the countertenor tried to stand and leave, Puck grabbed him by the hand.
He didn't pull the other teen down, but he still held him firmly.
"At the theater wasn't the first time I found Kurt."
The thinner boy hissed and swung his eyes to meet Puck's. He clearly didn't
want any of their story told. Well, he probably didn't know Puck wasn't going
to mention any of Kurt's parts, but yeah. Fuck. Maybe he should have let Kurt
know beforehand? No, then he wouldn't have come.
Puck hated feeling jittery. He was supposed to be a badass, or at least the
overconfident stud of McKinley High.
While he focused on Kurt and his own nervousness, everyone else had started
talking. They wanted answers now that he'd given them questions.
"Relax, Kurt, I'm only telling my parts." He said it softly, but some of the
others had to have heard anyway. And now they fucking knew he knew more than
they knew.
The countertenor crossed his arms and took his seat a little too close to Puck
with his best ice queen expression. At least he wasn't scowling again; it
always looked wrong on him.
"I pretty obviously didn't know how to find Banks or Kurt or a decent dinner
most nights I was gone," he said without preamble, but it shut the others up
well enough. "But I asked some people who weren't very friendly, and Banks
found out about it."
"Because you're something of an idiot."
"Yes, Kurt, thank you." He frowned but patted the other boy's knee. "Banks sent
someone to bring me to him, and—"
"You know her name is Kitty. Was Kitty." Kurt interrupted. "Actually, it was
Katharina Maynard, but I don't know what that means, or who she was before she
was Robbie's girlfriend."
"The news said she was just some girl who ran away because her parents didn't
want her to be a dancer, but that was years ago" Santana offered sounding more
bored than anything else.
"And she's from the same hometown as Banks, which is a little creepy when you
think about it," Mercedes added.
"I'm pretty sure she was Catwoman." Brittany looked thoughtful, and for some
reason, Kurt laughed at her. "No, Kurt, I'm serious."
"So am I." He had stopped smiling.
"So, dude, you got your ass beat by a lady?" Finn could have been curious or
condescending. Puck couldn't tell.
"No, I got my ass threatened with a knife, so I didn't move much except what
the person holding it wanted." He crossed his arms in a way he knew would show
off his guns. He didn't want anyone to start thinking he was a wuss.
"Not a handgun?" Tina asked.
Puck thought for a moment before answering. "I think she had one, but she
didn't pull it out then. Whatever. The point is: she brought me to where Banks
and Kurt were."
This, everyone took in silence. It was a thick kind of silence though, and Puck
could feel it tightening around him.
"They didn't have a chance to do anything but scare the shit out of me," he
said and tried to make it sound honest. It was true, but that didn't mean
everyone would believe him. "Banks got a phone call and left in a hurry with
Kitty. After we were alone, Kurt managed to get me out of there."
"And you left Kurt." Finn had on the angry look he usually went for before
punching Puck.
"I was tied with rope. He was cuffed, and the key was around Banks' neck."
"Why didn't you stay and help him fight off Banks?" The taller jock stood and
clenched his fists. Yeah, that was definitely his about-to-punch-Puck face.
"He told me not to. Said something about Banks using him as a hostage against
me. Look, dude, chill out. Kurt's here, isn't he? I ran down the street to a
payphone and told the cops where to find him. Then I ran away and hid while
waiting for Kurt to call me even though he never did."
"You're sure they didn't do anything to you?" Tina was giving him a weird look.
It made Puck feel naked.
"They stripped me and tied me up, but left before they got to the nasty part."
It felt weird as all shit to say aloud. He was thankful in a whole new way that
nothing had actually happened.
"So, wait," Artie sounded about ready to get the hell out of there. "You were
naked, but you still say nothing happened?"
"Yes! God, do you people want me to have gotten raped? I already said homeboy
psychopath got a phone call and booked it. He seemed kind of freaked out, so I
guess it was more important than the sexy piece of ass his girl brought home
for him."
"You know the way you talk about yourself like a conceited stud?" Santana
asked, and Puck nodded. "It's hella creepy in that context. Don't do it again."
"She's totally right," Brittany added.
"I'm gonna say since you can say the word, it probably didn't happen."
"Thank you, Mercedes!" he actually threw his hands up in relief.
"How does that matter?" Kurt asked with an eyebrow raised and his bitch face
on. "I can say rape."
No one seemed ready to answer that.
"I can also say princess, fuck, sex, murder, scar, and Robbie." His voice
dropped into a dark and ugly thing when it touched the words though.
"I still say it's fucked up you call him that." Puck frowned.
Kurt just smirked. "You have no idea."
It seemed like the silence would stretch on, but Mike finally cut into it. "Why
do you want to be called Alex if it's the name he gave you?"
Kurt looked surprised. "It's not."
Puck turned to look straight at the countertenor. "But that's what he called
you."
"Because I fucking told him to, moron. I chose the name myself, and to be
honest, I think my Robbie was a bit disappointed I didn't choose something more
exciting."
The 'my Robbie' was even more disturbing than the pet name on its own. Puck
didn't manage to stop himself from cringing at it.
"'Hood' was his idea though. Pretty damn obviously so, I'd say."
Puck decided not to ask what that meant. Apparently, so did everyone else. Or
maybe they just couldn't fit the words past their clenched teeth. The teen with
the mohawk leaned back into the couch and just sat. After a moment, Kurt sat
back too, though he leaned more against Puck than he did the couch. His friend
decided not to say anything.
Suddenly, Kurt turned his head towards Puck's face. "You know it wasn't before
anything happened. I remember a little petting." He had a hand on Puck's leg
but didn't move it, so he wasn't trying the creepy flirting thing again. Thank
God.
"Really? All the things in the world to say, and that's what you want to tell
them about?"
"You just left it out because of me, right? Well, you can be as open and
sharing as you like, Puck." He should have sounded a little nice saying it, but
Kurt's voice was sharp. It stung.
"Fine, bitch. Banks wanted Kurt's hands all over me, and he got a little bit of
touching in before the call. Happy?" He smiled as gruesomely as he knew how at
Kurt and tried to ignore the others.
"Touching where?" Even though Santana said it, the words came out strangely
choked.
"Where do you think?" Puck glared at her, but that meant he saw everyone's
shocked and pity-filled faces.
"And you're okay being… that close to him?" Rachel asked, but she sent Kurt an
apologetic look.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Puck, he… touched you. I know Kurt didn't want to, but feelings rarely care
about making sense of a situation." It seemed now that Rachel had finally
spoken, she wasn't ready to stop again. "I know I often have trouble
differentiating—"
"He did it at gunpoint. And, to be honest, I was more worried about the gun
than Kurt. He's my friend. The guy with his finger on the trigger really
wasn't." Puck mostly managed to scoff. He wanted to avoid telling them Kurt
said he would have gone all the way with whatever Banks wanted. That wasn't
Puck's fucked up secret to tell.
"Wait, I just thought of something," Brittany said, holding up a hand. "Was
Kurt naked too?"
Puck glanced at Kurt before answering, but the shorter boy looked remarkably
disinterested. "Yeah."
Brittany stared at nothing while Artie poked at her knee. After a moment she
said, "No further questions."
The silence returned, thick as ever. Puck wondered which questions they were
all afraid to ask, but it didn't matter. He couldn't answer any of them.
"I know you aren't going to tell us anything," Tina said so softly Puck
wouldn't have heard except for the silence Brittany left behind, "but can you
tell us how much more you know than we do?" She clearly directed the question
at Puck, but the jock looked to Kurt. The countertenor studied his nails in
careful refusal to acknowledge anyone.
Puck shook his head and felt Kurt relax against him when he did.
"So, are you two like boyfriends now?" A few of the others glared at Santana,
but she didn't take the question back.
"No," Puck growled. "I'm not even gay." Why would she think that?
"Could've fooled me the way you're fucking cuddling over there." Even if she
hadn't opened her mouth, the cheerio's face said 'bitch please' clearly enough.
"I'm not cuddling anyone." Puck very carefully didn't move away from Kurt; that
would be like admitting Santana was right.
"And you spend all your time alone in his room. And you fight like a married
couple, except the stabbing; that's hardcore. And you've totally seen each
other naked. Admit it, he kind of turned you on."
Puck wasn't sure how long he stared at Santana like she had just rubbed shit
all over her face and called him her pony-boy. It must have been a while
because his jaw started to cramp from hanging open.
"I don't think I'm all that attractive when you can see the scars, hun," Kurt
said, his voice flat. Puck remembered his first glance of Kurt's body and
wished he were gay so he could tell Kurt he was beautiful and mean it.
It was the first time Kurt had mentioned his scars to anyone that Puck knew of.
"I was just saying," Santana said after everyone else made it clear they
weren't about to speak. "You haven't done it with me once since coming back,
and I'm getting horny over here."
Kurt laughed.
Puck scowled at him. "Why is that funny?"
The only answer Kurt gave was to pat him on the head and leave.
"You really need to get laid, Puckerman. I am not even kidding with you."
Santana gave him a blatantly suggestive smolder before following Kurt's lead.
The others kept glancing at each other. Tina sneaked a glance or two at Puck
too. He wanted to know what the hell they weren't saying.
"Oh my gosh," Brittany said as she turned to Puck and leaned over to rest a
hand on his knee. "The last person besides you to touch your dick was Kurt."
Puck groaned. "Fuck." He definitely needed to get laid.
***** Alex: You Can't Scare Me *****
"So I talked to Finn," Alex said and popped a grape into his mouth. He wasn't
hungry but still liked the idea of food as prop. "He told me you did more than
your fair share of research on Robbie while I was away."
Puck shot him the kind of look the jock usually saved for when people
questioned his attractiveness. "Dude, everyone looked the psycho up as soon as
we had a name to google."
"I got the impression you were more interested in Robin himself. Everyone else
moped over his victims while you analyzed his strategy." The countertenor
peeled the skin off another grape with his teeth.
The jock frowned. "You say that like I didn't care about the people he hurt, or
about you. And you know I do."
Alex tried on a light smile and swung his legs around so they crossed Puck's
lap. Both teens sat on his bed, so it was an easy enough maneuver. Puck didn't
bother to push him away yet. "Oh, I know. I only mean you cared about Robbie
too, as more than a stupid name and an ugly scar."
"He does have a dumb name." Puck crossed his arms and looked downright broody.
Alex smirked. For the first time, he thought he might be starting to get to the
other boy.
"It took him two weeks, by the way. To rape me, I mean." He pressed the peeled
grape between his lips and admired the way Puck's eyes widened. "He actually
picked up Annette and fucked her in front of me first. Repeatedly and at
length."
Clearly, Puck had no idea how to respond to that. Alex wasn't surprised.
"Honestly, it made me feel safe. He hadn't raped me yet, maybe he never would.
Maybe I wasn't his type." The countertenor made himself smile condescendingly
even though he wanted to cringe. "I was wrong, of course. He was just saving me
for later, taking his time. Robbie could be patient when he put his mind to
it."
"Do you know why I call him 'Banks'?" Puck interrupted. His expression was
satisfyingly dark. "Because it keeps him at a distance. Because I don't want to
be close to that. Maybe you should try it."
"Oh, Puck, that's sweet, but you may have noticed I already killed the fucker.
And I really do want him back now. He hardly qualified as human, but he sure
knew how to take care of a boy."
"Fuck." Puck flinched visibly. "You're playing me right now, aren't you?"
"Of course I am, but that doesn't mean I'm lying. I domiss him, especially late
at night when I'm horny but too afraid to touch myself because I don't feel
like I understand sex enough to even masturbate anymore."
"And that is fucked up, dude. I mean it. How do you get off?"
Alex laughed. Of course Puck wouldn't be able to imagine a world without
orgasms. "Mostly in my sleep. Why, do you want to watch?"
The other boy raised an eyebrow. "You know I don't."
"It was about control, really." He paused long enough to bite a grape in half.
"Everything Robin did was to put him in control. He needed people to… to fixate
on him, to obsess over him. Like you did. I'm sure he'd have loved to have more
time with you."
"I noticed. Can I have some of those?" He motioned to the grapes. Alex wasn't
sure if Puck was trying to change the subject or not, but he handed over some
of the fruit.
"I've been trying to think what it was about Robbie that drew you to him." He
popped the second half of the grape onto his tongue and licked its juice off
his fingers.
"I'd say it was you since I didn't care except that he had kidnapped my
friend."
"That was why it started, not why it continued. Don't confuse the two, Puck."
Alex felt the jock tense beneath him and knew he was headed somewhere near the
right direction. He ignored the guilt at manipulating Puck like this and tried
not to look at the other teen's forearm. "You found Robbie because he took me.
You fixated on him because he fascinated you."
"I didn't—"
"Which is why you knew it was unusual that Annette had gotten away with her
life but still had the scar?"
Puck pulled his eyes away from Alex's and shoved a handful of grapes into his
mouth before chewing savagely.
"Robbie knew how to dominate someone, how to make them his. In every way,
Puck."
"This is sick."
"This is truth. He battered his victims. Raped them. Scarred them physically
and emotionally. He combined sex, pain, and psychology into the perfect form of
control. The fucker knew what he was doing. He spent weeks hurting me, making
sure I knew damn well I was his to do with has he pleased. Then he suddenly
made tender love to me as though I weren't a victim and he wasn't a rapist. I
didn't know what to expect from him. He could change everything in my life in
seconds. Do you know why, Puck? Because he was in control."
Puck looked queasy. "Fuck, Kurt, I…"
"This isn't the time for sympathy. That's not why I'm telling you this. I'm
talking about you; using myself as an example is merely an unfortunate side
effect of my life's admittedly limited experience."
"My, aren't we talking prissy today. I think you're trying too hard, Kurt."
Alex scowled. "Only as hard as I need to. What kind of porn do you like?"
Puck froze and stared at Alex blank-faced. "What?"
"It's about the sex, right? Stare at it long enough and almost anything comes
back to sex." It didn't need to be completely true, just true enough.
It was, apparently. Puck finally looked freaked out like he had when Meg
mistook him for Robbie, like when Annette mistook him for Kurt's boyfriend. So
it was sex.
"I remember when Kitty and I tied you up, I couldn't figure out the look on
your face. Now I know. You were freaked out and scared, but you were also a
little turned on, weren't you?" He smirked. "Robbie had a gift. He could turn
pain, trauma, and fear into obsession and desire. He could make people want
him, make them love him if he wanted to. And it was fucking hot. His face may
have been ruined by the broken nose and the scar, but the sex was fucking
amazing."
Puck looked almost ready to bolt. It shouldn't have made Alex's stomach churn.
This was what he wanted.
"I know a lot of his secrets, you know. He used them on me; worked like a
charm. Ask me anything you want. I can teach you to dominate me or anyone else
the way he could. And trust me, it would be absolutely worth it."
"Kurt, you gotta know that's not what I want." Puck's voice had turned small.
The countertenor leaned forward and ran a hand down his friend's chest. It
wasn't really flirty, but it didn't need to be. "Really? Then it's not about
the power? It's not about controlling other people so completely that you can
shape them regardless of their will? It's not about your body hopelessly,
desperately wanting something your mind knows is wrong?"
Puck furrowed his brow and shook his head. "No. It's not."
"Then why are you trembling?"
The jock licked his lips. "It's about understanding. It's about knowing how
people can be bent out of shape. I didn't look up Robin Banks because I wanted
to be like him. It was because I wanted to know how a person like him could
even be possible."
"And the bondage? Because trust me, I am not wrong about that part." He arched
an eyebrow and hoped Puck would collapse or run away.
Puck shrugged. "Whatever, I'm allowed to have a kink. It's not like I enjoy the
stuff where people are actually hurt or anything."
"I'm hurt." He jerked off an arm warmer and held up his scarred wrist.
"Banks was doing it wrong. It's supposed to be about restraint, not pain."
Alex redressed his wrist. "You looked that up online, didn't you?"
Puck shrugged, then nodded.
"Is there anything you don't google?"
Puck nodded, then shrugged.
"You're fucking useless; you know that? This was supposed to scare you off, not
help you come to terms with the fucked-upedness of your mind and dick."
The jock placed a hand on Alex's shoulder and looked him gravely in the eye. "I
fucking know that, you prissy little bitch. And it's about time you realized
you can't scare me off. You can't scare your friends off. And you can't scare
your family off. Kurt, you're stuck with us."
Alex growled and swung his legs off the other teen's lap. "Just make sure you
major in psych when you go to college. You can learn about how people like
Robbie become sociopaths."
"Will do, Kurt." When the jock's strong arms wrapped around the countertenor's
torso, he realized Puck hadn't ever properly embraced him before. The quick
little hug the jock gave him after Annette left hardly counted.
Alex hated hugs.
Puck pulled away and stood up. "I'm supposed to be home for dinner tonight, so
I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"No. I don't want to." Alex shook his head. "You make me nauseous."
"And you give me headaches worse than hangovers, so we're even." He grinned and
left.
Alex scowled. He tried to finger the knife in his pocket, but it didn't feel
right. He tried to think of other ways to drive Puck away, but nothing came to
mind that would actually fucking work.
Jack came to mind though. Alex squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a tight
ball. "Fuck no," he whispered to himself. He couldn't do that again.
Robin came to mind too, but then, Robin always did.
***** Puck: Believe Me *****
"That was really brave, Puck." Quinn brushed her hair behind her ear in a way
that made her look, adorable, nervous, and absolutely gorgeous all at once.
Puck didn't even need to know how she managed it just so long as he could
watch.
"Lots of things I do are brave because I'm fucking awesome, so what are we
talking about now?" He smiled. For once, Puck hadn't had to corner the head
cheerleader. She found him, pulled him aside, and said something nice about him
of her own will.
"When you told everyone what happened to you."
"Oh, uh, it wasn't that bad since mostly nothing happened to me."
Quinn put her hands on her hips and stared Puck down. "You were kidnapped. Your
life was threatened. You were stripped of your clothes. You were tied up. You
were sexually assaulted, even if it didn't make it all the way to becoming
rape. Based on what you've said, though, it would have if Banks hadn't had to
leave early. Oh, and since then, you've been stabbed. None of this seems like a
big deal to you?"
Puck shrugged. "I don't think of it the same way you said it." It made his skin
feel crawly the way she said it.
"Puck," the cheerio sighed. "Do you remember when you were sad Kurt was gone,
so you acted angry all the time?"
"Yeah, so what?" He tried not to glare at Quinn.
"So it never occurred to you that you have a remarkable ability to lie to
yourself?"
Puck scowled and tried not to fidget. He wanted to go find Kurt and argue about
something easy. "I don't—"
"You do. Puck, just because Kurt has been through so much more than anyone ever
should doesn't mean what happened to you can be brushed aside. You have been
hurt too." She stepped closer to the jock and rested a hand against his cheek.
When he flinched, Puck tried to turn it into stepping away. Based on her
expression, he doubted he had fooled Quinn though. "You talk like I should be
lying around whining about how bad I have it when Kurt is right there to show
me exactly how lucky I was," he growled. Kurt was at his therapist's office
now, but he hadn't meant it literally anyway.
"No, I talk like you're a brave man trying as hard as he can to help his friend
even though it means ignoring the help he should be getting for himself." She
took a deep breath. "You are doing so much for Kurt. I want you to know I'm
here for you too."
"Um. Thanks?"
She kind of glared at him, so that wasn't what the cheerio wanted Puck to say.
"Puck, you don't have to keep up a front with me anymore. Please let me in."
Fuck, how was he supposed to respond to that? "I can't think about what's
happened the way you do, Quinn. It would change how I look at Kurt, and we
can't afford that." Puck hadn't expected to say anything like that. He licked
his lips nervously.
The cheerleader looked sad. She moved in to hug Puck. Hell, maybe he'd said
what she wanted after all. "How do you think about it, Puck?"
He tried to shrug, but it was sort of awkward with Quinn's arms still around
him. "I guess like little pieces of what's happened to Kurt fell off and I
didn't quite dodge them all the way. Or something." Like they were no big deal
because he could never see them except compared to all the ways Kurt had been
hurt.
"I know Kurt probably hasn't thanked you for all you've done, but we can all
see it, Puck. We know how much you're doing for him, and thank you. Thank you
so much. You are the most amazing guy I've ever known. I mean it."
Great, Puck was fidgeting again. He couldn't help it. This sort of sentimental
thing was as far from anything he was good at as was probably possible.
Usually, he'd be good at taking compliments, but this was different. This meant
something more than that he was hot. Puck had never really tried to convince
anyone he was more than that. Hell, he hadn't tried now, but it happened
anyway.
Quinn looked up at him with a smug little smile. "Stop being so nervous and
just kiss me."
Now that he could manage. Puck ran the fingers of one hand through Quinn's
perfect, silky-soft hair and cupped her chin with the other. He pressed their
lips together lightly and deepened the kiss slowly as Quinn tightened her arms
around his neck.
When Quinn broke the kiss, she did it slowly. "I guess you should know," she
said, brushing her hair back into place as she licked her lips, "I think you're
worth absolutely anything, even a broken heart."
The warm pressure spreading through Puck's chest was unfamiliar to him. It
reminded him of how he'd felt when Beth was born. He blinked rapidly when the
feeling spread up his neck and behind his eyes because Noah Puckerman was not
about to cry.
Puck managed to smile instead. "I love you," he said even though he didn't
trust his voice all that much. It came out clearly anyway.
Quinn buried her face against his neck and held onto him tightly. "I love you
too."
"I won't brea—"
"Please don't, Puck, not now."
He frowned. It wasn't like he was lying. He wouldn't break her heart. And here
she was, saying she loved him and everything, but still fucking believing he
would hurt her. Puck buried a hand in Quinn's hair to keep her face pressed
lightly against his neck so that she couldn't see his expression. That would
only upset her more.
Then Puck smiled because he realized he had a chance to prove her wrong. He was
pretty sure Quinn had just finally agreed to let him be her boyfriend. If Puck
didn't cheat on her, or mistreat her, or pressure her, or make her feel like
crap, Quinn would have to change her mind. So, really, all he had to do was
love her. And ignore Santana, but he'd been doing that since a little while
before he ran off to find Kurt.
"Fine, not now," he said, dropping his hand and taking a small step back so he
could look Quinn in the eye. "But make sure you tell me when you do believe
me."
The cheerio's lips twitched just barely into the most beautiful not-smile Puck
had ever seen. He grinned and kissed her again.
***** Alex: Who You're Not *****
Chapter Notes
     Just please read the entire chapter before you rage-quit and call me
     a sick freak, okay?
Fine. If Puck refused to believe Alex wasn't Kurt anymore on his own, then the
countertenor would just have to make him. He had never stashed handcuffs or
rope in his closet, but the thing practically overflowed with scarves.
Different colored scarves, different shades of the same colored scarves, long
scarves, short scarves, thick scarves, lightweight scarves, designer scarves,
bargain scarves, and even great for tying people up scarves.
Alex tried to smile maliciously, but it came out as a frown. Still, he was
ready. He had two scarves, each with one end tied to a post on his headboard
and the other end loosely knotted the way Kitty and Rob had shown him, waiting
to be filled and tightened.
This was the last thing Alex knew how to do. It was the reason he denied Kurt
Hummel in favor of Alexander Hood. Puck didn't understand it. Soon, though, he
would. And then he would beg Alex to leave.
This time Alex didn't bother trying for a smirk. He scowled and piled his
pillows up to hide the scarves. The fingers of his right hand brushed against
his pocket, checking again for the knife Annette had brought him. He had no
plans to use it but wanted something dangerous on hand just in case. Maybe if
he was particularly unlucky—or was it the opposite?—Alex would awaken the
raging sociopath within Puck. He patted the knife. Just in case.
He lay back on the bed and tried to look bored.
When Finn came down instead of Puck, Alex worried he wouldn't get his chance
today.
"Hey, Kurt," the quarterback said with a goofy grin on his face, "I got your
homework. Rachel says it'll be easier for you to come back later if you can
keep track of what you're missing." He dropped some papers onto Alex's desk.
"I, uh, can't really do much about last semester, but you're like a thousand
times smarter than me, so you probably won't have that much trouble."
The taller teen didn't even have the decency to be annoyed that Alex on scowled
at him.
Finn shuffled his feet a moment before speaking again. "I know you don't want
to go back to McKinley, but it'll at least give you something to do while
you're down here, right? Anyway, I'll see you in a bit. Mom's making that crock
pot thing with the chicken, and she wants me to help chop veggies because Quinn
and Mike shouldn't have to do it every time." The jock waved as he left the
room, and Alex rolled his eyes.
Puck practically danced down the stairs once Finn left. Alex wondered briefly
if he had been waiting for the other boy.
"Why are you so… bouncy?" Alex made sure to look at Puck like the jock was an
absolute moron.
"Because, I still have a pretty blond girlfriend who I am completely in love
with." He danced over to the bed and dropped himself, grinning like a maniac,
down next to Alex.
"Well, stop. It's annoying."
"What's this? Could poor Kurt be… jealous? Well, dude, it's your own fault for
not trying to woo Quinn yourself. Though I," he jabbed himself in the chest
with his thumb, "probably still would've had an advantage as the father of her
child."
"That'd be a detractor, actually. She'd have kept the kid if she wanted to
raise her with you." Alex crossed his arms over his chest but scooted over to
make room for Puck.
"Psha!" Puck waved his hand as though brushing aside Alex's comment. "She gave
Beth up because she was sixteen, not because of me."
"Another detractor: the guy who got her pregnant when she was only sixteen."
Alex raised an eyebrow.
"Whatever, we're still dating now anyway. You're in a mood today, aren't you?
Again, I mean." He leaned back against the headboard.
"Only every time I see you, Puck. And I'm pretty sure making out with Quinn
actually makes you reverse mature because you're acting like a kid."
"Or," Puck jutted his chin forward, "I'm just happy."
"So happiness is detrimental to your emotional and mental maturity. Wonderful."
"Dude, don't be a dick." Puck smiled as he said it though, and shifted to lie
down beside Kurt. "Are we finding shapes in the ceiling texture stuff? Because
that one looks like a ducky."
Alex sighed because Puck was an idiot. He turned toward the other teen. "Give
me your hand." He had debated through most of the day how best to restrain Puck
given that the other boy was stronger than he. Then he realized he could trick
Puck into helping him.
"Why? Is it a gay thing?"
"You're a gay thing. Hand."
Puck rolled his eyes but placed his hand in Alex's. The countertenor pulled the
other teen's arm up and tightened the knot around his wrist before Puck could
realize what was happening.
"What the fuck, Kurt?" Puck struggled, but Alex had planned for that.
He straddled the jock's chest and used his body weight to force Puck's other
hand toward the second knot. Once he had the second arm secure, Alex slid back
to sit between Puck's legs.
"Is this like payback for being into bondage after knowing you were tied up?
'Cause I already said it's different."
Alex laughed. "That's what Robbie asked when I had him in this position too: if
it was payback."
Puck growled, "Fine, whatever, I don't fucking care. So what the hell isit?"
"Understanding. That's what you want, isn't it? Why you studied Robbie so
hard?" He pushed Puck's shirt up until in bunched against his armpits and slid
his hands back down along the jock's torso until it reached the waistband of
his jeans.
"Kurt, just untie me." He looked more annoyed than frightened. Alex could
remedy that.
The countertenor leaned forward and licked one of Puck's nipples before taking
it lightly between his teeth. The larger teen writhed beneath him, trying to
squirm away. Alex flinched back. Fuck, he couldn't do it. He had to do it. He
focused on breathing slowly to calm himself.
"Are we back on your proving yourself evil stint because, Kurt, you aren't. So
we can quit now while we're ahead."
"I am not Kurt," Alex growled.
"Yes, you little shit, you are! Who you're not is Alex."
"You don't fucking know what you're talking about, Puckerman. You don't know
me." Alex stilled the trembling in his hands by pressing them firmly against
Puck's abs.
"I know you think you're a rapist and a murderer, but you're not. None of that
was your fault."
He knew? No, not completely. Not everything. Not enough. Alex sneered, "You can
say that because you don't know the whole story."
"So tell it to me. I'm not exactly going anywhere." Puck shook his arms as if
to prove he was restrained.
Alex hesitated. "You'll just twist it around to tell the story you want. I want
you to let me leave, not to convince me I don't need to."
"Bullshit."
That brought Alex up short. Bullshit? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
He stared at Puck until the other boy continued.
"If you really wanted to leave, you'd be long gone."
"I-I made a deal with you. I have to prove—"
"No, Kurt, that's not how it works. You made the deal because you wantedto come
back. You could have refused. You could have stayed with Meg or forced me to
carry you home. But you let me talk you into it." Puck had stopped struggling.
The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice made Alex feel like the one tied
up.
"It's not like I'm staying. I'll leave as soon as you let me." He rubbed his
hands together mostly to prove to himself that he could.
"I'm not keeping you here. Burt's not even keeping you here. He installed that
lock but has never once used it. You know that, right? That he wants you to
think you need to stay but could never bring himself to force you, not after
what you've already been through. You keep yourself here, Kurt. You could walk
out that door and find your way out of Lima as easily as I could. Hell, some of
us would probably welcome it because at least you wouldn't be holed up in here
any longer." Puck's voice rose, but he stopped it short of yelling.
"I'll leave then. I don't deserve to stay here." Alex couldn't look the other
teen in the eye. He knew that was stupid, but he let his gaze linger on Puck's
neck instead.
"You don't get to decide that. Everyone's upstairs, you know. They're always
upstairs. All they do is wait for the day when you come out of here and join
them. Because we—your family and friends—we're the ones who get to decide what
you deserve."
Alex scowled. "No, you don't. Because you don't understand." His fingers found
the button of Puck's jeans and tore at it until it came unclasped. Then he
jerked down the zipper and yanked the pants off of Puck's legs. As he tossed
them to the floor, Alex said, "And once you do understand, you'll agree with
me."
"Then tell me, Kurt, what is it I don't understand?"
"That you should stop fucking calling me that." He grabbed and twisted Puck's
nipple hard enough that the jock let out something between a whine and a
whimper. "That it is my fault." Alex licked his lips and ran a finger along the
contours of Puck's chest, trying to distract himself by admiring just how
fucking hot the other boy was. Eventually he sat back and dropped his hands
into his lap. "His name was Jack."
Puck didn't respond, but his eyes stayed on Alex.
"He was a shitnosed jackass from what I could tell, but he still didn't
deserved it. I… I had seen Robin rape people before. Well, seen him rape
Annette." Alex paused to reign in his voice. Then he licked his lips and
continued, "Robbie was going to kill me. He'd been working me up to this,
apparently, and if I couldn't do it, I wasn't worth any more of his time."
"That doesn't sound like he gave you a choice, Kurt."
"I let him put his hands on me. I liked his hands on me. The rest was pretty
much a guaranteed turn-off, but I still let him pump my cock until it was hard
enough to press into an innocent guy's asshole against his will. I even fucking
helped. And I was glad he kept his hands on me because I'd never have gotten it
up otherwise."
"Which is all fucked up and depressing as shit, but not your fault."
"Afterward, Robbie told me to kill Jack. I tried to convince him to let Jack
go, but Rob put the knife in my hand and shoved it into Jack's neck."
Puck frowned but smoothed his features quickly. "That's not your fault either."
"It didn't kill him. I told Robin to finish it because Jack would have just
suffered until he died anyway because no one could have found him."
"Which is something the sane among us like to call mercy."
Alex smirked. "You didn't say it wasn't my fault."
"Well, since it wasn't, you still can't take credit. Banks injured the guy bad
enough to eventually kill him, and Banks made sure it happened in a place where
no one would find Jack until long after he'd died. So he forced your hand,
which means, my fuckbrained little friend, that it wasn't your fault." Puck
actually looked smug.
"Then I killed Robbie and Kitty too."
Puck's shoulders jerked in what probably would have been a shrug if he weren't
tied up. "You had to. They'd have just found a way to hunt you down and either
kill you or kidnap you again if you hadn't."
Alex frowned. He had known Puck would twist things around this way, making it
seem like Alex was entirely innocent.
"I didn't have to use the knife like I did. I could have shot them both."
"You wanted to scare us off, right? Convince us from afar that you aren't worth
saving anymore." He waited just long enough for Alex to stare at him in shock
for a moment. "What? Did you expect it to work?"
"It's still my fault though, isn't it?"
"No. The asshole deserved that and more, so I'd be on board even if it were
your fault, but no. You did what you thought you had to based on all the ways
he'd already fucked you up. It's still Banks' fault you weren't thinking
straight. This," he shook his arms again, "I call his fault too because the
only reason you're so messed up is that freak."
Alex scowled and jerked Puck's boxers down to the jock's knees. He pressed his
hand along the inside of Puck's thigh. "Is this his fault too?" His breath came
in sharp gasps.
"I'll go with yes. So stop it." Puck had started struggling again.
Alex twitched his mouth into something like a smirk. "It freaks you out though,
doesn't it?" He pressed his body along Puck's, sliding a knee between the
jock's legs.
"Kurt, we've been here before. Or something similar. Just untie me and give me
my pants back, okay. Because seriously, dude, this is fucked up."
"Which is the point I've been trying to make. It's fucked up, Puck, because
I'mfucked up." Alex slid his hand slowly up Puck's leg.
When Puck replied, his voice sounded strained. "I never said you weren't."
Alex bit his lip. He knew it wouldn't really be hard to press a finger into the
other teen. Not physically. But his hand stopped three quarters of the way up
Puck's thigh. Alex's whole body trembled. He couldn't do it. Puck wouldn't
understand unless he did it. He had to. He couldn't.
"You know I love you like you're my brother, Kurt."
Only after Puck spoke did it even occur to the countertenor that if he couldn't
do it, then maybe it wasn't Puck's logic that needed work. The countertenor had
missed something somewhere because this should have been easy after what he did
to Jack and Robbie.
Except no one was making him and Puck had never hurt him enough to warrant
this.
He pulled his hand away from Puck's thigh to untie the scarves holding the jock
to the bed. Then the countertenor moved to the foot of the bed and curled up
with his chin on his knees and his arms around his legs while Puck pulled his
pants back on. He wondered if he would ever stop sleeping with his arms above
his head, and if he would ever meet someone else who accepted him as fully as
Puck did. If he deserved to. But maybe parts of him still did.
***** Puck: You Deserve the Chance *****
Puck sat on the bed beside Kurt and put an arm around the smaller boy. Kurt
flinched but then leaned into the embrace.
"What you just did to me was some fucked up shit, Kurt. But you know I forgive
you."
Kurt trembled, and Puck held him tighter. "You don't really think it wasn't my
fault, do you?"
"If I say no are you going to tie me up again?" Puck meant it as a joke, but
Kurt shook his head as though it had been a serious question. "In that case,
it's a little bit your fault. Doesn't matter though. I forgive you either way."
Puck would never admit it, but he hadn't known in the end if Kurt would go
through with it. Until this, he'd even thought Kurt was getting better, but… He
would have pissed his pants except that he hadn't been wearing any at the time
and Kurt would definitely have noticed that.
"How?"
"What do you mean 'how'? You're my boy, and I knew you were messed up before I
came down here. I mean, you already stabbed me, and I still came back."
Kurt flinched. Fuck, maybe Puck shouldn't have brought that up. "I, um, I am
sorry, Puck. I just, I don't even know. If I could take it back, I would."
"Dude, I know."
"But why do you come back? Why don't you hate me after what I've done to you?"
"Because I don't think what you do right now limits the person you can become
once you realize you deserve the chance." He rubbed at the stubble of hair
around his mohawk. What he'd said was fucking cheesy, but it seemed like the
right thing to tell Kurt right now. And it was true, so that helped
"If you ever realize you've been in denial and are totally into other guys, I
won't make fun of you for realizing it late or compare you to Robin again."
Oh shit. Not good. "Kurt, I, um…" Fuck, just not good.
"Relax, Puck. I know. You're straight, dating Quinn, and love me like a
brother. I know. I… I guess I don't really know, I just said it."
"Oh. Um. Okay."
"Don't be such a dipshit, Puck. It doesn't change anything."
Puck licked his lips nervously. "I thought you didn't like me."
Kurt sort of shrugged, but the weight of Puck's arm kept his shoulders from
rising smoothly. "That can change. It probably will again once I remember why I
never liked you before."
Puck found his bravado and brought it out because, like Kurt said, nothing had
really changed. "It's probably from staring at my cock too long, man. It's sort
of unavoidable when you're as hot and hung as I am."
Kurt chuckled. It sounded nice. "Not that hung, Puckerman."
"Hey! Plenty hung for—"
Kurt laughed again and patted him on the cheek. "Calm down. I don't think we
need to have an argument about your junk."
"Good point." Puck paused. "You wanna come upstairs with me?"
Kurt hesitated and licked his lips. His eyes darted around the room until
eventually they landed back on Puck's face. "No, but I will."
"Close enough." He took Kurt by the hand and led him out to the living room
where everyone sat while some cartoon played on the TV.
No one was really watching, except Brittany, and Finn waved at Kurt and Puck,
grinning like the dopiest idiot in the world. Rachel and Mercedes moved off the
couch and all but forced Kurt and Puck to sit in their places.
"So," Finn said after a moment, "what's up."
Kurt just squeezed Puck's hand and leaned in closer to him, so the jock
answered, "Nothing. His room just gets boring, you know, it looks the same
every time I go down there. He could at least make a mess for me to look at,
seriously." He mock frowned, and it turned into a grin when Kurt smiled just a
little.
"You're a fucking idiot," the countertenor said, but he was still smiling.
"Since you've taken up professional hand-holding," Quinn said, motioning to
where Puck and Kurt's fingers were still interlaced in the smaller teen's lap,
"Do you think I could have a try with the other hand?" She squeezed into the
space between Puck and the arm of the couch.
"Well, that depends entirely on how much you're willing to pay. I do accept
kisses in place of cash." Puck smirked.
"In that case…" Quinn leaned forward to press her lips briefly against his as
she slid her fingers between his.
"I think you two are making me nauseous," Kurt said.
Fuck. Puck needed something clever to say. Something that didn't sound like,
'Kurt, I'm not your fucking boyfriend.' He frowned. "If you wanted to kiss
Quinn, you should have offered to hold her hand instead of me. Seriously, dude,
get with the program here."
Quinn laughed airily. Kurt didn't. Puck would have groaned except then he'd
have to explain that.
"So you guys just came upstairs for the heck of it? No reason?" Artie asked.
Puck nodded and grinned because yeah, Kurt hadn't come out of his room for no
reason since getting home. When Kurt frowned suddenly, Puck worried they'd be
running back downstairs to hide away again.
"I never thought to ask what Pierce's sentence was," the countertenor said and
bit his lower lip.
"Dude, he got life. The hostage he shot died on the way to the hospital, so
they got him for murder on top of everything else." Puck had checked to make
sure the jerk-off could never come after Kurt again.
"Oh. That's nice." Kurt brushed his bangs back and brought his hand back down
to rest on Puck's forearm.
"You are so fucking weird."
"Puck!" Finn nearly shouted the name. "Don't talk to him like that."
"What? And lie to him? Kurt likes my honesty. Probably. Right, Kurt?"
"All I can say is that you are such a fucking moron. Which I guess is a yes."
Kurt managed to look smug without smiling.
Puck realized Kurt had been wrong when he said nothing had changed. Kurt still
acted pretty much the same, but it was different knowing the countertenor did
it because he wanted to than because he thought it would freak Puck out. It
made him sort of nervous because if Kurt liked him like that, then he could
break Kurt's heart by accident. But Kurt wasn't stupid, right? He knew Puck was
straight. He'd even said he knew.
But he still told Puck, so maybe he had hoped Puck knowing would change
something. Would make Puck discover some unknown feelings for Kurt. And fuck,
Quinn was saying his name, and Puck had no idea why.
"Huh?"
"Eloquent, Puck, really." She smiled in a way that said she thought he was cute
even as he annoyed her. Puck could handle that. "I asked how you convinced Kurt
to join us tonight."
"And I said you probably bribed him," Santana glowered at the three teens on
the couch, but she had still come.
"And Artie told me it probably wasn't with sexual favors because that would be
weird for both of you," Brittany added.
Kurt buried his face against Puck's arm as Brittany spoke. And, God, Kurt would
probably be on board to trade kisses for socializing. Puck did groan this time.
"Guys, I just waited around till he was ready on his own. Then I asked him to
come up here with me." That was even sort of true. "I may also have said
something sappy, but I blocked it from my memory."
Kurt giggled, and oh hell, if everyone there didn't know how bad he was after
Puckzilla after that, they were more lost than Brittany and Finn in a library
where everyone spoke whatever the German version of pig latin was. And, yeah,
Quinn was giving them a look. And fuck, what if she thought he was cheating on
her with a dude? With a scarred and traumatized dude who couldn't really handle
a relationship right now.
"You're such a modest bitch. I'm pretty sure he channeled the lovechild of
Barney and Mr. Schuester's hair. And I think he learned it from the hopelessly
drunk phase I've heard he went through," Kurt said. Puck wasn't sure if that
would help or hurt his chances of not having everyone think he and Kurt were
secretly dating behind Quinn's back.
"But… I'm not purple or curly."
Kurt smirked. "You are stupid. That's close enough. And terribly cute, I'm
sure." He rolled his eyes but squeezed Puck's hand.
"Hey, not that dumb. Found your skinny ass, didn't I?"
"Boys," Quinn interrupted. "You can stop flirting. Or trying to convince us
you're not flirting, whichever that was supposed to be."
Puck let his head fall back against the coach as Kurt snuggled up to him. How
was this fair? When Quinn cuddled up to his other side and planted a soft kiss
against his neck, Puck decided maybe it was a little bit fair.
***** Kurt *****
Kurt. It was a short name. A curt name if he was feeling punny. It wasn't a
very pretty name, but neither was Alex, really. Still, something had made his
parents choose Kurt. He couldn't remember if they had ever told him, though
they must have, probably sometime before his mother died.
Kurt sounded a lot like his father's name. Snip the top and bottom connectors
of Burt's B so the arms waved free and it became a K. Burt became Kurt. He
wondered if his father had ever noticed.
Kurt was the name of one of the boys in the Sound of Music. The countertenor
had always felt he shared a secret bond with Kurt von Trapp because they had
the same name. He knew his mother must have noticed that. He could remember
singing "My Favorite Things" with her when he was sad, though he had no idea
now what had upset him.
Could he just go back to that? Switch names and be okay again? Be the person
everyone here wanted him to be again? If it were so simple, he thought he'd
have done it by now. He'd have cast Alex from him and smashed his twisted
fucking face in by now. He buried his face in Puck's bicep to hide the way he
bared his teeth at himself. It seemed strange to realize so late just how much
he hated Alex.
Just how much he hated himself.
The countertenor licked his lips. Some part of him knew he had already decided,
but it was different to admit it. He opened his mouth to force the words out,
and a silence formed around them. "You all can call me Kurt again. It's not
like I ever got you to stop in the first place."
After a moment, Puck grinned and hugged him. Kurt—the name felt strange, like
an old coat that had sat bunched on the floor so long it lost its shape—snaked
an arm around Puck's waist and held on until Puck pulled back.
Changing names was supposed to make a difference, make him feel different. That
was the point of becoming Alex: that he was different from Kurt. The name was
supposed to matter. Kurt felt exactly as Alex had five minutes ago. Well, maybe
the beaming faces surrounding him left Kurt just a little more bitter.
Finn had left the room, and he returned with Burt. Both of them smiled, and
Kurt noticed tears at the corners of his father's eyes. Clearly, they were as
confused as he. They thought the name meant something too. Kurt wrapped his
arms around himself and stared at the floor as Burt sat down beside him.
"Kurt, I…" Burt never finished the sentence. He threw his arms around Kurt
instead, pulling him into a tight hug and rocking back and forth with his son.
"It's not as big a deal as that," Kurt said, trying, and failing, to pull
himself away from Burt.
"Are you kidding? My boy comes home and refuses to even go by his own name; I
call it a big deal when he says the name I gave him is worth something again."
"I never thought it—that's not why I changed it."
Burt ruffled Kurt's hair. "I know, son. I just… I'm happy is all. I feel like
you came the rest of the way home, like I've still been waiting for you even
since New Year's."
Kurt bit back a bitter laugh. If that was what Burt wanted, then he'd still be
waiting for a while yet, maybe forever. He said only, "But nothing changed. I'm
still the same."
"Bullshit," Puck said, elbowing Kurt in the ribs. Oh, sure, Puck hadn't called
him on it when Kurt lied that his feelings for the jock changed nothing, but
now, when the countertenor actually meant it, Puck protested. Kurt rolled his
eyes.
"No, he's right, Kurt. Maybe you don't feel much different, but you made a
decision tonight. You decided who you want to be, even if it's not who you feel
like you are now." Burt stared his son in the eye as he spoke. Somehow, Kurt
had convinced himself that his father didn't understand anything about him.
But, really, Kurt just hadn't been paying attention. He hadn't wanted to.
Then Burt pulled the boy into another crushing hug. This time Kurt pushed away
a little too hard. "I can't breathe like that," he muttered in answer to the
hurt look on his dad's face. He settled himself back against the couch so that
his shoulder and knee brushed against Puck's. Kurt couldn't tell if the jock
noticed. Burt sat for a moment but ran off to the kitchen when the fire alarm
began blaring. The others laughed it off, so Kurt guessed his father had been
cooking something.
"So, um, Kurt, do you want to tell us why you changed your name?" Rachel's gaze
focused on Kurt's hands instead of his eyes.
"No." He frowned.
"Oh."
"What?" he asked, "Did you think I would suddenly be all better and share all
my troubles with you so the world could turn to sunshine and unicorn vomit?
Because, really Rachel, not so much. I still don't think anything that happened
to me is any of your business." He scowled and tried not to wince at the hurt
look on Rachel's face.
"No, Kurt, I… I just—"
"You what? Thought you could help me? Make me all fucking better? Let me guess,
you'd do it through song."
Puck grabbed Kurt by the arm. "Dude, chill the fuck out."
"No. I'm not a magic eight ball they can just ask questions of whenever they
want!" Not when he couldn't afford to answer the questions. One or two might
seem harmless enough, but eventually someone would ask him 'What did you do?'
and he would fall apart. If they knew, they would hate him even more than he
hated himself.
Fuck, his hands were shaking.
And it was true: he hadn't changed since retaking his old name. Everything that
he'd convinced himself had happened to Alex, had happened to Kurt. Everything
he pretended Alex had done, Kurt had done. Kurt had raped Jack. Kurt had
murdered Jack. Kurt had robbed a bank. Kurt had let people be killed. Kurt had
put a bullet through Kitty's brain. Kurt had rammed a blade up Robin's ass.
Kurt had carved his own name into Rob's chest. And then Kurt had slit the
motherfucker's throat. Kurt had almost raped Puck. Twice.
Not Alex. Kurt.
What the hell was the point of using different names if he was always stuck as
the same person? Why couldn't he shed his identity by swapping out a few
letters and sounds the way he did shoes? Better yet, why couldn't he just
forget everything that had happened since October? And why did Puck, who knew
more than anyone else of what Kurt had done, who more than anyone else had been
hurt by Kurt, wrap his arms around the countertenor and tell him it would all
be alright?
Kurt trembled in Puck's arms and cried against the other teen's shoulder even
though he didn't want anyone to see him fall apart.
***** Finn: A Good Brother *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Finn wasn't a good brother. He had tried. He brought Kurt his homework after
school every day and warm milk every evening. He drew baths for Kurt and took
his food downstairs when Kurt didn't feel up to joining the others. Finn, not
Burt or Carol, kept in contact with all of Kurt's teachers and Principal
Figgins. He just wanted everything to be okay for Kurt, for Kurt to have a
place to come back to once he was able.
All Puck did was lie around on Kurt's bed and tell Kurt how fucked up he was.
And, somehow, Puck was better for Kurt than Finn could ever be. Maybe it was
because Puck had been taken too and sort of almost knew what had happened to
the countertenor. Finn couldn't bring himself to ask or to admit he cared. What
it came down to was that Kurt didn't need Finn, didn't even want most of the
things Finn did for him.
Kurt took his name back because of Puck. Not Finn.
Finn was up watching the Powerpuff Girls with Brittany when Puck convinced Kurt
to leave his room and be himself again. Because Finn was useless. He was worse
than useless, but he could never remember the right words for it. Someday, Finn
knew, he would try to do too much and Kurt would finally remind him of the
words. He would scream them in the quarterback's face and tell him to get the
fuck out but send Puck in after he left. Because only Puck could be good for
Kurt. Only Puck did what Kurt needed him to. Finn tried sometimes not to be
jealous of Puck. It hadn't worked yet.
He chewed on the already ragged end of his pencil and wished he could just go
home. Not that he knew what he'd do once he got there. Hand Kurt some papers,
say something stupid, and wander up to play some old Sonic the Hedgehog games
with Mike, probably. Nothing worth doing.
The bell rang, but Finn still didn't leave. He had to pick up a copy of today's
quiz to take home to Kurt. Then he had glee club, and after that he had to stop
by the grocery store for milk and some other things he couldn't pronounce but
Kurt had written down for him. The teacher ran his usual crap about worrying
how useful a pop quiz could be to Kurt if he could just open a textbook and
copy out the answers, but Finn grinned and promised to have one of their
parents supervise Kurt while he took it. It didn't even bother Finn anymore
that that was a lie.
During glee, he smiled and sang a sappy duet with Rachel. No one said anything
when he missed a note or two, and Mr. Schue didn't get on to him for having
more trouble with the choreography than usual when they practiced their next
group number during the second half of the club meeting. Rachel kept looking at
him funny though.
"Finn, wait," Rachel called before the jock could bolt from the choir room
after practice. "You seem... distracted. Is everything okay?"
He gave her the crooked smile he knew she liked. "Everything's fine. I gotta
stop by the store before going home, so I should—"
"You know I love you Finn, but you are a terrible liar. Now tell me what's
bothering you." The diva took her boyfriend's hand in hers. "And don't say it's
nothing. You should be happier than anyone now that Kurt's finally started
doing better, but you actually seem more upset than before."
"He's not doing any differently." Finn avoided looking Rachel in the eye.
"But he started going by his real name again. That has to make some kind of a
difference. Why would he have done it if he were just going to continue acting
the same? And he does sit with us a little more than he used to."
That was true enough, but Rachel wasn't around most of the time. She couldn't
be. Finn was the only one who listened to Kurt's screams at night, the only one
who gave up hours of sleep to make Kurt feel safe enough to close his eyes
again. Even Burt didn't know how many nightmares his son still had because Finn
always tried to wake Kurt before he could wake anyone else.
"So? That's all we've got. A name and a little face time. He hurts just as much
as before." And Finn couldn't help.
Rachel hugged him then, but the jock pulled away and left her in the hallway.
He had to get home soon or he wouldn't get the ingredients to Kurt in time for
him to make dinner. Kurt had actually seemed sort of excited about cooking
again, so Finn didn't want to let him down.
He rushed through the store hoping he got all the right stuff because he'd
never even heard of most of it. When he made it home, Kurt was already in the
kitchen.
"Finally," he sighed. "Did you stop to watch a fucking parade?" The
countertenor unpacked the groceries, frowning at a few of the packages, but he
didn't say anything about them. "I can handle the rest, Finn."
The jock nodded. "I'll, uh, leave your school stuff on your desk."
"Sure. Whatever."
Finn tramped into the basement. Papers already cluttered Kurt's desk, so the
quarterback just added to the pile of schoolwork he'd left already. Since he
had no idea what else to do, he wandered back upstairs to find Mercedes, Sam,
and Rachel chatting in the living room. He wondered if the couch was going to
smell like perfume all night again.
"Hey, guys, what's up?" He dropped himself into the recliner.
"Apparently we're food testers," Sam said. "Kurt wants the food to actually be
good when you all eat it, so we get to try the off stuff until he gets it
right."
"I'm not complaining," Mercedes added. "Imperfect or not, it's still amazing.
That boy can cook."
"Don't worry though, we'll be out of the way before dinner since it's family-
only tonight." Rachel smiled reassuringly.
"Uh, thanks?" Finn would have said more if he knew what words would fit.
Instead, he dropped his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. He
wished he had his own room so he could take a nap.
"So, I think you and I should accompany the group number for next week's
assembly with a duet. I was thinking 'People Will Say We're In Love' from
Oklahoma, or if you think that's too slow—"
"Rache, I don't even know what that is. But we sang together at the last
assembly. Maybe we should switch it up and let someone else have a turn." Finn
rubbed his eyes. He was too tired to learn another duet.
"I hear that!" Mercedes broke in before Rachel could say anything. "I volunteer
myself."
Sam laughed, and Mercedes volunteered him too. Rachel convinced them to sing
whatever it was she had just suggested she and Finn sing, rather than giving up
control completely. Finn tuned them out and wondered how long it would take to
finish his math homework because he did not want to start it yet.
A clatter startled Finn, and he opened his eyes to find Kurt pointing at a
platter he had just tossed onto the coffee table. "These are all lopsided. Eat
them. Not you, Finn. I want you to eat later."
The jock shrugged and settled back into his chair as Kurt left the room. He
must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, Kurt was shaking him
awake.
"Come on, frankenteen, we're getting tired of waiting on you."
"Sorry, Kurt," he smiled sheepishly and wiped some drool from the corner of his
mouth before following Kurt to the dining table.
"Did you have a good nap?" Carol asked. She was smiling.
"I guess." Finn scratched at the back of his neck and took his seat. "I don't
even remember falling asleep."
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Is that surprising to you?"
"Not really." Finn didn't recognize anything on his plate, but he figured it
was all bound to be good. He poked at a rounded brown thing before popping it
into his mouth. It tasted... herby. Finn ate a few more as Kurt began
explaining the meal. He understood about every third word out of his brother's
mouth but hadn't exactly expected to do any better.
It took maybe a minute for Finn to finish the rest of his meal. There was
little else to do, so he sat and listened to his mom and Kurt talk about food.
When Kurt had finished, he rinsed his plate and went back to his room. Finn
washed the calphalon pots and pans that couldn't go in the dishwasher before
going to the living room. Burt and Carol were watching a movie, so the jock
just grabbed his backpack and went to work on his homework in the dining room,
already dreading having to figure out how logarithms were supposed to work. At
least his class got the simpler ones. When Artie had shown Finn what the AP
class was doing, his brain exploded a little.
About half an hour and two problems into his math work later, Kurt's voice
interrupted him. "Hey, Finn. What's this one?" The countertenor held up the
quiz.
"We had a pop quiz today. You're supposed to pretend you don't have your stuff
right there like it's a real quiz or something. It was dumb. You should be
fine." He smiled and hoped it looked encouraging.
Kurt shrugged and went back downstairs.
After a couple hours, Finn decided he'd done about as much math as his brain
could handle and went to warm some milk for Kurt. He didn't know exactly why
Kurt loved warm milk so much, but it didn't matter so much because at least it
sort of made him happy. Kurt usually smiled while he drank his milk.
"What do you want now?" Kurt snapped when Finn came down the stairs into the
basement.
"Dude, chill. Just bringing you a drink."
Kurt shook his head and almost-smiled. "Sorry, Finn. Thanks for the milk." Once
he took a drink, Kurt actually smiled. "It's delicious."
Finn grinned.
He sat on the edge of Kurt's bed and motioned to the papers scattered
everywhere. "What's all this?"
Kurt groaned and rolled onto his back without spilling any milk. "Notes for
that stupid personal essay whatshisname the dumbass English teacher with the
bucktooth assigned. I'm trying to figure out how to write something that isn't
rated NC-17 and overflowing with the word fuck."
"I could probably just get you out of that one if you want," Finn offered.
"Oh, yes, I do so want. Just tell him I started trying to outline it and
flipped my shit. I've been rocking in a corner muttering about my own mental
state for days. Tell him I haven't even changed my clothes in that time, and
I'm wearing a t-shirt and bunny slippers.That should make it more convincing."
Finn couldn't quite read his brother's expression. It was somewhere between
amused and bitchy.
"I don't think he'd get what that means. I'll tell him you're wearing a meat
dress instead."
"I hear it's a jerky dress now."
"What?"
"Never mind, Finn. I'm tired, so I think I'll just go to bed now."
Finn nodded. "Okay, I'll see you in the morning." He smiled and took Kurt's
empty glass upstairs to load into the dishwasher.
Burt and Carol had left the living room, so Finn pulled his bedding out of the
coat closet and set it out on the couch. He turned out all the lights and
settled down to sleep, reminding himself to talk to Kurt's English teacher
about the essay at school the next day. It wouldn't be hard to convince the guy
that personal something-specing or whatever would be painful for someone who
had been through what Kurt had. That's what psychiatrists were for, not essays.
Finn fell asleep hoping he'd manage not to wake up until morning but still
doubting it.
Chapter End Notes
     That word is "introspection," btw.
     I finally understand why RIB does such a poor job of highlighting all
     the characters of Glee. Ensemble casts are ridiculous. That's why.
     T_T So just because you haven't directly seen anything doesn't mean
     it can't have been happening all along. And don't let mopey!Finn
     convince you Burt isn't doing everything he can to help Kurt either.
***** Kurt: It's Okay to be Scared *****
Chapter Notes
     Guys, guys, there's a song in this chapter! The last time that
     happened was ch.36. This one is "Name" by the Goo Goo Dolls. Croatan
     (on ffnet) suggested it to me, and it was perfect. I bought it from
     iTunes and kept stopping to sing along instead of writing. Thank you,
     Croatan!
Kurt had noticed that his father came home from work early or went in late more
than should have been okay, strictly speaking. Either way, he always drove home
to spend his lunch break with Kurt too.
"You're not eating your, uh…" Burt waved his hand to indicate Kurt's hardly-
touched meal.
"I've told you three times it's called tarator." Kurt sighed.
"Well, whatever you just said it is, you should be eating it because it's damn
good." Burt had already finished his own bowl of tarator. Honestly, Kurt had no
idea if Burt actually liked it or just said he did because Kurt had made it.
When he thought about it, the countertenor missed cooking things his father
couldn't pronounce the name of. Carol had been doing most of the cooking since
between the two of them, Burt and Finn could make grilled cheese and chili
dogs. Kurt thought maybe he should start cooking more often, but there were
usually just so many people upstairs… Even if he did go up occasionally,
usually with Puck, Kurt felt safer down in his basement. It didn't get so
crowded.
"Kurt, there's something I've been meaning to ask you about, but it never
seemed like you were… ready I guess." Burt tried to dab lightly at his mouth
the way Kurt had shown him but came off looking silly rather than naturally
dignified.
"What?"
"Well, you know Finn's been sleeping on the couch for a while now, and I think
it's getting to him. I saw him talking back to the TV the other day. About fish
sticks." Burt chuckled, but then his face grew serious. "I'd like to have
someplace where everyone can have their own room, and maybe a larger living
room so all your friends actually fit in it."
"Oh."
"We won't move if you say no. I'm not about to make you do anything you're not
ready for." Burt laid a strong hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed just
enough to say something like 'I'm here for you.'
Kurt shrugged away from the hand and covered it up by shoveling tarator into
his mouth. He avoided looking at his father.
"You just take your time and answer me when you've had a chance to think about
it."
Kurt nodded. "You should get back to work before someone takes over your job."
It took a moment for Burt to respond. "I'll see you later, kid." He hugged Kurt
lightly before grabbing his jacket and leaving.
Kurt dumped his tarator down the drain and went to his room. It was quiet. No
one would be home for a few hours yet. Honestly, Kurt was just glad everyone
felt okay leaving him home alone now. He was getting sick of always having
people around, and the days Burt or Carol had taken him to work with them had
been even worse.
With all the time Kurt spent in his room, Kurt had gotten damn good at doing
nothing. He lay back on his bed with his arms around his head and stared at the
ceiling. It was much the same as how he spent any other day, but today he felt
antsy. He wanted to move. He wanted to run and dance but didn't want to leave
the house. Well, he had a large bedroom. He would just have to take advantage
of it.
He dug through his closet for some good dance music and loaded up his CD player
with the volume up all the way. Dancing came easily enough still. Kurt had
almost worried it wouldn't. He hadn't danced in so long. This was... good. It
was even a little fun. He wasn't used to having fun.
Oh, wonderful, and now he was depressed. And that made him angry. Kurt stopped
dancing. He wanted to punch something. Or slash it. Instead, he started working
on some of the exercises Kitty had shown him sometime before he murdered her.
They weren't fun because they weren't like dancing. But they were strangely
relaxing. Kurt let everything fall from his thoughts and focused only on his
movements.
When he finally stopped, panting for breath and covered in sweat, Kurt decided
maybe this was something he should do more often. It was... nice. Mostly
because it was empty, and everything else in his life just seemed so full,
whether of good or bad. He left the music blaring and went to shower.
Now when Kurt showered, he always had the luxury of letting the water warm
before he got in. He had a soft shower puff and six different body washes. He
chose one that smelled like roses. It was actually called 'Overgrown Archway,'
but it smelled exactly like roses. When Kurt stepped out of the shower, he
grabbed a fresh towel and wrapped it around his waist after rolling his eyes at
himself for leaving his robe in his bedroom downstairs. Not like anyone else
was home anyway.
He hummed absently while making his way to his room. It felt weird to have his
skin bare. He was so used to keeping every inch of it covered now. Then, almost
before he realized he had heard a sound, Kurt tensed and spun to face it.
"Kurt . I forgot my... um..."
It was Burt. His dad. His dad was here. His dad could see his scars. Kurt
yelped and dashed back to the restroom. He locked the door behind him and
collapsed against it. He wished he believed in God so he could pray that he had
just imagined Burt there.
A knock came on the door. "Kurt, are you okay in there?"
"Go away!" He swallowed a sob. Fuck, why was he crying?
"It's okay, son. It's okay." His voice trembled. Kurt thought it shouldn't
have. Burt was steady. His voice wasn't supposed to tremble.
Kurt was shaking. "Go away! Go away! Go away!" This time he shrieked it at the
top of his lungs again and again until his throat was raw.
Burt stayed. The countertenor heard him press his back against the door so he
was sitting almost back-to-back with his son. "I'm not just saying that, Kurt.
It's okay. I mean it. You don't have to hide from me."
Kurt stared at his hands and whispered, "I have to hide from everyone."
"I am so sorry I haven't done enough to make you feel right being open with me.
But you can, Kurt. It's okay. And anything you'd rather I didn't know, you know
you have Carol and Finn and that crazy Puck kid and all your other friends.
Maybe if you really have to hide, you can just hide in pieces. Share different
parts of yourself with different people, and maybe it won't all be stuck inside
just festering until it hurts too much to even feel it anymore."
Kurt would have interrupted, but sobs choked him and tears blinded him until
all he could do was listen to his father's voice through the door. For a long
time after Burt stopped speaking, they remained silent except for the little
gasping and hiccupping sounds that wouldn't stay put in Kurt's throat. Finally,
he said "I'm scared, Dad," in a voice so soft he doubted it would carry through
the door.
"I know. I am too. It's okay to be scared."
Before he could argue himself out of it, Kurt opened the door and scooted
through to lean against his father, still wearing the towel. Burt didn't say
anything more, just put his arms around Kurt and held him close. Eventually
they moved. Eventually Kurt went downstairs to get dressed, carefully covering
his skin, hiding his scars once more. Burt didn't go back to work that day.
Later, after dinner and after Finn had ushered the evening's visitors out, Finn
brought down his guitar along with Kurt's milk. "Your dad told me you had kind
of a rough day. Don't worry though," he held up his hands, "He didn't tell me
any more than that except to tell me he wouldn't tell me any more than that."
"I think you're giving me a headache, but continue." Kurt arched an eyebrow at
his brother and wondered just how much Burt was reading into what had happened
earlier. He wondered how much he read into it too. And how much he should.
"I just thought I'd sing to you. You know, to make you feel better." Finn put
on the cute little smile that always meant he was trying to please someone.
Kurt nodded. "Sing away then." Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he had heard
Finn sing at all since returning home.
Finn grinned widely and started playing the opening notes on his guitar.
And even though the moment passed me by
I still can't turn away
'Cause all the dreams you never thought you'd lose
Got tossed along the way
And letters that you never meant to send
Get lost or thrown away
He had expected something more... cheerfully inspiring from Finn. He had
expected a feel better song. This felt like understanding. It suited Finn's
voice and was beautiful in an unpolished, natural kind of way.
Scars are souvenirs you never lose
The past is never far
Did you lose yourself somewhere out there
Did you get to be a star
And don't it make you sad to know that life
Is more than who we are
Kurt set his drink on the nightstand and curled his legs up to his chest. He
wondered why Finn was singing to him. Finn hadn't even been around for Kurt's
freak out earlier. He'd been in history or something, sitting in a shitty
plastic desk in an ugly classroom and dreaming of better things in more
exciting places. He hadn't even been there with Kurt.
But Kurt knew Finn didn't need to be. The countertenor had found that most
people wanted to fix the hurt they saw in him. Finn wanted to fix every hurt he
could, even the ones he made. And usually he only made things worse because he
had no idea how to fix anything, but not so now. This was actually kind of
perfect.
You grew up way too fast
And now there's nothing to believe
And reruns all become our history
A tired song keeps playing on a tired radio
And I won't tell no one your name
And I won't tell 'em your name
I won't tell 'em your name
Tears had formed in the corners of his eyes, and Kurt knew they would fall
before Finn finished. But he couldn't blink them away because his brother
looked him straight in the eye without any sign of flinching or tuning away. No
one looked him in the eye anymore. No one wanted to see the pain there.
I think about you all the time
But I don't need the same
It's lonely where you are come back down
And I won't tell 'em your name
For once, Kurt didn't care that he was crying because for once it didn't hurt.
Even before Finn moved onto his bed and put his arms around Kurt, he knew this
was the closest he had ever felt to the other boy. This must have been what it
felt like to be brothers.
***** Burt: The Only Thing *****
It had been a while since Burt actually stayed for a full day's worth of work.
Today Finn and Puck had promised to spend the day with Kurt. Knowing the boys
were there for his son made focusing on work easier because Burt had come to
trust both of them with so much more than his own life. He trusted them with
his son.
Burt pulled into the driveway, then paused before climbing out onto the cement.
He loved Kurt with all his heart and more; he couldn't even imagine loving Kurt
less. But he needed a moment each day when he came home to face the memory of
the boy's scars. Kurt looked like he had played punching bag for a basket of
knives. Some of the scars were light, delicate things winding trails over the
boy's skin. Others were dark and heavy, the ruined skin weighing his Kurt down.
Every day Burt wished he could maul the monster that did that to his son. And
every day Burt remembered the deeper scars were inside his boy, not outside,
because Kurt already had. He knew why Kurt tried to hide them, and couldn't
help but think that Kurt wasn't really wrong.
Once he composed himself, Burt entered the house. Finn and Puck were finishing
what looked like grilled cheese sandwiches. Kurt had half of one on his plate
but looked like he meant to ignore rather than eat it.
"Hey boys," Burt said as he hung up his coat.
The jocks smiled and greeted him, but Kurt hesitated. "Um, Dad. About what you
asked me about the other day... I think it'd be okay." He pulled at his arm
warmers and stared at his plate.
"Are you sure? It's been less than a week." He kept his eyes on his son. Once
Kurt glanced up, Burt made sure to hold his gaze. "I don't want to rush this if
you aren't ready."
After a deep breath, Kurt answered, "Yeah. We need to anyway, right? And I'm
tired of constantly listening to people stomping around upstairs."
The last part sounded like bravado, but Burt nodded. "Do you want to help look,
or would you rather wait to just give final approval."
"The latter. I am not trouncing about into house after house with some realtor
who will probably spend the whole time giving me the stink eye when you and
Carol aren't looking." He arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his
chest. It made him look like the old Kurt—but, no, Burt wasn't supposed to
think like that, was he? There was Kurt, no old, new, or changed about it. All
that mattered was that he had Kurt.
"Wait, does this mean we're moving?" Finn looked excited, and Burt didn't blame
the kid. He obviously needed his own space but had kept quiet about it for
Kurt's sake.
"Yup. What about you, son? Want to look at houses with us?"
"I'm not really all that very picky, so... probably not." He smiled sheepishly.
Burt chuckled. "I'd get out of it too if I could, but I think Carol'd thunk me
on the head for trying."
"You gonna eat that?" Puck pointed to Kurt's half-sandwich. Instead of
answering, Kurt just handed it over. "Thanks!" Puck shoved the whole thing in
his mouth.
Burt remembered being young. From what he remembered, it was his job now to
tell Puck how he was supposed to eat sandwiches. It didn't seem worth it. Not
compared to the part of him that noticed Kurt handing his food over or throwing
it out more and more. The boy didn't seem to be losing any weight, but he also
had not gained back what he lost while Banks held him captive. After Janice
told him antidepressants sometimes contributed to weight gain, Burt had almost
hoped it would happen because Kurt was just so thin. The boy had always been
slender, but Burt still worried his son was now underweight. He made a mental
note to talk it over with Carol later.
"Hey, Mr. Hummel?" Puck interrupted Burt's thoughts.
"With all you've done for my son, I think you're okay to call me Burt."
"Um, Burt, then. We were thinking: Kurt almost never leaves the house. Do you
think it'd be cool if the three of us went for a walk?"
Kurt rolled his eyes.
Finn added, "We won't go too far, and it'd be good to know he's okay going out
if we're gonna be moving."
"Why wouldn't I be?" Kurt sent a pointed glare toward his brother.
Burt thought for a moment and decided he already trusted these boys, and they
had a point. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea. Fresh air might do you some
good, Kurt." He smiled, hoping it looked encouraging.
"It's like you're all conspiring against me. Fine then. Just let me put on
something I won't freeze in." The way Kurt went back to his room could only
have been a strut. When he thought about it, Burt honestly had no idea if Kurt
wanted to go out or not.
"Just make sure you're all back for dinner. You staying tonight, Puck?"
The teen nodded. "If it's okay."
"'Course it is."
Kurt returned wearing what looked like the men's version of ruby red slippers
and his fancy black jacket. Burt hadn't figured out yet why the clothes Kurt
had come back home with made him uncomfortable. It might have been something
about the way Kurt wore them, but the mechanic had yet to put his finger on it.
"You boys be careful now." He waved them out the door and decided to take care
of some of the bookkeeping he'd been neglecting recently while he waited for
Carol to get off work.
Even after seeing Kurt well enough to leave the house for a walk with his
friends, Burt found it hard to concentrate. No one at the shop blamed him, but
Burt could tell they needed him back on his game. It would help Kurt too to
have a father around who could focus and take care of all the things the boy
couldn't. But as much as Burt wanted to hold his son and make everything
better, Kurt had always been the stronger of the two. Still, Burt managed to
get some work done before he heard Carol came in.
"Hey, hun," she said, "It might help if you used more than just the tiny lamp
for light." She clicked on the overhead light and bent down to plant a kiss on
Burt's cheek.
"There was more sunlight when I started." He pulled her back down for a proper
kiss, but rubbed his nose against hers first before bringing their lips
together. "I spoke to Kurt earlier. He said he wants to move."
"Is he sure?"
"Of course he thinks he's sure, but I'm not. So I figure we take our time
looking around. Bring him to see our final choices. And then ask him again if
he feels up to it."
Carol nodded and rubbed her man's shoulders. "He won't get used to the idea
unless he sees houses though, so maybe we fake him out? It feels like a dirty
trick, but I think taking him out to more places and making him look at them as
home might help him realize if he's ready or not. Speaking of, it's quiet in
here. Where is everyone?"
"Finn and Puck took Kurt out for a walk. They should be back soon."
She nodded. "Take-out okay for dinner? I'm exhausted, and I've been craving
something from that Thai place for a week."
"Go for it. There's something else I wanted to talk about..." Burt knew he
shouldn't feel strange talking about his son's problems to the woman he knew
would someday be his wife—he hadn't even made plans to propose but thought he
might once Kurt was happy again—but it was still awkward. He was used to being
the only one there for Kurt. Sharing the responsibility was less stressful, but
he sometimes felt like he didn't want to share his son with anyone. Kurt was
his baby boy, and the only person with more right to him than Burt had been
gone for years now.
"About Kurt?" Carol asked, taking a seat. She leaned forward and set her elbows
on her knees.
Burt nodded. "He hasn't been eating well. I'm... I'm just so worried about
him." He ran a hand over his eyes.
"I noticed too. I thought he'd start eating more once he started cooking again
because I know some of what I make, especially my neighborhood-famous bean dip,
just doesn't meet his health standards."
"He hasn't though."
Carol sighed and shook her head. "No, he hasn't."
"I just wish I knew what to do. All I want is for him to be happy." Burt buried
his face in his hands. He knew Kurt needed to eat more, but he didn't know how
to make that happen. He knew Kurt needed to work with his psychiatrist, but he
didn't know how to convince his son of that. He knew he loved Kurt, and that
was about the only thing he knew how to handle anymore.
***** Kurt: Seem to Care *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"I don't want to have 'fun.' I want to reorganize my closet by color." Kurt
crossed his arms, staring Mercedes down. Or trying to.
"Boy, your closet is flawless. And you can do that anytime. Come shopping with
me. I promise you won't regret it." Mercedes smiled at him, and he knew he was
supposed to give in.
But Kurt remembered the last time they went to the mall. "Are you kidding? I
tried to arrange it by season. It's ridiculous. How and I supposed to match my
outfits if all I know is that I might have designated what I need as a summer,
but it turns out it's spring."
She crossed her arms and stared levelly with an eyebrow quirked. The diva
didn't need to say 'Bitch please' for Kurt to hear it.
Kurt didn't want to deal with Mercedes, strangers, or even shopping. Janice had
gotten sick of him or something and sent him to some therapist in Westerville.
He'd spent four hours round trip in the car for only fifty fucking minutes in
Dr. Keynes' office. He didn't want to 'get to know' or 'feel comfortable with'
her. He wanted to stay home and never talk to anyone except maybe his family
and Puck ever again.
He knew Janice resisted sending him to a specialist because of the distance. He
knew she was just doing her job, and he was being too hard on her. He even knew
that Mercedes only wanted to have fun and be friends with him again; she had
waited long enough. He knew, but he just couldn't seem to care.
"Look, do you really want Finn and your dad bemoaning over how you can't leave
the house again? Because you know they have been, and you know they will. And
you know I mean business 'cause I used the word 'bemoaning.' Now come. The mall
calls you. I'll even buy you a new cardigan."
Kurt rolled his eyes, but she was right. Every day he refused to leave the
house with someone, Finn and Burt gave him the worried eyes. Sometimes they
gave him a worried pat on the shoulder or a worried talk too. They meant well
enough, but that made it no less annoying.
"Fine," he hissed. "But if I say we leave, we leave."
Mercedes nodded. "You know I just want to take you out, not to scar you for
life. Now get fancied up. I'll wait upstairs."
"Don't bother." Kurt pulled on his red shoes and black coat. He'd already been
wearing black skinny jeans and his mustache t-shirt. As they left the room, he
grabbed a red scarf from off his chair and wrapped it loosely around his neck.
Upstairs, Mercedes tried to give Burt a thumbs-up without Kurt noticing. The
mechanic responded with a wink he probably also intended to slip by Kurt. The
countertenor rolled his eyes again, but the others seemed not to notice. Then
they were out the door and on their way to the mall for a day of shopping.
Kurt hated the mall. He wondered why he had ever looked forward to spending a
day in the wretched place. There were too many people. Everyone made too much
noise. The restrooms were disgusting. The food court smelled nauseating.
Everything cost too much. Everything was dirty. The shops blared shitty music.
It stank. There were too many people. When he thought back to his last visit to
the mall, Kurt knew he was doing 'well.' He'd run home crying last time. Well,
he could stand the crowds. He just fucking hated them.
They sat in the food court, snacking on some fries and giving their feet a
rest. Kurt was still breaking in the shoes Todd had given him. He shouldn't
have worn them today; his feet felt like shit. He would probably have blisters.
He rubbed at his heels through his argyle socks and told himself no one was
staring. They couldn't see the scars; they had no reason to stare.
But he noticed a group of guys wearing McKinley lettermans standing by the Hot
Dog On a Stick. One of them kept glancing over at Kurt and Mercedes, though he
tried to hide it. Poorly. Or maybe Kurt noticed because he was watching for
people watching him. The guy glanced over again but turned away as soon as he
noticed Kurt was looking. The countertenor still had time enough to recognize
him. Dave Karofsky. The last thing Kurt wanted was to deal with any of the high
school Neanderthals. Something told him it'd be inadvisable to pull a knife on
a bunch of bullies in the middle of a mall. Kurt settled for sliding a hand
into his pocket to feel the warmed metal. Then he ushered Mercedes away from
the food court by suggesting they visit a shoe store that had only recently
opened.
Sitting in a cramped shop while Mercedes paraded around in a pair of gold pumps
shouldn't have been so uncomfortable. It should have been easy. Kurt remembered
a time when it was even fun. He had changed since then. He had learned to hate
since then.
Kurt told Mercedes the shoes were fabulous even though he cared almost as much
as he did about what brand of toothpaste Finn used. All he wanted was to go
home now. He was sick of the mall; he was sick of the people. Since his time
with Robin, Kurt had found people even less palatable than when he merely
critiqued their fashion and lack of appreciation for Broadway. They were all
either fools or jackasses. Most of Kurt's friends were fools. Most of the
strangers at the mall were jackasses. Kurt didn't want to be either. No one
would say it, but everyone wanted Kurt to be normal again. Well, Kurt had seen
normal. The only thing worse would be living as Robbie's pet for the rest of
his life.
"Come on, I want an Orange Julius before we go!" Mercedes smiled and pulled
Kurt back toward the food court.
"You realize we'll be eating dinner almost as soon as we get back to my house."
Mercedes rolled her eyes playfully. "Well, this is more like a drink anyway.
You want one?"
"No. I want to leave."
"Well I want one, but I can finish it in the car." She put a hand on her hip,
shopping bags hanging from her wrist. "That work for you?"
"Fine. Just hurry," he snapped at her, but Mercedes ignored it and walked back
toward the food court. Kurt hoped the jocks had left while Mercedes looked at
shoes. They hadn't. Kurt was disappointed but not surprised.
One of them—Kurt thought it was Strando—noticed the countertenor and nudged
Karofsky's arm. The right guard sneered at Kurt and stalked from the food court
like he'd smelled something gross. The other jocks followed, laughing and
making jokes that would probably offend Kurt if he were close enough to hear.
At least they left.
Mercedes got her snack, and they left. She tried to say the trip "wasn't so
bad," but Kurt cut her off and sprinted the rest of the way to the car. He sat
on the hood waiting for her because Mercedes had the keys. This was stupid. He
shouldn't have come. He hadn't wanted to come.
But he sort of had. Some part of Kurt had wondered if he could take it. Sure,
he had lived in New York, gone to coffee shops, and even performed on stage
since killing Rob. But he'd done all that while he called himself Alex. After
the way he collapsed into a crying lump in his father's arms, Kurt had wondered
if being Kurt somehow made him weaker than Alex. He had wondered if he would
flee the mall in tears again.
"You know, you can just say so if you don't want people to talk about
something. You don't have to run away." Mercedes joined him on the hood rather
than getting into the car.
"Shut up. Let's just leave."
She shook her head. "In a moment. I just want to tell you that I don't know
what I can and can't say, and I'm sick of being too scared to talk to my best
friend. So I'ma say what I want, and you tell me when to shut my mouth. Got
it?"
"Or you could just not say anything stupid."
"I'd rather not live in fear of saying something stupid any more. Friends
should talk, and I've been too scared to." She offered him some of her treat.
Kurt hesitated. He accepted the snack even though he knew it was too sweet.
"And while we're talking, you did not have some key parts of that outfit before
you came back with Puck." She eyed his coat and shoes.
"I had them before that, just not before Robin took me away."
"Where are they from?"
"Where do you think?"
But she couldn't say it. Kurt watched her mouth work, but she never built up
the nerve to accuse him of wearing gifts from Robin.
He hopped off the car. "Come on. I'm cold."
Mercedes unlocked the doors and climbed into the driver's seat. "I know I'm a
gossip, Kurt. But I know when to keep my mouth shut too. If you need a little
girl talk, just let me know. Because I guarantee Puck and Finn would be lost."
Kurt nodded even though he hadn't wanted a 'girl talk' in a long time. He
hadn't wanted any type of talk, to be honest.
Chapter End Notes
     There is a bonus chapter called Dave: Dumbass Tears with events
     running parallel to the Suddenly Karofsky of this chapter. Only
     there's much less suddenly since Karofsky is always around himself...
     Also, remember Dave never kissed Kurt in this timeline, so no one
     knows he's gay.
***** Quinn: Not Just His *****
"I actually feel really stupid right now, coming to tell you this." To be
honest, Quinn felt more like a massive bitch, but she saw no reason to tell
Kurt that.
"Tell me what?" Kurt asked without looking up from the homework he didn't
appear to be doing more than staring intently at. "Did I give you a funny look
or something? Because that's just how I look at everyone."
Quinn sighed. Kurt had given her a lot of weird antagonistic looks, but that
wasn't what this was about. That may have been a symptom of what this was
about, but no more. "It's about Puck."
"Oh."
"I know you haven't, well, tried anything, but it's obvious with the way you
watch him and get so close to him…" She sounded like the world's worst jealous
girlfriend right now. Quinn managed to hold in her exasperated sigh because
Kurt might misinterpret it as intended for him.
"I won't try anything." He scowled at his homework. He still refused to go to
school, but at least Kurt had started trying to do some of the work Finn
brought home for him.
"I know. I just… okay, I don't know. I think I came here to make sure you don't
try anything, even though I know you won't. You already would have if you were
going to, right?" Quinn sat down on Kurt's computer chair and tried not to
think that it might be kind of hot if Kurt did try something because that was
inappropriate on a level she did not even want to admit to.
For a few moments, Kurt stared at her, frowning to himself. The cheerio
suspected he was trying to decide on something. She just hoped it was something
she would be okay with once he spoke again.
"I, um, have tried something already, Quinn. Before I… changed my name back. I
know Puck's not interested. I know he never will be. So I won't try anything
else." He didn't look her in the eye, though he glared at his homework long
enough Quinn would not have been surprised to see it burst into flames. She
didn't blame him for looking away.
Quinn felt her hands ball into fists even though she knew she wouldn't actually
hit Kurt even if she knew how to punch. "You what? Kurt, what did you do?" It
couldn't have been much or Puck would likely have stopped spending so much time
with Kurt. He had never been all that comfortable in his own skin when it came
to sexuality; he'd just learned to fake like he was. Quinn had noticed Puck was
doing a lot better in that regard after Kurt came back, probably because he had
finally become close friends with a gay guy. But having Kurt actually hit on
him would ruin that, wouldn't it?
Kurt chuckled and sneered. Quinn felt like they shouldn't have worked together
as well as they did. "What didn't I do? I mean, Puck knew I was messing with
him, trying to make him admit that I was too fucked up to really be me anymore,
but still…"
"Did you kiss him?"
"No. I wasn't interested in kissing him. I thought I was just messing with him
too. I… I didn't realize it was more until after. But it doesn't matter. I
won't do anything."
"Then what did you do?" Quinn knew she should drop it for the countertenor's
sake, but she couldn't. Something told her to worry, for Puck, not Kurt.
The boy didn't answer. He chewed on the end of his pencil, staring at the paper
in front of him even though Quinn doubted he saw anything on it just then.
"Kurt, please. Puck doesn't want to admit it, but he's still having trouble
too. He thinks his problems are so small compared to yours that he should just
ignore him. I'm trying to help, but there's not much I can do without knowing
what is wrong."
"I don't—"
"Please."
He paused, but this time Kurt looked at the cheerleader instead of his
homework. Then he swung his eyes away. "I tied him to the bed and pulled his
pants off." His voice was a deep, dark growl unlike anything Quinn had heard
come from him before.
"You what?" Before she knew it, Quinn was standing and ready to bitch slap Kurt
so hard he forgot anything but making up to Puck all the pain neither of them
had yet admitted to.
"I wanted to scare him. I told myself I had to do more, but I couldn't. I
tried, Quinn. I fucking tried."Quinn nearly felt herself falling into the deep
pit of bitterness she heard in his voice then. It scared her almost as much as
what he had done.
He tried. But he didn't say what he had tried. Quinn had a feeling she knew.
"Why…?" It came out breathlessly, almost as a whisper. Quinn worried that if
she spoke any louder, all she would be able to do was scream.
"I convinced myself that if I could scare Puck into believing I wasn't me
anymore, then I really wouldn't be. I explained it differently in my head at
the time, but that was it." The countertenor pulled his knees against his chest
and wrapped his arms around his legs. He didn't look Quinn in the eye.
"So you tried to rape him?" Her soul felt dirty, though the word had only
passed through her mouth.
"Yes."
"And he's, what, okay with that?"
"He said he forgives me. It might be true; it might be to make a point." Kurt's
nails dug into his sleeves so hard he could probably feel them stinging his
arms through the fabric.
"I don't even know how to respond to that. You stabbed him. Then you almost
raped him. And he still thinks you're the best thing since Starburst jelly
beans."
Kurt rocked back and forth, still holding his knees to his chest and digging
his nails into his arms. "I don't think he likes me quite that much."
"You're just about the only thing he talks about."
"That can't be true. When he's with me, you're the one he won't shut up about.
Though it'd probably be weird if he talked to me about myself." Despite the
attempt at humor, Kurt's voice didn't lighten in the least.
Quinn shook her head. "I have to go, Kurt. I… You said Puck forgave you, but I
don't know if I can. I have to talk to him, okay?"
Kurt nodded. He didn't look surprised. Quinn left.
Puck had gone home because his mom needed his for something. He was supposed to
come over to the Hummel-Hudson house after dinner, but Quinn had promised to be
at her own house by then. She drove to Puck's and hoped his mom wouldn't mind
too much.
When she arrived, Quinn found that Puck's mom wasn't even home. She'd had to
help Puck's sister with something that the jock shrugged off and refused to
comment on further. Before she had figured out how to say anything of what she
knew she needed to, the cheerio found herself lying on Puck's bed, tucked
comfortably against his side. She decided distance wouldn't help anyway and
propped herself up on her elbow so she could look her boyfriend in the eye
while she spoke.
"Puck, I… I've been trying to think of a more, I guess, diplomatic way of
saying this, but all I can think is to come right out with it. Just please try
not to freak out, okay?" She pressed her free hand against Puck's chest and
tried to hold his eyes with hers.
He nodded.
"Kurt told me what happened. That he tried to…" She had already said the word
to Kurt; why was it so hard to do the same with Puck? "To rape you."
"Oh." The jock shifted nervously, and Quinn felt his pulse pick up speed
beneath her palm. "Well, he wasn't gonna do anything."
"He didn't in the end, but he told me he tried to. He was going to do it,
planned on it, and only realized at the end that he couldn't."
Puck scowled. "Look, even if Kurt didn't, I knew he wouldn't do anything to me,
okay? Besides, everything sounds worse when he tells it."
"How would you tell it?"
"He was just trying to scare me. That's all."
Quinn sighed. "He said he tied you up. Was that with your permission?"
"Well, no," Puck said.
"And he said he took your pants off."
"Well, yeah, but he didn't really touch me or anything."
"Didn't 'really'? But what did he do?" Quinn felt like some sort of monster for
forcing this on Puck, but if he never faced his own problems, he would just end
up in a boat much like the one Kurt was in now.
"He talked a bit and felt up my chest and thigh. But that's it. Then he untied
me and we went upstairs to sit and talk with everyone."
Oh, God, when Kurt said it happened before he returned to his real name, Quinn
hadn't realized he meant something like minutes before.
"Puck," she took a deep breath, "It's still assault. And even if no one blames
Kurt, you still have to face what happened and deal with it."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
Puck rolled his eyes and sat up, but he took Quinn's hand in his. "Look, babe,
shit happens, and it's not always awesome. Just because I'm not crying and
having panic attacks doesn't mean I'm in denial. I'm allowed to be fine."
"But you do have nightmares." The first time Quinn took a nap with Puck and
woke up to find him trembling and whimpering in his sleep, she had gone to his
mother. Mrs. Puckerman told her Puck had a problem with nightmares lately.
Sometimes he even woke up screaming but always claimed not to remember a thing
by morning.
"So I hear, but who says they have to be about Kurt?"
"I'm sure not all of them are." Quinn squeezed Puck's hand.
"Fuck, Quinn. No. I'm fine. I don't have to deal with it the same way you do
for everything to be okay." He scowled but squeezed her hand back.
"I don't care how you deal with it, just so long as you actually do. Right now,
all you're doing is ignoring everything."
"And what do you want me to do?" He pulled his hand away from Quinn's. "Leave
my friend to deal with shit he can't handle on his own all alone just because
some girl thinks I need to handle something too?"
"No. I want you to help Kurt, but I want you to let 'some girl' help you too
because you're clearly too stupid to help yourself." Puck wasn't in love with
Kurt, wasn't even interested in Kurt that way, but Quinn felt then like the
countertenor would be the reason Puck eventually broke her heart. Even though
the cheerio knew it was bitchy and stupid, she hated Kurt for it.
The jock clenched his jaw and swallowed visibly. "I still don't know what you
want from me, Quinn."
"I just want you to talk to me and face what has happened to you. I want you to
stop withdrawing from everyone but Kurt. We're all your friends too, not just
his. And we're here for you."
Puck licked his lips and pulled his eyes away from Quinn's. "I'm not—I can't…
You should go home. I'll call you later."
"Puck," Quinn reached a hand up to his cheek, but her boyfriend pulled away.
No, he flinched back from her.
"We can talk later okay? Just not now, and… you don't want to be late for
dinner, right?"
"I have two hours."
The way Puck blinked rapidly and clenched his jaw, Quinn could tell he was
holding back tears. She had seen him like this only a few times.
"We don't have to talk," she added as she wrapped her arms around Puck and
pulled him so he lay with his head in her lap. "Not yet."
Puck didn't cry, but he clutched his arms tightly around Quinn's waist and
waited with her until she really did have to go. When he kissed her goodbye,
Puck didn't look her in the eye. Quinn smiled and told herself not to cry in
front of him.
***** Kurt: Change *****
It had only been a week and a half. Kurt hadn't expected Burt and Carol to have
a house for him to visit within only a week and a half. Hell, it hadn't even
been long enough that Quinn spoke to him again after... after he admitted to
her what he did to Puck. Time enough or not, Burt had just stopped the car in
front of a two-story duplex. Fuck, but Kurt was not living in a duplex.
"I hate it. Can we go?" He crossed his arms.
"Just look at it Kurt. I know it's not perfect, but it has a nice interior and
a two-car garage." The boy's father got out of the car and opened Kurt's door.
"Come on. Just look at it. You only get to veto if you've seen the whole
house."
Kurt unbuckled his seatbelt and joined his father on the sidewalk. "It's not
even a house. It's half of a house, and some strangers will be in the other
half." Kurt didn't want to deal with neighbors. It'd only be worse if they had
to share a building with someone. If Kurt had his way, he would live in the
middle of nowhere where no one could reach him.
The place actually had nice carpet. It looked new. The kitchen might have been
large enough to hold half of one of Finn's arms. The living room would fit the
entire glee club plus a few others. All of the bedrooms were on the second
floor and had atrocious paint jobs. He could hear music coming through the
walls from the other side of the duplex. The garage was a thing of beauty.
There were only one and a half restrooms.
"I've seen it. I still hate it. Let's go."
Most of the time, Kurt barely even wanted to live where he did now. He didn't
want to know what fit of delusions had convinced Burt and Carol that he might
want to live here. It wasn't the right house for them anyway, but there was
more. There were people here. He'd known their current neighbors for years and
still avoided them. What was he supposed to do living around complete
strangers? Listening to them whisper about how they saw him on the news.
Watching them stare at the scar on his neck and jaw.
Kurt rubbed at the scar as he buckled his seatbelt. He could hide the others,
but not this one. Even his scarves and high collars never reached quite far
enough to cover it entirely. He'd had a scar on his neck for a long time,
leftover from throat surgery when he was younger, but hardly anyone had ever
noticed that one. It was small and light. Most days, Kurt didn't even think
about or notice it. Not so with the new one. It was long, twisting, and dark.
It stood out, screaming against his pale skin. He noticed it daily. People
noticed it. It demanded their attention. It refused to let him hide.
He wanted to hide.
As Burt drove home, Kurt leaned his head against the glass, uncaring that it
would mess up his hair. The Hummel-Hudsons already had a perfectly decent
house. Why did they have to move? (Because the house was too small for all four
of them.) And why would anyone bring him to a shitty duplex? (He'd seen them
watching him but didn't want to admit to himself it was a test because he
doubted he had passed.) Kurt didn't want to move. He wanted to stay. Enough had
already changed, and he found himself clutching desperately at thoughts of a
house that he knew Finn could stand only so much longer. Whose needs were more
important then? His or Finn's?
But he didn't need it. He didn't need the bloodstain on the carpet or the
hiding places for any sharp object he could get his hands on. He didn't need
the sound of people stomping about upstairs when he had to run down to his room
to escape the way everyone had to always look at him. He didn't need the lock
on the wrong side of his door. He didn't need the place where Finn had called
him 'faggy' or the place where Kurt tried to rape the guy who had become his
closest friend.
He just didn't want anything else to change. So much already had. So much had
been forced on him. Kurt just wanted something that would be the same.
Something that could never change. His house clearly wasn't it. His life wasn't
it. Kurt wasn't it. Through the rest of the ride back to the house he clung to
even though he'd just realized he hated it, Kurt tried not to think.
***** Santana: You'll Find You *****
Chapter Notes
     Song: "What Your Soul Sings" by Massive Attack.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
No one had gone to Kurt's today because his parents were taking him out to see
some house. Well, Finn would be there, but he lived at Kurt's place. The dopey
jock already talked about Kurt like he was his brother. Their parents weren't
even married, though Santana admitted that needed a 'yet.' If nothing had
happened to Kurt, they'd probably have been married for months by this point.
Santana sighed and stretched, arching her back. Even though she knew he wasn't
getting any action with Quinn, Puck still refused to get anything on with
Santana. He seemed intent on staying monogamous.Santana frowned at the word and
rolled over to snuggle up to Brittany. She didn't need Puck anyway. He'd gotten
damn close to touchy-feely spending too much time with Kurt and Quinn. It was
gross.
Britt giggled softly as Santana pressed a series of light kisses to her neck.
"Hey, Tana, is it true Kurt doesn't like lady kisses because he's gay?"
"Um, yeah, Britts. That's like the definition of gay dude."
"Poor guy. He's missing out." She cuddled up to the other girl and sighed
contentedly. "I always feel better when I'm sharing sweet lady kisses with
you."
"That's sweet, but I think boy kisses could cheer him up too." She brushed a
strand of hair away from Brittany's eyes.
"But Kurt's not ready for a boyfriend. That's why I was thinking if one of us
could help him feel better."
Santana smiled. Some people, herself included, sometimes described Brittany as
stupid, but she was more innocent than anything else. And completely
disinterested in anything taught in public schools. The blonde probably knew
enough about cat diseases to outsmart any veterinarian, not that she realized
Lord Tubbington would be less likely to get them if he ate a proper cat diet.
Still there was some part of Brittany that was, if not smart, then wise. She
understood how people felt even when she couldn't for the life of her grasp
why. That was probably why Santana lo—liked her so much.
Besides, she was one of few people Tana ever felt bad about being a bitch to.
That definitely counted for something.
"We do make him feel better, Brittany. Just not with kisses."
"I think he ignores us. But Puck and Finn make him feel better." She smiled,
but it looked too sad on her just then. "I just wish there was something I
could do. Does Kurt like ponies?"
Santana sighed. "You can't get him a pony."
"But he's gonna move into a big house. Maybe they'll have a backyard with room
for a pony." She sat up a little in her excitement, so Santana had to pull
away.
"Kurt doesn't want a pony. Maybe you could draw him a pony instead?" She just
hoped Britt didn't suggest a kitten because, honestly, Santana knew no argument
could convince Brittany that anyone didn't desperately want and need a kitten.
The blonde's eyes fell. "Lord Tubbington kidnapped my crayons and hid them in
his secret castle."
Santana quickly decided she didn't want to know. "I can buy you some new
crayons, Britts."
The other girl's face lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Really? Can I have
the ones with the sharpener in the box?"
Tana nodded. She sort of remembered crayon boxes like that, or thought she did.
Whatever. She could take Brittany with her to make sure she got the right kind.
And then the blond could shut up about ponies. She'd probably forget about
anything but the crayons as soon as she and Santana left the house.
"So what are you getting him?" Britt took hold of Tana's hand, raising it to
her lips to press a kiss against the knuckles.
"What?"
"For Kurt. I'll draw him a pony, so what are you getting him?" She ran her
tongue along the other girl's finger, then pressed a chaste kiss to her
fingertip before letting the hand fall back to the bed.
"I don't know." Santana couldn't exactly say she wasn't getting him anything
even though that had been exactly her plan. That just wasn't how it worked with
Brittany. Whataver, she'd think of something eventually.
"Well, what if they move today, and you don't have a house-warming gift ready?
You'll feel pretty silly then, and I just want you to be on top of things." It
completely amazed Santana how serious Brittany could be over a crayon drawing
of a pony.
"In that case, we'd better get moving." She climbed off the bed and tossed
Brittany her jeans. "Where should we go to get crayons?" She knew Kurt wouldn't
be moving today even if the house turned out to be the right one. But Britt
obviously didn't.
"Toys'R'Us!" The blonde clapped her hands excitedly.
Tana rolled her eyes. She's been to Toys'R'Us with Brittany before. It was
dirty, gross, and filled with disgusting, screaming children. Instead of
complaining, she just finished straightening her vest and said, "Toys'R'Us it
is" with as close to a smile as she could muster. The things she did for her
Britts.
The toy store was exactly as horrible as Santana had expected, except that
Brittany bounced so cheerfully through the whole place that even Tana couldn't
help but smile. Not even all the stupid and sticky kids around enjoyed the
place as much as Brittany S. Pierce. At one point, Brittany disappeared only to
show up again holding a large stuffed pony. Santana put her hands on her hips
and gave a stern "No" before Britt could open her mouth to ask for it. The
blonde sighed but put it back and led her friend to the coloring supplies where
she picked out a box of crayons with ninety-six colors and a sharpener in the
back. A sassy little flamer tried to fight her for it, but Brittany just handed
him one from a higher shelf and skipped back to Santana.
"Great. Let's get out of here. I'm pretty sure those Barbie dolls are
contagious." She ushered Brittany to the register, stopping only to get a pad
of drawing paper for Britt to make her ponies on.
The creepy-looking woman at the register stared at the cheerleaders weird until
Britt said "I'm making a present for my friend Kurt. He's not very happy right
now but doesn't have room for a pony."
Then Santana gave the lady a death glare to make sure she said nothingmore to
Brittany than "That's nice." She avoided looking at them at all after that.
As the girls climbed back into Santana's car, Brittany asked, "So what are you
getting Kurt?"
Tana resisted rolling her eyes. "A song, of course."
"What will you sing him?" She dug through the bag and began looking at all the
different color crayons.
"I was hoping you could help me with that." Tana shot a quick smile at the
other girl but couldn't take her eyes off the road for long.
Brittany was strangely quiet for a while. Then she began to sing.
Don't be afraid
Open your mouth and say
Say what your soul sings to you
Santana didn't recognize the song. Her friend sang it slowly and more than a
little eerily. Still, it sounded right. Not that she could place her finger on
it after only three lines.
Your mind can never change
Unless you ask it to
Lovingly re-arrange
The thoughts that make you blue
The things that bring you down
Only do harm to you
And so make your choice joy
The joy belongs to you
And when you do
You'll find the one you love is you
You'll find you
Love you
Since he came back, Kurt hadn't taken much interest in anything overtly cheery,
and maybe a song like this, a song telling him to be happy while sounding
anything but, was the kind of song he needed to hear. Besides, Santana had
decided she liked it.
So no longer pretend
That you can't feel it near
That tickle on your hand
That tingle in your ear
Oh ask it anything
Because it loves you dear
It's your most precious king
If only you could hear
When Brittany finished singing, Santana gave her another smile, this one
softer. "That's perfect, but I think I need you to sing it with me."
"Okay. Just don't tell Lord Tubbington. That's his favorite, and I'm not
supposed to sing it to anyone else. I wouldn't except that Kurt's really
special."
The dark-haired girl decided, again, not to ask. "We can go to my place and
practice while you draw. And maybe later we can stop by Kurt's to give him his
presents."
The blonde agreed cheerfully. Even though she was, well, naive if nothing else,
Santana thought again that Brittany knew way more than anyone bogged down with
intellectualism ever could. And maybe it would turn out Kurt had needed
something from his friends after all.
Chapter End Notes
     I actually made Brittany's drawing and posted it to tumblr in the "by
     any other name" tag.
***** Kurt: Better By Now *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter only exists because my wonderful readers on ffnet were
     willing to share their own experiences with me. Thank you, wonderful
     readers.
"The drive up wasn't too bad, I hope?" Dr. Keynes motioned for Kurt to sit as
she spoke. She knew exactly how far away he lived, but instead of suggesting he
keep seeing Janice, Delilah Keynes tried to lure him into therapeutic bullshit
with promises of fewer drives out to Westerville.
Kurt shrugged and sat facing his therapist, though he kept his eyes averted.
She was older than Janice and had a severe look about her that she probably
intended to come off as professional. She pulled her steel grey hair tightly
into a bun most days. Today it was a slightly looser bun at the nape of her
neck. And she stared. Her eyes never left Kurt unless she wanted to jot
something down in her little notebook. It reminded Kurt of the time he'd gotten
detention for cursing at Mr. Schue and had to sit through a teacher staring at
him for an hour after school like he was about to commit some kind of felony if
anyone so much as blinked. The countertenor shrugged again as Dr. Keynes
watched him with her glasses too low on her nose and her head tilted slightly
as if she'd never quite gotten used to her bifocals.
"Did your father bring you today?"
Kurt shook his head. "Someone inadvertently tried to blow up a carburetor at
the shop, so Finn drove me." Most likely, Finn now sat in the waiting room
trying to look like he belonged and like he didn't need therapy at the same
time. So long as he didn't try to sing the nerves away, Kurt imagined his
brother would be fine.
For a moment, the therapist paused like she was deciding whether to ask about
the carburetor or the boy. Or maybe she was just trying to remember what Finn
looked like because she asked, "Finn... he's the tall one with the crooked
smile, right?"
"That's right." Kurt nodded.
"Is he helping with the house hunting?"
"Not really." Not that Kurt was helping overmuch either. He'd only been to the
one house so far. When he'd asked his dad about it, Burt admitted he and Carol
had no intention of living there. They just wanted to get Kurt out and looking
to make sure he really wanted this. Kurt frowned at the memory. He didn't like
being tested. Not even when he needed it.
"Does that bother you?"
"No. Why would it?"
"You're frowning." She pointed to his face with her pen as though that would
help him see it.
"Oh. No. I was thinking about something else." When he noticed his hands
fidgeting, Kurt stilled them, forcing them to rest on his lap.
"Anything you care to share?"
He shook his head and stopped his foot from tapping. Instead of asking
something else, or commenting on the weather, which seemed to be her backup,
Dr. Keynes stared at him. Kurt kept his eyes on the warm-hued carpet and licked
his lips trying not to think of her eyes blaming him.
Finally, more to fill the silence than anything else, he admitted, "I just
don't like people testing me like if they just said something to my face I'd
shatter, so they have to trick me into it. Why would they think that?"
"Perhaps you seem unapproachable, Kurt. Many people are unsure of how to act
around those who have endured experiences they have not." She pulled her eyes
away from Kurt long enough to make a brief note.
"Well, why don't they just ask me how the hell they should act?" Scowling, Kurt
crossed his arms, finally looking his therapist in the eye.
"What would you tell them if they did?"
What would he tell them? To fuck off, most likely. "I told Mercedes not to say
anything stupid. She said that would just make her too afraid of saying
something stupid to talk at all."
Dr. Keynes nodded. "What do you think would be stupid for her to say?"
"How the hell should I know?" He sat through the silence for a few minutes
before speaking again. "When someone says I could be like I was before. That's
stupid."
"But does that mean you have to be who you are now? Or who you were when you
first returned home?"
"Are you just impersonating Socrates?" Kurt snapped. He wasn't one of Kurt's
favorite philosophers.
"You know I can't make you answer questions, Kurt. I only ask them." Her
expression didn't change.
"You still ask a fucking lot of them."
"How about this one: you do realize you're deflecting, don't you?" She wrote
something down again.
"Well, I already tried not to be who I was only to find out the name didn't do
jack shit, and I'm still fucked up."
She made a note. "You have been more open recently."
"You know what else can be open? Doors." And windows, eyes, mouths,
pocketknives, and legs.
"What about your door then?"
"Closed." Except when Finn came down, he never remembered to shut it. Even Puck
could shut a fucking door.
"Does that bother you? You look upset again."
Kurt shook his head but said no more, even when Dr. Keynes tried to wait him
out.
"Kurt, do you believe that speaking with me can help you?"
She hadn't asked something like that before, and it caught him off guard.
"Everyone says it's supposed to."
"But what do you think?"
"I think if it were as easy as chitchat I'd be all 'better' by now." His voice
came out bitter even though he'd aimed for cold and hard.
"Have you spoken about what happened with your friends?"
He hesitated. Nodded. "Puck."
"And how did Puck respond?" She wrote something down.
Kurt said nothing for a long time. He wrapped his arms around his torso and
glared at the floor as though it were responsible for making him feel
uncomfortable. "He said it wasn't my fault."
"And did you believe him?"
The countertenor risked a glance at her, found her watching him, as always. Did
she believe that? Did she care? Kurt shook his head. "I don't know."
She wrote something down.
Before Dr. Keynes could think of another question, Kurt asked, "Can I go home
now?" He hadn't expected his voice to sound so small.
After a moment, she nodded. "Yes, Kurt. I'll see you next time."
Kurt left the room more slowly than he wanted and found Finn in the waiting
room. He was holding a magazine upside-down with his head turned sideways to
study it.
"Do I want to know?" Kurt asked, standing in front of his brother.
Finn turned the magazine around to reveal what looked like a Rorschach inkblot
test. "When you hold it like this, it looks like an army of zombies chasing
Godzilla while Steve from Blue's Clues laughs evilly."
"I'll take your word for it. Let's go."
As they rode home, Finn went on, much too cheerfully, about Godzilla's chances
against an undead legion and the world's chances against Zombie Godzilla. Kurt
tried not to smash his head open against the window, though from the way he
talked, Finn might have welcomed the fresh brains. Kurt welcomed the silence of
his bedroom two hours later.
***** Puck: Why Are You Scared *****
Chapter Notes
     Song: "Shadowbox" by Joe Stark. Couldn't find it on youtube, so I
     posted it to tumblr in the by any other name tag.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
This was stupid. Puck shouldn't have had reason to avoid being alone with his
own girlfriend. It was just every time he saw her, Quinn got this 'let's talk
about your problems' glint in her eye that sent him running. He'd spent two
Saturdays in a row hidden in Kurt's room more because Quinn avoided the place
than because Kurt needed him around. And he was pretty sure by the weird looks
he kept getting from the countertenor that Kurt could smell the fear on him.
Puck should have known from the start it'd be wasted effort. Now it was Sunday,
and Quinn had just come to Puck's house where he was pretty much guaranteed to
be alone. Something told him he should have realized she could do that.
"I know you don't like talking about your feelings, Puck." She rubbed the palm
of her hand against his knee as if somehow that would make him all better.
"Then why are you trying to make me?" He twitched his knee away but stayed
where he sat beside her on his bed.
"Because about the time you refuse to admit you even have feelings is when you
need to talk about them most. I already know what happened. It's not like you
have to hide anything from me." She tried to look him in the eye, but Puck
wouldn't let her.
"Well, I feel uncomfortable and annoyed. Maybe we should take care of that,
huh?"
"You know that's not what I mean." Quinn had no right to sound so fucking
patient. "When you talk about anything that has happened to you, you act like
it's no big deal, like it's something you can just brush aside. But it's not,
is it?"
Puck rubbed his palms against the comforter his mother had bought him when he
came home even though he'd been spending her money on food for two weeks and
tried not to think about much of anything. "Look, I can deal with any problems
I might have by helping Kurt. That's what I did last time."
"And absolutely everything about what bothered you before is all better now,
right?" Why did she have to say it like that? Like she knew something. Like she
had a secret locked in a box, but it wasn't even her secret because it was
Puck's.
"I..." Puck took a deep breath. "Of course."
"Don't lie to me Puck. Refuse to say anything if you need to, but don't lie to
my face."
Oh, yes, because Quinn was so goddamn perfect she would never think to lie to
anyone in the slightest, especially not about something important like who was
the father of her child. Puck scoffed. Like hell."Oh, so I'm allowed not to
talk now?"
The cheerio sighed and ran the fingers of her left hand through her hair. "I'm
only trying to help."
"Maybe you don't know how to help. Ever think of that?" He flinched at the
bitterness of his own voice. It caught him by surprise.
"Did you think of that when you ran off to rescue Kurt? Why should you be
allowed to help him if I'm not allowed to do anything for you?" Quinn's hand
crossed the space between them to rest against Puck's arm.
The jock took his girlfriend's hand in his. "I just help myself better by doing
things, not by trying to fit anything into words that usually don't work right
anyway."
"Are you going to make me sing? Because you know I'll do it." Her lips quirked
into a small smile for a moment as she spoke.
"Oh, now the temptress thinks she can use her musical wiles against me." He
felt the corner of his mouth twitch into an answering smile. God, but he loved
this girl, even when she made him want to run away tearing at his mohawk.
She stood. "Now that sounds like a challenge, Noah Puckerman." Quinn pulled a
CD from her purse and set it playing. Puck didn't recognize the song.
Hide behind your beauty
Hide behind your smile
Hide behind your innocence
Just like you were little a child
The blonde flirted through the first verse, and Puck thought maybe this wasn't
so bad. He loved hearing Quinn sing, but she usually lost solos to Rachel and
Mercedes when it came to glee club. She sang it slow, but by the sound, Puck
guessed it was a rock song. He wondered how much she had altered the melody to
slow it only to decide it didn't matter because she sounded beautiful.
You can't put a lock on your shadowbox
And hide it from the sun
You'll never get away from the dark inside
No matter how far you run
So let your shadows out into the sun
As she moved into the chorus, Quinn became more serious. Honestly, Puck didn't
know if he was ready for the kind of song that said he had to tell because it
simply wouldn't stay hidden forever. It'd be different if Quinn sang it for
Kurt, but she didn't. Only she and Puck were here. Puck told himself not to
start biting his lip like a little kid.
So tell me all your secrets
'Till there's nothing left to hide
I'll listen if you let me
Until there's no tears left to cry
Quinn finished the song with another repetition of the chorus, drawing out the
last line until Puck was sure the sound of it would follow him to bed after
Quinn went home. She sat beside him again, and Puck knew she expected something
from him now. Some kind of response, though he couldn't say if she thought him
more likely to tell her to leave or to spill all his feelings over her lap. In
the end, it didn't matter. Puck crossed his arms over his chest and kept his
eyes away from Quinn's because he couldn't tell what she might see in them.
She took hold of Puck's hand, lacing their fingers together. "I know it's not
easy, but that doesn't make it any less worth the effort."
The jock let his eyes linger on their joined hands. He thought about telling
everyone how he found Kurt because Meg believed he could help Kurt through
example. Did Kurt believe it when Puck said nothing that had happened haunted
him, or did Kurt look at him the way Quinn did? Did Kurt look at Puck and see
only a tightly corked bottle of repressed feeling just waiting to explode and
shoot shards of glass out in all directions? Did he use Puck's example now to
justify locking everything away in place of healing? Or did Puck emulate Kurt's
silence instead?
He shook his head to clear it of the too many thoughts rattling around inside.
"I... maybe you were right." Not for the reason she thought.
the cheerio nodded, mistaking the comment for agreement. "I'm not saying we
have to go through everything tonight, or even the most painful parts. A start
is all I'm asking for right now."
Puck shook his head. "A start and a promise for more."
"I guess that too, yeah." She brought her free hand to Puck's cheek. "It's okay
though, Puck." She smiled a little, probably meaning it for reassuring.
He didn't like doubting Quinn, but Puck couldn't seem to believe her. "How
could you know that?" He left the rest unspoken, but Quinn must have heard it
anyway.
"The same way you know you'll stand by Kurt no matter what... and no matter
what he does." This time, her smile seemed more natural. "Please just trust me,
Puck."
"It's not about trusting you or not." He did trust Quinn. Or at least he
couldn't think of a good reason not to.
The sound that came from her was like a sigh's angry cousin fathered by a growl
and mothered by a squeal. "Then what are you so afraid of?"
Almost, he said 'Not you, Quinn,' but then she knew that. She just didn't know
what else there could be. Puck nearly laughed at that because how could she not
see? He stopped the sound at a snort. "Not you. Not Kurt. Then what's left?"
She squeezed his hand. "Is this why it was so hard for you? When Kurt was
gone."
He nodded, still not saying what 'this' was.
"And now?"
He shrugged.
"Does Kurt know about it?"
"Why should he?" But Puck looked away. Kurt didn't know, not really, but maybe
he knew enough to guess if he thought about it.
"You can tell me, Puck. Why are you scared?" She waited a while but spoke again
when he gave no answer. "I'm pretty sure it's nothing you've done."
No. Nothing he'd ever done. Just something he thought about, dreamed about.
Wanted. "It's wrong though," he muttered to himself.
Quinn mistook the words as meant for her. "Puck most of your personality is
wrong in some way. I only recently realized that doesn't mean it can't be
right."
Puck did laugh at that. Quinn was trying so fucking hard, and Puck just
muttered nonsense under his breath and refused her. But he didn't want to talk
about it. Didn't want to admit to it. Even just thinking about it made him feel
dirty. Wrong.
He realized how annoying it must have been for Kurt that Puck refused to find
anything wrong with him. He knew then that even if Quinn had reservations, or a
serious case of freaking the hell out, she'd just tell Puck that it was okay
and she accepted him completely. He knew because that was what he'd do for Kurt
too. Hell, he'd already fucking done it. And so had she. Quinn had convinced
herself Puck would break her heart and refused to let the idea go. But she
stayed with him anyway.
"I first realized it just before Banks took him. It didn't seem like a big deal
until... until I saw what the bastard did to people." He still remembered the
feel of a mustard-stained necktie his mother would never let him wear tugging
at his wrist where he'd tied it to the headboard. He remembered being annoyed
that no one was there to tie the other one for him while he savored the
restraint of the first. "He tied them up," he said aloud. "There was plenty
else he did to them once he had them, but first he tied them up." He remembered
the rough scratch of rope against his wrists as Kitty and Kurt tied him to the
motel bed's headboard while Banks and his .45 watched. "I thought about how
exciting it would be to give up my control to someone else." He remembered the
silky-soft scarves against his wrist, holding him against Kurt's mattress. "But
how sick is that knowing there are monsters out there who just fucking take
it?"
It caught Puck by surprise when Quinn threw her arms around him. She pulled him
in to rest his head against her boobs—though Puck guessed he was supposed to
use 'bosom' for that. "Oh, Puck." Her heartbeat pulsed against his temple.
Quinn must have lost her voice for a moment. Once she found it, the sound came
out breathy and a little strained. "I don't think that's the same at all. Not
even a little."
He wanted to agree because something told him it would feel amazing to believe
that. Instead he let his head rest against Quinn's shirt and knew he was crying
only because the fabric was wet. "But what if it is?" He remembered watching
Kitty tie him up and, even if just a little, wanting it. Quinn rocked him back
and forth and ran her hand over his head and back, muttering soft sweet little
things meant to help him feel better. "But what if it is?"
Chapter End Notes
     lol, when I wrote this, I thought I was nearing the end.
***** Kurt: Perfect Again *****
Chapter Notes
     Song in this chapter: Linkin Park's "Forgotten."
Kurt frowned at the indignity of cramming his possessions into boxes like
cardboard could carry his life and not just his things. He hardly so much as
looked at this stuff anymore because it felt like someone else's. Like it all
belonged to a glorified Kurt-being who everyone wished he could be even though
Kurt knew better. Once a vase shattered, the cracks would always show even if
you pieced it back together. He remembered part of a song that went something
like "when the paper's crumpled up, it can't be perfect again."
These things had been Kurt's too long ago when being Kurt meant something
different than it did now.
He held a tiara in his hands, turning it over to study its plastic curves for a
moment before dropping it into the large black trash bag he'd brought down for
the shit he saw no point in keeping. No one told him if they wanted to throw it
all out, sell it, or keep it secretly in some cubby of the perfect new house
Burt and Carol were supposedly 'this close' to finding. Kurt found he didn't
care so long as he never saw any of it again. That tiara had been the last of
his collection. He didn't want them anymore because he didn't want anything
that ever made him feel like a princess. Just thinking the word made his mind
feel dirty anymore because he always heard it in Robin's voice. Try as he
might, the words to explain that wouldn't come. His friends and family let him
trash his stuff anyway.
Kurt moved on from tiaras to the crayon drawing Brittany had given him not long
ago. It was a fat pink pony labeled 'Pudgy McPonypants.' Not a bit of it
matched his room, but even Kurt, asshole that he could be, didn't know how to
tell Brittany that. Santana had given him a look that clearly told him not to
even try. The girls had sung for him too, after making him promise not to tell
the blonde's cat about it. Carol claimed they'd find a place for Pudgy
McPonypants in the new house even though Kurt hadn't asked her to. She'd even
gotten it matted and framed. Finn kept denying the way he'd giggled over that.
Kurt wrapped the drawing in old newspaper and placed it on one of the boxes. He
wouldn't live throwing it out down even though he had no use for it. Even Kurt
realized it was sweet. He could think of a time what felt like ages ago when
Brittany had given him a crayon book report about heart attacks because
everyone worried about his father. He hadn't kept it though, just looked
through it, smiled sadly, and left it in the recycling.
The song was bothering him now. He could half remember bits of it. Something
like a rhythm fit in his head, but he couldn't remember the words. Kurt knew
enough to realize he couldn't remember because most of the song was rapped
instead of sung, and rapping was not one of the countertenor's many talents. He
thought maybe Finn would know if Kurt could just remember enough for a frame of
reference. Only that one line stuck in his head: "when the papers crumpled up,
it can't be perfect again."
Footsteps on the stairs warned him of someone coming down to his room. Kurt
busied himself with sorting through the contents of his desk because he wanted
just about anything more than he wanted to deal with someone trying to convince
him the crap in the trash bags was important.
"As soon as I walk through the front door, your family starts asking me to
carry things around, but no one can agree where any of it needs to go since
there isn't a new house or a moving truck yet," Puck's voice passed behind
Kurt, and the sound of a body dropping onto the bed punctuated it.
"Speaking of. Can you take that bag upstairs and fetch me a new one?" He
motioned at the trash bag without lifting his eyes from his desk.
Puck groaned. "You're worse than they are, you know that?" But Kurt heard him
stand and drag the bag out.
After he returned, Puck surprised Kurt by waving a new garbage bag in his face,
though he kept it far enough back to keep Kurt from freaking the hell out and
attacking him. Too bad. Kurt could have used an excuse not to leave his room or
pack his things.
"Hey, Puck," Kurt called when the jock moved away.
"Oh, now we're speaking?"
At that, Kurt actually looked up. Puck looked fine, but something about his
eyes was... strained. He must have come down here to get away from the others,
not to pester Kurt. "I can't remember a song."
"That's funny. I thought you knew every song ever."
Kurt arched an eyebrow. "That'sfunny. I always thought that of the two of us, I
would be the prissy one."
"Oh, drop it. I can't be in a good mood every fucking day." He rubbed his palms
against his eyes. "What song."
Kurt shrugged and repeated the line.
Puck thought for a moment, sighed, sat up. "You want a title or for me to just
belt it out?"
"Both if it won't kill you."
"It's Linkin Park. Song's called Forgotten, I think." He leaned forward with
his palms against his knees for a moment like he meant to stand but settled
back again without getting up.
There's a place so dark you can't see the end
Skies cock back and shock that which can't defend
The rain then sends dripping / acidic questions
Forcefully, the power of suggestion
Kurt could tell immediately that Puck had the right song. The tiredness and
that strained feeling fell off the moment Puck began, but Kurt knew that was a
habit of performance, not the healing power of song. It would be back.
Then with the eyes shut / looking thought the rust and rot
And dust / a small spot of light floods the floor
And pours over the rusted world of pretend
The eyes ease open and its dark again
While Puck continued, Kurt stored his pens, now organized by color and type, in
a pen bag separated into sections, each held by a rubber band. He put his
school work into the messenger bag he hardly used anymore though it'd once gone
to school with him five days a week. Most of what that left on his desk was
trash. He mashed it into the bag Puck had brought.
From the top to the bottom
Bottom to top I stop
At the core I've forgotten
In the middle of my thoughts
Taken far from my safety
The picture is there
The memory won't escape me
But why should I care
In the memory you'll find me
Eyes burning up
The darkness holding me tightly
Until the sun rises up
By this point, Puck had gotten into the song. It wasn't his usual genre, but he
made it work. He stood, not to perform, just to pace. His arm jerked in rhythm
with his voice during the rapping parts. Kurt stayed in his seat, watching,
listening, and thinking very little except to wonder why Puck hadn't been among
the first group to join glee club. Kurt knew the answer as well as anyone else,
but he still wondered if it would have made a difference if Puck had seen
things differently from the start.
Moving all around / screaming of the ups and downs
Pollution manifested in perpetual sound
The wheels go round and the sunset creeps behind
Street lamps, chain-link and concrete
A little piece of paper with a picture drawn floats
On down the street till the wind is gone
The memory now is like the picture was then
When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again
There was the line Kurt had remembered. It was actually simple, not terribly
lyrical. Some deep part of Kurt thought it was beautiful. He had what he'd
wanted now: a context for the lost line stuck in his thoughts. Kurt stood, and
stopped Puck from finishing out whatever chorus repetitions remained of the
song by grabbing his hand and leading him back to the bed. They sat, but Kurt
had nothing to say. He let go of the other boy's hand.
Puck snatched it back before Kurt could pull it away into his lap though. "I
never realized how fucking annoying I was."
Kurt let his friend know with a look that he was lost.
"When you tried to tell me how fucked up you are, and I just said you're, I
don't know, a magical rainbow or a special little snowflake or whatever." He
scowled.
A chuckle escaped before Kurt could stifle it. "Quinn finally cornered you
then, did she?"
"She wants to help me understand my feelings and move on or heal or something
so I can stop having nightmares. That bitch." He squeezed Kurt's hand.
This time, the countertenor let himself laugh. "I'm certain she's no worse than
the absolute asshat who insists on hearing the most painful parts of my life
story just to tell me I've interpreted them wrong."
"Asshat? Really?" He paused, and his lips quirked enough that Kurt knew the
scowl was fake, or mostly fake, now. "Should you really be calling Dr. Keyenes
that?" He smirked then.
"I don't mean her, and you know it." He punched Puck's arm playfully with his
free hand.
"Oh, well, I just thought if you meant me you could come up with a better name.
Unless you've been talking more with Finn? He's kind of an asshat sometimes."
"Only if by asshat you mean awkwardly adorable. You should see him try to help
me fold clothes." It was a sight equal parts hilarious and horrifying. Kurt
planned never to let his brother near any important garments ever again.
Emphasis on 'never' and 'ever.'
"See, I've never quite seen him as cute. Awkward he's got plenty of though."
"I suppose he's just not your type." Kurt winked, and almost smiled when Puck
laughed at that. He didn't have a lot of chances to banter anymore. Mostly
because he tended to feel more inclined to argue. This was... nice. He tried
not to think that it was nice having Puck hold his hand too.
"But, dude, seriously I feel kinda sorry now. At the same time, I don't want to
take it back, you know? Because you're a fucking moron, and I'm a goddamn
genius. So obviously I was right even though it must have felt like some
useless shit to you." He shrugged but kept his eyes on Kurt's.
"Just so long as you realize Quinn is similarly genius, I think we're okay."
Puck scowled at that. "Whatever. Can I commandeer your bed?"
"Are you planning to sail it away? Because I'm not sure how well it floats or
where you'll find an ocean in Lima."
At that, Puck rolled his eyes. "I'm going to take a nap on it. Because I'm dead
tired but can't seem to sleep anywhere else. I promise if I'm unconscious I
can't make judgmental comments about what you put in the bag instead of a box."
"Always a selling point." Kurt frowned. Everyone let him do as he liked, but no
one stopped complaining about it. "Do what you want so long as you don't mind
the packing noises."
"Kurt, this is the quietest place I've been all day, even when you add in the
crumpling newspaper and moving plastic bag sounds." He sounded exhausted, and
Kurt had to wonder why he couldn't sleep at home just then.
Instead of asking, Kurt nodded and squeezed Puck's hand before turning back to
his packing. Maybe he would continue with his closet. Clothes were typically
quieter as far as packing went. Puck was fast asleep before Kurt had even set
out the boxes for the clothing he decided could stand to be folded. He guessed
most everyone else in the house would be shocked to hear that Kurt didn't even
mind that he couldn't wear the clothes he packed until they found a new home,
whenever that may be. Most days, he still wore the dark clothes Rob had given
him even though he knew he should fucking burn them. He rubbing a hand absently
against his black skinny jeans, the same pair he'd worn to meet Jace at a
coffee shop in New York, reached for an overpriced sweater he hadn't worn in
over a year, folded it, and moved on to the next.
***** Finn: A New Place *****
They were moving over Spring Break so Finn and the glee club would have time to
help. It was intense how fast everything with the new house went. Finn was
pretty sure they were racing against some other family to see who could move
first. Kurt had even let Tina spike his hair because he said it expressed
his... something about him feeling anxious. Or something.
The new house was pretty awesome. It was on the end of the street, and looked
just old enough to be a tiny bit creepy even though most of the inside was new.
It had fancy wood floors even Kurt admitted he liked, a dusty attic Finn could
imagine finding some old treasure in, and four bedrooms. Burt said the fourth
one would make a good office. All of the bedrooms were upstairs, and Finn
called the one with the slanted ceiling because it felt mysterious. Like why
would anyone need a slanted ceiling in a bedroom? Kurt didn't mind since that
left him the slightly larger room at the end of the hall.
"Finn, stop imagining the faeries living in the walls and help me carry this
dresser upstairs," Burt sounded a little out of breath but still amused.
"Sorry," Finn said sheepishly. He didn't think there were faeries, but maybe a
nice ghost, like Casper but less cartoony, would be cool.
"Stop right the fuck there!" Kurt had been on edge all day, and he definitely
sounded it shrieking at them now. "Dad, you're panting. You're not allowed to
carry that upstairs. Puck!" He turned to call the jock's name. "Grab Mike and
come help with something." Kurt was weirdly fidgety and his hands kept shaking,
but he led his dad away firmly enough that Finn knew Kurt would be okay while
he and the other guys moved furniture into the rooms upstairs.
"Is Kurt okay?" Mike kept his voice soft. "He's freaking out a little."
"Oh he's freaking out a lot, but he hasn't threatened to off anyone yet, so..."
Puck tried to shrug and ended up almost ruining Finn's grip on the dresser.
"Dude, be careful!" Finn frowned, thinking more about Kurt than about carrying
stuff. "He'll be okay. Kurt just has to get used to being here." Finn didn't
say it, but he actually thought it helped Kurt that he'd already chosen a
color—if grey counted as a color—and gotten the walls of his new room painted.
He thought it made the room feel more Kurt's.
"Yeah, yeah." Puck hesitated. Finn could tell even though his friend tried to
pass it off as focusing on the dresser. "You're all sure it's best for him to
be moving somewhere unfamiliar like this?" He didn't quite look at Finn when he
spoke, like the frame would leap out at the walls if he took his eyes off it.
"You think it's better he stay around the familiar bloodstain on his carpet?"
Finn knew they could just replace the carpet. Actually, the plan was for Finn
and Burt to do that once they finished moving everything out of the old house.
Burt said he believed the realtor who said the house would sell better without
blood in the basement.
"So are you replacing everything he's ever owned? Because the flooring can't be
the only part of that room with bad memories attached."
Mike grunted, shifting the his grip harder than he really needed to since he
was more helping to guide than doing much lifting. Puck must have seen
something there that Finn missed because he scowled, then laughed a little.
"Sorry, man. But Finn and I have always argued about whatever the hell we can
think of. You know that." He shifted his hold to correct where it'd slipped.
"Oh, hey Kurt, did you need something?" Mike spoke louder than he really needed
to, looking past Puck's shoulder. Finn realized then why Mike had tried to shut
them up.
"Just looking for a new place to keep some bad memories. Carry on." Kurt turned
up his nose and went back the way he'd come. If not for Mike, stuck in the
middle and trying not to let the awkwardly large dresser and it's weirdly loose
drawers scuff the newly-painted walls of the narrow hall, Finn would have
dropped the thing and chased after Kurt. He didn't know what he'd say.
Something about not trying to talk about him behind his back, especially since
they couldn't have known which way he was facing.
Puck turned back to the other jocks frowning. "Hurry up, assholes. He's in a
bad enough mood to actually be angry about that."
Mike just shrugged, so Finn adjusted his grip and started backing down the hall
toward the master bedroom. At least he wouldn't have to carry the couch
upstairs. This was easily the coolest house in Lima, but it sucked to move
furniture in. After they got the dresser in the room, sitting pretty randomly
on the floor since no one had come up to show them where the bed belonged, Finn
left Mike and Puck to wonder if it should be resting elsewhere. He wanted to
find Kurt.
It wasn't hard. He just followed the sound of Kurt's voice until he found him
lecturing Sam about something to do with how the dining chairs were supposed to
be set up. Finn wanted to hug Kurt but thought that might just make his brother
feel worse right now. Sometimes Kurt wanted hugs, but this seemed like the
opposite of that. This was more like a time when Kurt would attack anyone who
tried to touch him. Finn was against being killed before he even had a bedroom
again, so he kept his hugs to himself.
"I don't think he did it on purpose," Mercedes said. She'd been sitting at the
table in one of the dining chairs that were supposed to be wrong somehow with
her chin resting on her fist. Judging by how bored she looked, and that she
sounded like she'd already said that, Finn guessed Kurt must have been at this
for a while.
"I realize careless mistakes are rarely intentional. But if he'd paid
attention, it would be pretty fucking obvious that the chairs for the ends of
the table have a darker shade for the back railing. Honestly, don't you even
have eyes?" The last part he shot at Sam with a hiss.
"Apparently not. Can I go carry boxes now?" Sam looked annoyed but still a lot
more relaxed than Finn would have expected from him. Then again, they guy had
dated Quinn. She could get pretty intense sometimes too.
"Fine then. But try to at least take them to the right room."
"They're labeled, Kurt. I think I'll manage." He left with his hands shoved
into the pockets of his hoodie. On his way out, the blonde nodded to Finn.
"Boy," Mercedes jabbed a finger at Kurt's face, "I would give you a talk about
bitching out perfectly nice guys who are just trying to help, but I doubt Finn
came here just to stare." Mercedes and her finger left with a significant look
at Finn who just shrugged because he didn't know what it was supposed to mean.
Instead of waiting for Finn to talk, Kurt started moving chairs about. He
didn't say anything.
"We weren't trying to… gossip about you or whatever, you know." A while back,
Kurt had a long talk with Finn about gossip. He said it was cool to gossip when
it didn't really matter, like who Brittany was sleeping with, but that it was
bad to gossip about important things, like Kurt being kidnapped and tortured by
a known rapist.
"Yes, I caught that it was just about my fucking welfare. Wonderful. I'm so
grateful. Go away."
"We're just worried about you. You've been, I don't know, in constant low freak
out mode for three days straight. Have you even slept?" He tried to sit in a
chair only to be shooed away because Kurt had decided that one should be on the
other side of the table.
"Do I ever?"
"More than you used to." Finn stood by, watching Kurt move chairs until even
the countertenor was satisfied and collapsed into one of them.
"I'm not sure what you expected if you're confused by my being a little on
edge." He crossed his arms but immediately uncrossed them and picked at
imaginary, or maybe invisible, lint on his pant leg.
"A little?" Finn forced himself to smile just a little even though Kurt would
think it was condensation. Or a word that sounded a lot like that. It made Finn
feel like an asshole except that he'd realized it always worked, and Kurt was
better off for it.
"Damn near exploding with fear-inspired tension. Whatever. It still can't
exactly be a surprise." That counted as working, so Finn didn't feel like quite
so massive a douche.
"Well not to me or your dad or Puck. But some of the others don't see you when
you're…"
"Not fit for company?" Kurt offered, still sounding bitter even though an
almost-smile reached his lips.
"Yeah. Sam's not used to being screamed at over chairs. And I think Mike is
scared even though all he did was say 'hi' to you."
Kurt crossed his arms and arched his brow. "He also tried to cover for you and
Puck." For the next sentence, he softened his voice, "But I suppose he didn't
mean anything bad by it except that his friends can be jerks sometimes."
Finn finally crossed over to Kurt to lay his hand on the other boy's shoulder
and squeeze gently. "You don't have to worry about any of this part, you know.
Unless you think it'd be worse to sit around not doing anything. 'Cause then I
guess you better find my mom because I think she's unpacking the downstairs
bathroom."
Kurt didn't quite chuckle, but he was close enough to make Finn feel better.
"'Nothing' would absolutely be worse because I would just think about how
everyone was messing up the new house." He stood and hugged Finn, though he
pulled away quickly when Finn tried to return it. "I think I'll find Carol. We
wouldn't want the hand soap on the wrong side of the sink, now would we?" He
winked halfheartedly and left Finn in the dining room.
It wasn't perfect, but it was enough. For now anyway. Finn went to find Burt
for instructions on what else to carry. As he left the dining room, he nodded
to himself thinking, Yeah, for now that's more than enough. The rest, the
healing, adjusting, and hugs Kurt doesn't flinch away from would come later.
But right then, Finn was okay with now.
***** Kurt: Unfamiliar *****
Kurt woke to unfamiliar shadows shifting on the ceiling above him. His arms
were stretched up toward the headboard. Without moving, he tried to dart his
eyes around the room. Where the hell was he? All he could make out were stacked
boxes and a tapping sound. Kurt closed his eyes, listening, and hoping no one
would notice him. The night air chilled his body, making Kurt realize he'd
woken up in a sweat. Sleep was close enough that he remembered flashes of
nightmare, most of them Robin's scarred face. They faded as sleep retreated
further.
Still the tapping remained the only sound he heard. His mind's eyes pictured a
man—Robin at first but transformed into Pierce when he remembered Rob's
death—sitting restlessly at a folding table, tapping a quarter impatiently
against the hard surface as he waited for Kurt to wake. Kurt tried never to
move, even as he began to shiver in the cold and tremble with his fear. Part of
him remembered Pierce was in jail, but Robin had been in jail once too. And
Jace... Jace was still free. He could have helped Pierce since they were the
last of Robin's team to still live. Maybe once he'd waded through most of his
grief over Todd, Jace had realized that even though he hated Robin, it would be
worth it to avenge Kitty. Kurt thought maybe they had been friends.
He heard the shuffle of feet moving softly against a hard floor, but distant,
like it happened in another room. It moved closer, closer. The tapping morphed
into a scrape as a rush of wind surrounded the building Kurt was in now,
whatever that was. He half expected to smell the stale air of a hotel room or
the metal-tinted dust of an old, abandoned warehouse. Those were the places he
associated with kidnapping. But Kurt couldn't smell much of anything except the
dryer-fresh scent of his shirt where its sleeves fit between his arms and face.
A new tapping, this time louder as if on a wooden door. It came once, twice,
three times. "Kurt?" For a moment, the countertenor couldn't tell who was
speaking or think why the voice strayed so little from the sound of a whisper.
"Are you okay? I thought I heard something, and then the wind got all spooky."
Finn. It was Finn.
Kurt let out a strangled sound, though even he couldn't tell what words he'd
meant to force out. It was Finn, just Finn. He sat up as the door opened. The
original tapping had started again, and now Kurt recognized it for a tree
branch moving against the window. His window. He wasn't in some distant room,
locked away from his loved ones. He was in his own fucking house, just it was
the new one.
Finn brushed a finger against Kurt's cheek, wiping away tears the smaller teen
hadn't noticed himself. "Hey, you're okay, bro." He pulled Kurt into a hug, and
the countertenor clung to his brother, twisting his fingers into the other
boy's shirt. "Nightmare?"
Kurt nodded against his chest. "I didn't know where I was when... when I woke
up."
"Yeah, I fell out of my bed yesterday morning 'cause I'm used to having
something up against my back to stop me from rolling over."
Even though he was still trembling, his mind still clinging to irrational
terror despite knowing he was safe now, the smaller boy chuckled. "I told you.
You need a bigger bed. I can't even manage in a twin, and I'm like a third your
size."
He felt Finn shrug. "Never had room for a bigger bed before. I thought I was
used to this one." He rubbed his hand up and down Kurt's back slowly.
"From what I hear, you're used to a couch. I still don't know how you fit your
legs on it."
"They stuck off the end. And don't laugh." Finn tightened the hug, squeezing
Kurt for a moment, before pulling back. "Are you okay now? Do you need like
water or something?"
Contact felt strange to Kurt now, foreign, but he scooted over to his brother
and put his arms back around him anyway. "I'm okay, just... stay with me a
little while?" Strange or not, Kurt liked hugging Finn. It made him feel almost
safe.
"Of course." Finn pulled away long enough to scoot over and lean against the
headboard. He flashed Kurt a goofy smile and patted the bed next to him. Once
Kurt had crawled back over and pulled his comforter back onto the bed to cover
his legs, Finn put an arm around the smaller boy's shoulders. "Burt wants me to
help him clean out the attic tomorrow." Finn grimaced. "My mom never had a
problem with bugs before, but she says she won't go in a place that's probably
full of 'em if she has someone else to do it for her."
"So that means you and Dad?"
"Yeah. But she said she'd grill us steaks to make up for it!" He perked up at
that. "So unless there's like ghosts or zombies or radioactive spiders up
there, I'll get an awesome dinner."
Kurt smiled. All it really took to cheer Finn up from just about anything was
food or music. He could remember times when neither of those were enough, like
when he found out the child he thought was his was actually Puck's, but
otherwise, Finn managed to stay cheerful more easily than almost anyone Kurt
knew.
"Hey, Finn?" It came out nearly as a whisper.
"Yeah, Kurt?"
"I..." He didn't know how to ask, or how to explain how comforting he found it
to just be close to someone without them expecting anything from him. Usually
with Finn, Kurt knew simple worked best. "Can you just stay tonight?"
"Oh." Finn fidgeted a moment. No doubt he still remembered Kurt's crush from
the year before, even if he'd grown more comfortable with his brother since
then. "I guess. So long as I don't start falling off your bed too."
"Try not to. The nightstand might give you a concussion." He winced.
"Oh, yeah, 'cause that makes me feel better." Finn rolled his eyes, but he
settled himself into a more comfortable position, still keeping one arm around
his brother while he used the other to grab at the comforter. "You better not
be a blanket hog though. My feet get cold."
Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Frankenteen, I'm surprised to hear anything about you
is ever cold. You spend all of your time telling our parents to turn the air up
even when the house is freezing."
Finn shrugged awkwardly. "Not my fault you're some kind of ice monster. Like a
tiny abdominal snow man."
"Abominable."
"Whatever. Go to sleep." Finn yawned and closed his eyes, so Kurt lay back,
trying to ignore the tapping against his window. Someday, he hoped he'd be able
to wake in this house without wondering where the hell he'd been taken before
he remembered he live here now. The wind knocked the trees branches against the
window, and Kurt closed his eyes.
***** Puck: A Difference *****
This was the exact opposite of anything Puck had expected from Quinn. Not that
he was complaining. Really. Because it was also sexy as all hell even though
she was wearing jeans and a floral blouse that would have looked like old lady
clothes on Rachel but just transformed into gorgeous on Quinn. Puck jerked his
wrists a little to feel the tug of their restraint.
"Do you want me to loosen them?" Quinn pulled back, looking at her boyfriend's
wrists where she'd tied them with the red silk ribbons she had appeared at his
door with.
"Way to ruin the moment, babe." He sighed.
"You were just pulling at them, and I don't want you to be uncomfortable or to
hurt your wrists." She actually looked worried.
Puck laughed. "Quinn, they're perfect. The point of tying my wrists up is that
I can't move them, but I won't notice that if I don't even try."
"So you're trying to not move them by moving?"
"Just shut up and kiss me some more?" He tried to give her his charming smile
but only got a bitchy glare in response. "Look, I already promised to tell you
if I want to be untied. That's not enough?"
"No, it is. I just... I haven't done anything like this before."
"Neither have I. But I guess I do have an advantage since it's my kink. Next
time we can try to figure out yours, promise."
"Stop smirking." She pressed a finger to his chest. "You think you can get out
of anything by being cute or kind of a perv. But you know me, Puck. I won't
give up that easy. And making out with you is not the main reason I came over."
No, she'd come over to convince him there was nothing bad about his desire to
be tied up because there was a difference between a consenting partner and a
victim. "But it's a nice perk, right?"
She smiled softly in the way she did when she just couldn't hold it back.
"Yeah, it's nice. Especially since your hands are already where they won't be
trying to grab at my butt."
"I knew there was a reason you wanted to do this."
"Perks, right?" Her smile turned seductive as she leaned forward, but she
stopped before her lips reached Puck's. "I love you, you know."
Puck grinned. "You too," he said and lunged forward as far as his tied wrists
would let him to catch Quinn's lips in a kiss.
She pressed him back, deepening the kiss and pressing her tongue into Puck's
mouth. Quinn's hand traveled along his torso and reached under his shirt to
slide against the heated skin of the jock's back. She brought her hands down to
tease at the waistband of Puck's jeans even though they both knew no one would
be shedding any clothes tonight.
Puck felt himself tense, and a word came out of his mouth without him telling
it to. He relaxed the muscles in his hands because they hurt and realized in
doing so that he had clenched them into fists. Quinn pulled back and saw
something in his face that Puck didn't know he'd put there. She climbed off the
bed and began untying him. The jock wanted to ask what she was doing but had to
figure out what hewas doing first. Once his hands were free, Puck pulled them
down into his lap and hunched over them.
Instead of joining him, Quinn knelt on the floor with her hands on top of the
bed. "Can you tell me what I did?"
Puck cursed. "No." This was fucking stupid. "I don't know what it was." She had
done nothing wrong. So Puck must have. He reacted wrong. But why the fuck had
he done it? He rubbed absently at his stomach.
"Are you sure? Or is it just one of those things you don't want to admit?" If
her voice was any more condescending, Puck's fucking comforter would feel bad
about itself.
"Of course I'm sure. I didn't even know I was freaking out until you were off
the goddamn bed."
"Fine. Then how about I tell you what it was?" This was almost a relief. At
least Quinn's anger never felt faked like the voice she used when trying to get
him to tell her something when she already knew the answer. "While I was
touching you, it made you think of one of the times someone tied you up without
your permission. Probably when Kurt had you on his bed since it was the
touching and not the tying that set you off. And if you try to tell me it's not
a big deal, so help me I'll, I'll..."
"Can't think of anything bad enough?" Puck almost managed a smirk.
She collapsed next to him on the bed. "I'll tell Kurt."
Checkmate. "You can't."
"I can," she said, "I will too since right now I'm more worried about you."
Fuck, but Puck hoped she was bluffing. He could never tell with Quinn.
Puck lay back on the bed and groaned. "I'll never have sex again, will I?" And
Kurt fucking Hummel was still the last person, besides Puck, to have laid hands
on the jock's dick.
He heard her not quite bite back a snort. "As much as I hate to admit it, I
think that's part of what I'm trying to help you with."
"Well then, what are we waiting for?"
"I think that's enough for tonight, Puck." She did cuddle up to him though.
"Yeah, I guess so."
After a few minutes of quiet, Quinn said, "You might think about seeing a
therapist, you know. It's not just for people who've had it as bad as Kurt."
"No."
"It's just I don't have any idea what I'm doing, and maybe someone with
training could—"
"I said no." He smoothed the scowl from his face. "Even if I wanted to, my mom
can't afford that on top of all the money I already wasted for her by running
off to New York with her credit card in my pocket and her car supporting my
fine ass."
"If it's a question of money, I can help. My mom's not exactly broke."
"I don't care. I still said no."
"Okay." She sighed. "It was just a suggestion. I'd be a bad girlfriend if I
didn't try just once."
"You're a fantastic girlfriend."
"I am, aren't I?" She sounded pleased with herself. Puck didn't mind; Quinn was
perfect.
***** Kurt: A Place to Come Back To *****
"Eyes on your paper, Kurt," Burt said without bothering to look up from his
newspaper.
"Someday I'll think of something dumber than this. Then I'll probably die of
the pure stupidity." Kurt scowled at his test page. He couldn't believe the
teachers at William McKinley had fucking banded together to have his dad
monitor him while he took his finals at home. He even had to do it on the day
of finals. Being traumatized beyond any hope of attending public school this
year was supposed to get him out of the annoying-ass parts of schooling.
"Just finish your test so we can get something to eat."
Kurt huffed but turned back to the equations on his paper. He had seriously
considered just dropping out of high school because he could sing, dance, and
dress fabulously without a diploma. Instead, the countertenor filled in the
bubble that looked least likely to be wrong and moved on to the next question.
Exams were a stupid way to measure learning anyway. They only really told what
students had memorized, not what they understood. Kurt frowned at his paper,
knowing the expression was lost on the test, and just kept working. Finally,
Kurt completed the last test and handed it over to his father.
Burt grinned as he took the paper. He had taken the day off work to spend it
with Kurt and excused it because of Kurt's finals. The last exam joined the
others in a manila folder which Burt sealed and put away in his office. When
the mechanic returned, he had his car keys in his right hand and a smile on his
face.
"Ready to go, son?"
With a sneer his father clearly chose to ignore, Kurt nodded his head and
adjusted the light scarf around his neck. Kurt couldn't bring himself to care
that the May weather was much too hot for scarves and arm warmers, or at least
not enough to do more than grumble any time someone wanted him to leave the
air-conditioned comfort of his house.
Kurt followed his father into the garage where they both climbed into Burt's
truck. They had agreed to go to Breadstix to celebrate the completion of Kurt's
junior year at McKinley. Burt had ignored Kurt's arguments that he would only
complete it if he scored high enough on the exams, so they should wait to
celebrate until he had his grades. Or, even better, until never.
Unfortunately, Burt knew better. Now the two headed out for lunch at a
restaurant. Burt wouldn't even agree to let Kurt get his meal to-go. It had
sounded like a perfectly reasonable compromise to the countertenor.
They made it to the strangely dim restaurant and through ordering with no more
than small talk and a quick "How do you think you did on your exams," to which
Kurt responded sarcastically as he tried to ignore everyone in the building
besides the two of them. The constant chatter gave him some trouble. Kurt
fidgeted in his seat, pulling at his clothes to make sure they covered his
scars.
"You've been getting used to the new place pretty well," Burt noted, and,
honestly, Kurt had expected him to tell the countertenor to sit still because
fuck was he moving around a lot.
"I do wake up thinking I've been kidnapped less frequently." Kurt had been
livid when he discovered Finn had shared that with his father. He shouldn't
have expected anything else, but he couldn't help it. He was used to secrets
being secrets, at least in part because he was used to only sharing secrets
with Puck. Kurt understood that Finn and Puck just had different ways of
dealing with things. Still, he preferred Puck's.
"I want you to be able to feel safe there."
Kurt rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. "I don't feel safe,
anywhere,Dad. Not completely." Least of all in a restaurant slowly filling up
with people. Kurt slipped his fingers into the pocket of his jeans and let them
rest against the metal of the pocketknife, warmed by his own body heat. He
still hadn't told anyone but Puck he carried that with him. Kurt was afraid his
father and his therapist would take it away from him.
"I know. And I wish it were as easy as putting my arms around you and telling
you there's nothing in the closet gonna get you. But I know that's not enough
anymore. Hasn't been for a long time." He sounded tired. More than any fatherly
need to protect his son or a longing for something simpler, that stood out to
Kurt: his father was tired. Not tired of Kurt, as much as that was his first
thought. Kurt suspected if he looked for it, everyone close to him would be
tired. Not tired enough to throw him out and tell him his plan to stay in New
York was the better one, but just feeling the strain of having someone so close
to them cracked into such a shadow of his former self.
He wasn't supposed to think that way. Or at least that's what Dr. Keynes told
him. Kurt wasn't damaged, she said, just hurt. If he broke his arm, he would
have to put it in a cast and wait for it to heal. This was supposedly the same,
but there was no cast that could cover Kurt's wounds. He'd tried one called
Alex and all it got him was the bloodstain on his old carpet that he used to
look at every morning and the memory of a now-dead woman's eyes widening as he
snatched her wrists to keep her manicured hands from pressing an alarm.
Burt interrupted the silence that had settled around Kurt. "I want you to have
a place to come back to where you can be safe and not have to worry about the
rest of the world."
As soon as Burt finished speaking, Kurt stood and moved to the other side of
the table so he could hug his dad. He didn't say anything. When he pulled away,
he returned to his own seat to wait quietly for their meal. He didn't know how
to respond any way other than sarcastically, but that wouldn't represent how he
felt in the least. He thought Burt had gotten the message.
They ate together, and nearly all of the conversation drifted over from other
tables. Quiet would have been better, less intrusive, and would have let Kurt
feel safer. No one paid him any attention, though he kept shooting sidelong
glances at everyone else in the restaurant. he didn't want them to sneak up on
him or spy on him or whatever else people did around other people. Better that
they left Kurt and his father to dine in peace.
Still, they only person staring at Kurt was Burt Hummel. When he noticed, the
boy fidgeted more in his seat and tried not to look his dad in the eyes. As
much as he fought against even leaving the house, he didn't want his father to
have to understand how little Kurt could handle of the world. The man shouldn't
have to look across a table and see the cracks shooting through his son or the
way the pieces of Kurt shifted in fear of being hurt.
Burt paid the bill, and they left. Kurt held a box with the leftovers from his
dish on his lap while Burt drove them home. The whole way, Kurt kept expecting
his dad to bring something up, to say how nervous Kurt was, how scared, how
weak. Kurt remembered when he was a child and Burt gave him speeches about how
Hummels don't let people mess with them because Kurt had come home crying about
being called a word he didn't understand. Burt had always made it better. He
had always taken it to the school and made sure no one could hurt his boy. But
he had also always expected Kurt to be stronger than the insults.
So why didn't he tell Kurt to be stronger now?
Kurt didn't need an answer. He knew. He couldn't be stronger anymore. If
someone hit him hard enough he'd shatter, and Burt would be left with his son
in even more pieces than he was now. Burt knew his son was ruined, so he didn't
bother trying to change what was too far gone to ever bring back.
"You did pretty good out there, kid." Burt glanced over and smiled as he pulled
into the driveway.
"What?"
"I gotta admit, I thought you'd bolt out of that place before we even got our
food. But you stayed the whole time and even ate a little." He gestured toward
the styrofoam box in Kurt's hands.. "If you're hungry now that you're back
home, you can finish that off. I just said we'd give it to Finn to convince you
to take it."
Kurt didn't know how to respond. Instead of trying, he just leaned over and
hugged his dad again. All those years while Kurt was growing up, Burt had been
right: Hummels were stronger. Kurt had thought he always needed to be the
strong one, but today it had been Burt.
***** Burt: A Good Sign *****
Burt took it as a good sign when Kurt asked him for money to buy some
overpriced outfits that didn't look any better than what the boy could have
gotten from the mall. Kurt had always cared so much about his clothes, and
honestly, Burt had been worried that Kurt stopped caring for so long. Carol
chastised him later for handing it over so easily when they needed that money
to pay for Kurt's therapy sessions and antidepressants, but he shrugged it off.
Money didn't matter nearly so much to Burt as seeing his son care about
something, anything, the way he used to.
Besides, some of the things Kurt wore now, the things he'd come back with, gave
Burt a creepy feeling. He'd gotten that Meg woman's number from Puck, but she
said Kurt refused when she offered to take him out to buy new clothes.
Kurt had already had the clothes, the black ones he wore too much, when he met
Meg. Burt didn't want to think too hard about where they had come from or that
Kurt kept wearing them. He didn't want to, but he couldn't help it. Burt had
never thought he'd be one to notice or put much stock in clothes. Now he
couldn't imagine ignoring them.
Burt jumped a little when his cell phone rang and chuckled at himself for being
so skittish. The caller ID read Janice Carlisle. Even if she didn't handle is
therapy anymore, she was still Kurt's psychiatrist. Dr. Keynes didn't have the
right qualifications to handle medication, so she and Janice both kept in touch
with Burt. Burt fumbled and almost dropped his phone trying to answer it.
"Janice? Is everything okay?"
"Yes, Burt, everything's fine." Sometimes he thought going by her first name
was a trick Janice used so she could do the same to everyone else. She was in
the psychology business, so Burt wouldn't put it past her.
"Oh, good." He smiled for a moment with the relief of knowing she hadn't called
for some Kurt-related emergency.
"I'm actually calling because Kurt has been doing so well recently." She
sounded ungodly chipper, but it didn't grate like it used to. Maybe because she
wasn't discussing putting his boy on pills while smiling. That had been weird.
"Yeah?" He felt he should have more to say about his son, but Burt had always
been one to save his words for when he needed them.
"Yes! I've consulted with Delilah—Dr. Keynes—and we agree that it's time to
take Kurt off of his anti-depressants. But before we do, I want to check in
with you since you see him a lot more than either of us could."
"He's been doing pretty well. Even got back into online window shopping. And
online actual shopping." Burt half-consciously patted his wallet. It was no
thinner since he'd paid by card, but he worried it might be if he didn't figure
out a way to tell Kurt he didn't need a three hundred dollar scarf.
"Sounds like fun. Is there anything you've noticed that makes you think Kurt
may not be stable enough to go off his medication?" Janice somehow managed
always to sound genuinely curious when asking a question, any question. Burt
was pretty sure she had bought it on the black market because that couldn't be
normal or natural.
He took a moment to think about the question. This wasn't just a quick 'How's
your son?' This was serious. "There is one thing." Burt flinched thinking about
it again after having been so excited for a moment. He sat down on his office
chair. "Some of the clothes he's been wearing, I think they're from Robin
Banks."
For a moment, Janice didn't respond. That worried Burt.
"Does he act differently when he wears them?" After the silence, the question
was almost a relief.
"Not that I've noticed." He paused, still thinking. "I think he wears them more
when he knows he has to leave the house."
"Would you like me to suggest to Delilah that she bring this up in one of her
sessions with Kurt?"
"I..." Burt rubbed a hand over his eyes. "No. He'll feel like we're plotting
behind his back. I—I'll talk to him. Do you think it's enough to keep him on
the meds?"
He heard a pen tapping over the phone and pictured Janice sitting at her desk
tapping her heel and pen in time the way she had when they first met. "No," she
said at last. "It's not ideal, obviously, but none of us expected Kurt to heal
overnight. I would suggest trying to convince him that he doesn't need them
anymore. Gently. If he refuses, give him time. Kurt puts a lot more stock in
clothes than most boys his age. If he keeps wearing those, then they mean
something to him." The words were serious. The tone was chipper. Burt would
never get used to that.
"Yeah, sounds like a plan." Burt sighed.
"I always kept Kurt on a low dosage since he's young, so we should be able to
wean him off of his medication without too much trouble. I need you to keep a
close eye on Kurt. Right now his brain is used to having a little help, so
there is a good chance he'll become more depressed. Depending on how he's
doing, you may even want to save your clothing conversation until you're sure
he can handle it."
"Okay, so how exactly does this work?"
"Really we just lessen his doses gradually until he's not taking anything
anymore. I'll write up his new prescription amounts right away."
"Okay. Thanks, Janice."
"You are very welcome! If Kurt has any trouble, don't hesitate to call Delilah
or myself. Transitioning off of antidepressants can be just as hard as starting
to take them for some people."
Janice covered symptoms Burt should be worried about. He remembered most of
them, he thought. Then he stood, brushed himself off, and headed down the hall
to Kurt's room. He tapped on the door with his knuckles and waited for Kurt to
respond before entering. He entered the room as nervous as he suspected any dad
would be, but grinning like an idiot anyway. The room was subdued, but still
definitely something Kurt had decorated. Burt settled onto the loveseat Kurt
had fit against one wall and waited for Kurt to stop looking anywhere but at
him.
"What do you want, Dad?" Kurt rubbed at his arm, but he looked at Burt.
"I just got a call from Janice."
"Why?" Kurt sounded honestly surprised. His eyes darted to the hall as Finn
passed by, but the taller boy waved and moved on without trying to enter the
room.
"We're going to start taking you off your antidepressants."
"What the fuck for?" Burt remembered when Kurt didn't want to take any pills,
and now the boy was questioning getting off them.
"Because we think you can handle things on your own, son. You'll still see Dr.
Keynes twice a week, but before too long you won't have to take any more
pills." Burt shrugged. "Janice called to make sure I agree, and I think you've
been doing pretty darn well."
"Oh, yes, sowell. You realize I used my brother as a teddy bear recently right?
Because the tree outside my window is scary." Kurt rolled his eyes. He looked
annoyed with himself.
"Yes, I know. Kurt we aren't saying you've gotten through all the pain you ever
will, just that you need to tackle it on your own now." Burt leaned forward and
rested his elbows on his knees.
"And I couldn't before?"
It was hard not to hesitate. "No."
Kurt looked taken aback. "I guess I was freaking out and holing myself up in
the basement."
"Just a little." Burt moved off the loveseat to where Kurt sat at his desk. He
motioned for the boy to stand. Once Kurt was on his feet, Burt wrapped his arms
around him. "You'll be fine, kiddo."
"I love you, Dad."
"You too, son."
Burt held his son and felt, even though he couldn't possibly know it, that the
boy would be alright. He let himself cling to that feeling.
***** Kurt: On His Own *****
Chapter Notes
     I have been told that narizóna may be an insult for someone with a
     big nose, so I'm just going with it for now but remain open to
     correction.
Kurt wanted to attack something. His fingers twitched. That he had no reason to
be freaking out only made it worse. He sat between Puck and Mercedes on the
couch. Kurt should have been thinking about how much easier the summer had been
than the winter when it came to fitting everyone in his living room. Instead he
could only think of all the places someone could be hiding. Of the places he
could hide if he needed to. Of the best ways out. Of the fasted route to his
car. Of where he could drive to if he needed to get away from the house. Of
where no one would think to find him.
He had one hand in his pocket and brushed his fingers against the familiar
metal of the knife he kept there. It wasn't the one that killed Robin, but it
was the one that freed Annette. There had never been time for Kurt to feel like
a hero, but that must have been how Annette saw him. That must have been why
she came to see him, why she left the pocketknife for him. Kurt even thought
that must have been why Puck wanted him to have this one. He eyed Puck,
wondering what he'd done with the other knife even though he couldn't decide
anymore if he wanted it back.
Right now he did. Right now he wanted to look on something that had destroyed a
man who thought he was stronger than Kurt. If he asked for a mirror right now,
would he see it? Sometimes he could tell by the way Puck looked at him when his
eyes were a killer's. Puck was looking at Quinn, laughing about something.
Fuck, but Kurt hated cute couples.
Goddamnit. Nothing had happened, but now Kurt wanted to cry. The countertenor
brought his legs up and pressed them against his chest. He wrapped his arms
around them, and pressed his chin to his knees. When his dad said Kurt would go
off the antidepressants, Kurt had thought that was because he could feel okay
on his own now, not because they wanted to throw him back into the mess he'd
been before.
A hand took his, and Kurt turned from scowling at nothing to look at Mercedes.
She smiled. It was soft and sweet, and Kurt couldn't even imagine how to make a
smile like that anymore. Sometimes he couldn't imagine that anyone would want
to look at him that way. Clearly Mercedes did. She was his friend. Kurt didn't
bother trying to smile because he knew it wouldn't work, but he smoothed away
his frown and squeezed her hand. She kept hold of his hand and moved to sit a
little closer to him.
"Kurt," Brittany spoke up from across the room, cutting through Finn and Sam's
debate as to whether Skeletor or Megatron would win in a fight. "Don't be sad."
"Thanks, Brittany. I'm fine." Kurt tried to make his voice soft because he knew
she was just trying to be nice.
"You'd be happier if you didn't always wear the same depressing outfit." She
nodded her head as if she'd just given sage advice.
They were the clothes from Robin. Kurt let go of Mercedes' hand and rubbed his
palms against the thighs of his skinny jeans. No one knew about his clothes.
His lips curled into a sneer.
"I can wear whatever I damn well please." He tugged self-consciously at his arm
warmers. No one knew. How could they? Brittany was just responding to the
color. That was all. "And aren't you a bit dim to be telling me what to do?" He
didn't have to change his clothes. Brittany couldn't make him. She was just
some slutty ditz.
"Excuse me?" Santana stood and put her hands on her hips. "Britts is trying to
be nice to your bitch ass. Show some appreciation."
"Or what? You'll 'go all Lima Heights' on me?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.
"Maybe I will." Kurt guessed that was supposed to be intimidating.
"Santana, I've been to your house. It's in a really nice neighborhood." Sam
spoke up sounding more confused than anything else. "Your dad's a doctor."
"Shut yo trouty lips, Sam, and gets out of my business." Santana jabbed a
finger at him. The jock shrugged and leaned back into his seat. "Now, you," she
swung the finger around to Kurt, "Apologize to Brittany."
"Fuck no." Kurt let his feet drop from the couch to the floor and crossed his
arms.
"Tana, calm it." Puck stood, raising a hand open-palmed toward the angry
cheerio.
"Yeah," Finn added from his seat beside Rachel, "Kurt just gets self-
conscientious sometimes."
Rachel placed a hand on Finn's arm. "That's self-conscious, Finn. And I propose
we all take a moment to breathe and find a song that expresses how we feel
right now."
"Oh, who asked you, narizóna?" Santana had her full bitch in gear now.
Rachel stood too, directing all her diva energy straight at Santana. "I'll have
you know that singing is a proven method of—"
"No offense, Rachel, but no one wants to sing right now," Artie shifted his
wheelchair to better face Rachel.
She pouted and sat back down without saying anything more.
"Now can we all just calm the hell down? Kurt doesn't need us yelling at each
other." Puck let out an exaggerated sigh.
"Oh, yeah, 'cause you know allabout how important it is to keep Kurt calm, Mr.
Let's-provoke-Kurt-to-stab-me-in-the-arm." Santana brushed Brittany's hand away
when the blonde tugged on her skirt.
"That wasn't his fault," Quinn piped up.
"Yeah," Puck agreed, "I couldn't have known he'd react that way."
"No one else got stabbed." Santana crossed her arms.
"No one else tried to stay as close to him as I did."
"Are you saying it's Kurt's fault then?" Santana asked.
"No!"
"Too bad." She shrugged. "Because here I thought he was the one holding the
knife."
Kurt remembered a few minutes earlier when he'd wanted to stab someone. He
wondered if he could get away with hurting Santana. But, no, then they'd take
this blade from him too. Kurt pulled his fingers out of his pocket and away
from the knife just in case.
"It is his fault, you know," Quinn said to Puck. Her voice was soft. "He didn't
have to attack you."
Something in Puck's eyes shattered and then hardened. "PTSD isn't his fault,
Quinn. You should know that." Kurt heard something more in the words but
couldn't tell what it was. Judging by Quinn's expression, she could.
Everyone was watching Puck and Quinn. Kurt hopped over the back of the couch
and headed for the stairs. Maybe he could lock himself in his room before
anyone noticed he had gone. Quinn and Puck were still talking, moving further
into shouting territory with each sentence. Kurt thought the lovers' quarrel
was enough to cover his escape until a hand wrapped around his wrist.
"They don't mean anything by it, Kurt." Sam said, his expression serious and a
little sad. He let go of Kurt's wrist.
"Really? Because Quinn is still shouting at Puck for it, and I think Santana's
rejoined the fight too." Kurt turned back to continue up the stairs. He heard
Sam following.
"Brittany didn't mean to hurt you, and I think you know that, at least." He
followed Kurt into his bedroom and left the door open. Kurt hated having the
door open. Then again, he doubted Sam would know that since he didn't think Sam
had ever been in Kurt's room before.
"Good for her."
"And I think we all know how defensive Santana gets of Brittany." Sam shoved
his hands in his pockets.
"Because it's not like Santana doesn't insult everyone who crosses her path or
anything." Kurt scowled.
"True enough." Sam shrugged. "But you did call Brittany dumb."
"She deserved it." Kurt dropped onto his bed and told himself he wasn't
pouting.
"Dude, I was there, and I still have no idea why you got pissed at her." Sam
had to sound so... sincere saying that, didn't he? It made Kurt want to punch
him.
"What, it's not enough that I did?"
"Not like we can keep from doing it again if we don't know what bothered you."
Sam sat on the bed next to Kurt and, after a moment's hesitation, put his arm
across Kurt's shoulders. "I know I didn't know you very well before all this
happened, Kurt. And I can't imagine what you've been through. But that doesn't
mean I'm not here for you. Everyone downstairs is here for you too. I think you
know we're not perfect, but we're trying."
Lovely. Kurt thought he'd been getting sap from his family and Puck. Now Sam
had to join the club. "Maybe I don't want you to try."
"I think you do."
"Well what do you know?"
Before Sam could answer, Finn and Mercedes came into the room. "There you are,
dude," Finn said. "You ran off during the exciting part."
"I doubt he'd call that exciting, Finn," Mercedes countered as she moved past
him into the room.
"Oh." His eyes fell on Sam. Something told Kurt that Finn honestly hadn't
noticed the blond until then. "Dude are you..." He turned away. "Kurt did you
want anything for lunch?"
"I'm not hungry." Kurt hadn't even noticed it was lunch time.
Sam straightened from his seat beside Kurt. "What, Finn? What were you gonna
ask me?"
"Nothing."
"It wasn't nothing." Sam frowned.
"It was just, um... Are you gay?" Finn shuffled like he knew exactly how stupid
a question it was.
"You think I was hitting on your brother?" Sam sounded plenty incredulous. Of
course he did. Kurt couldn't think of anyone who'd actually want to hit on him.
At least some things never changed.
"Well, no, I didn't, I guess, maybe," Finn babbled, staring at his feet.
"The last thing Kurt needs right now is someone hitting on him, Finn. You think
I'm too dumb to realize that?"
"No, I just..."
"You don't think Puck's gay when he sits by Kurt."
Finn shuffled his feet. "Puck's known Kurt a lot longer than you have..."
Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not gay. And I'm not even single." He stood and
brushed off his pants even though they weren't dirty. As he was leaving the
room, Sam turned back to Finn. "You know what Finn, I'm really not gay, but how
about you ask me if I'm straight, just for laughs."
"Okay?" Finn sounded as confused as Kurt felt. "Are you straight?"
Sam laughed. It sounded forced and angry. "Of course not." He left.
"Wait what?" Finn scratched at his head. Sometimes Kurt thought his brother was
secretly a cartoon character.
"He's bisexual," Mercedes said. "And he really wouldn't flirt with someone who
he knew wasn't ready for a relationship. So back the hell off him, Finn." She
turned to Kurt. "You'll be okay alone with the doofus?"
"I'll manage." Kurt smirked. He had just realized Sam and Mercedes were dating.
Mercedes left the room, no doubt to find her boyfriend. Finn just looked
confused.
"What just happened?" he asked Kurt.
"I think you just got... what was the word? Owned?"
"Yeah, that's the word." Finn shuffled over to the bed "Do you think it might
cheer you up not to be cooped up in here?" Finn grinned. "We're all going to
the pool tomorrow, and you could come if you want."
Kurt felt his face fall with his mood. He'd almost felt nice at finding his
friend had a boy. But this was the last fucking thing he needed. He tried to
bury his face in his hands, but his fingers were tensed into claws.
***** Finn: Better *****
"Are you fucking serious, Finn?"
Finn didn't understand why Kurt's face went red or why his lips pulled away
from his teeth in what wasn't anything like a smile, but he knew what it meant.
He held up his hands in front of him with the palms facing Kurt and made sure
he wasn't smiling.
"Dude, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." He let himself smile, just a
little.
"Of course you didn't mean to, Finn. You never mean to." The words could have
sounded like a sigh. Kurt made them sound like gunfire.
"Please just tell me what I did so I can make it better, or at least say I'm
sorry and know for sure I mean it." Finn wasn't ashamed to admit he was
begging. He hated having his brother angry at him.
"And what if you don't mean it? What then?"
"Then I'll say I'm sorry anyway and try to figure out why that made you angry.
C'mon, Kurt. I don't want to upset you."
"Then maybe you should fucking think before you say something that makes me
want to rip your hair out," Kurt screamed.
"All I did was ask if Sam was gay and invite you to the pool." Finn wished he
knew what in there was bad.
"Yes, Finn, the pool,"Kurt hissed. "Do I look like someone who wants to be at a
pool?"
Mostly Kurt looked like someone who didn't want to be anywhere at all. "I don't
know what that means." Finn hated the way his voice sounded so lost and
hopeless. He wasn't the hurt one.
"Of course you don't. You're an idiot."
"Kurt," Finn took a cautious step forward. "Please."
"Do I look like someone who wants to wear a swim suit?" Kurt snatched off his
arm warmers and followed them with the turtleneck shirt he wore despite the
summer weather.
Finn had never seen Kurt's scars before.
He had always imagined they were bad. He had never imagined they were this bad.
His brain, never much use when it came to words, forgot how to choose them at
all. At least he couldn't say the wrong thing.
Before he could think about it, Finn stepped forward and pulled his brother
into a hug. Kurt kept his arms at his sides at first. After a moment, he
wrapped them around his brother and leaned in, pressing his face against the
front of Finn's shirt. Finn wished every problem in his life could be solved by
hugging Kurt, but something told him even this problem hadn't been solved. Not
really. He didn't even think this was just one problem. It felt more like a
thousand problems he couldn't even understand, much less fix. But hugging Kurt
at least felt right. Finn couldn't fix it, but he could comfort his brother. He
should have been comforting Kurt all along.
The front of Finn's shirt was damp, and Kurt shook with sobs Finn couldn't
hear. With a sigh, Kurt pulled away. He didn't look angry anymore, just
exhausted.
"I can't go to the pool, Finn. I can never go to the pool." His voice echoed
through a hallow space between the two boys that Finn had almost let himself
believe he could fill.
"I'm sorry, Kurt." He wanted to offer not to go to the pool, to stay home with
Kurt in seven layers of clothing instead. He wanted to offer Kurt his life, his
painless memories, and his unbroken skin. He wanted to offer Kurt everything,
but all he had to give was an apology.
Kurt reclaimed his shirt from the floor and slid it back over his head and atop
his scars. He dropped himself onto the bed and closed his eyes.
"I shouldn't have yelled at you." He rubbed a hand over his face in a way that
reminded Finn of Burt.
"Why not? I was an ass."
"You didn't mean it. I'm just... so fucking jumpy since I got off the meds."
Kurt opened his eyes and stared at Finn. "Besides, there are better ways to
tell you I'm unhappy than screaming."
Finn smiled even though it didn't feel happy. "Can't argue with that, but if
you have to scream at somebody, better me than pretty much everyone else you
know."
"I don't know... Puck seems not to even notice."
Finn shook his head. "Better me than Puck. He notices and just tells himself he
doesn't. I mostly get confused and don't know what's happening, but that's
pretty normal for me."
Kurt chuckled. It sounded like the world righting itself. But his expression
darkened again. "What did you mean about Puck?"
When Kurt asked that, Finn knew he'd done wrong. "He's just been really tired
and stressed out, you know?" If that was enough for Kurt, Finn would give up
anything. He'd even give up bacon.
"Because of me?" The hollowness in Kurt's voice turned thick and sticky.
Finn had never felt less thrilled to be free to eat bacon. "Not just you. Kind
of everything, I think."
Kurt sat up, eyes cutting into Finn so deeply the jock was surprised Kurt
couldn't pull out any answer he wanted just by looking. "What is that supposed
to mean?"
With a heavy sigh, Finn sat down beside Kurt, knowing he'd lost something. Or
that he'd broken something. "I don't know. He won't talk about it, and Quinn
just says there's nothing I can do and she's helping Puck on her own."
A long while passed before either of them spoke again.
"Puck wants everyone to think he's fine. I think he wants you to think he's
fine most of all." Finn rested a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "But Puck hasn't been
fine in a long time. It's not just you, Kurt. He was messed up before he ever
even met you."
Kurt leaned in to Finn's side. "But I made it worse."
"Everything that happens to him makes it worse. What's that saying? 'The camel
broke its back on a bird'?"
The chuckle Kurt let out relieved Finn even though he knew it was temporary.
"'The feather that broke the camel's back."
"Yeah. So there was a lot of crap on Puck's back, and then I guess you tickled
him or something."
Kurt's laugh was stronger this time. "It means a tiny weight, Finn. Not a
tickle."
"Well, I like the tickle thing better. It's way more realistic." He grinned at
the way Kurt smiled at him.
"You have a point there, Finn." He put his arms around the jock's middle and
held on.
"Kurt, I'm sorry I was being stupid. I need to learn to think about things
before I say them." He needed to learn that Kurt wasn't just some kid anymore
and never would be. Finn could afford to be careless with himself, but not with
Kurt. Never with Kurt.
"It's okay, Finn. Just... no activities that involve being shirtless, okay."
Finn nodded and tightened their hug. He promised himself, and silently promised
to Kurt, that he would do better. He would be better. He had to be.
***** Kurt: No One Is Alone *****
Chapter Notes
     JasonDragon64 (of ffnet) suggested the song for this chapter. :) It's
     "No One Is Alone" from Into the Woods. I had a ridiculous amount of
     trouble shortening it as much as I did, and still I think it's too
     long… While I thank you, Jason, I may or may not have been upset at
     you for giving me a song with so many words I wanted to keep.
Oh fuck.
There were moments when Kurt looked back on all the times he had thought of
school as hell and laughed at himself because it couldn't have been that bad
compared to all the shit that happened to him after he was taken away from high
school. Now Kurt realized he shouldn't have mocked himself. The only reason
school wasn't hell was that it was much, much worse.
And where the fuck had summer gone anyway?
Kurt could handle the mall. People at the mall didn't give a fuck about him.
Kurt could handle a restaurant. Everyone was too busy eating to notice him.
Kurt could even handle the park despite his irrational hatred of small
children. Well, maybe not so irrational considering the proportion of sticky
fingers to clean ones. Somehow though, high school had nothing in common with
other public places because at school everyone cared. Not in a concerned about
his feelings or experiences way so much as an up in his business because
everyone loves staring at a car wreck way. Kurt wondered how much trouble he
would get in for attacking someone.
"Dude, it'll be okay," Puck put an arm across Kurt's shoulder and smiled at him
for a moment before he returned to glaring at everyone in William McKinley High
School except Kurt and his friends.
Finn walked on Kurt's other side. A goofy smile had fixed itself to his face
even though Finn clearly wanted to help Puck in his glaring campaign. He was
more than a little stupid to be so thrilled for Kurt's first day back at
school, but then he didn't have to experience it from inside Kurt's head. Kurt
adjusted his wrist warmers and failed to ignore the masses of people staring at
him.
How many of them could see his scars? How many knew what had happened? How many
of the whispered conversations he passed by were about him?
Suddenly taking all those finals in May seemed worth it because he could take
senior level classes with Finn and Puck. The only class he had without a member
of glee club was French. Kurt thought he could manage one class alone. Maybe.
Fuck, but he hoped so.
"I thought we wouldn't have to deal with that faggot anymore." The voice came
from behind Kurt. It was close.
Kurt turned, with a smart and foul-mouthed retort on the tip of his tongue.
Stabbing, searing cold sliced through the words before he could speak them. By
the time Kurt's eyes began to sting, Puck was already holding him back. No one
would ever make Kurt Hummel a fucking victim again. Not now. Not ever. A knee
to the groin and a punch got Puck off him. Kurt had his nails in Strando's
fleshy cheek before Finn pulled him back screaming words Kurt hadn't needed to
use since he cut Robbie's fucking throat. Kurt slammed his heels against Finn's
shins and tried to break free of his grip and chase after the fucking coward
who had slushied him.
"Not cool, dude." Puck rubbed at his jaw where Kurt's fist had hit him as he
walked into Kurt's view.
"He deserves to have his skin fucking peeled off and fed to him." Kurt growled
the words from deep in his throat.
"No, he doesn't." Puck rolled his eyes.
"Kurt you need to calm down," Finn added, still gripping Kurt.
Everyone was staring. Big surprise.
Kurt scowled. "Just let me go."
Finn started to loosen his hold, but Puck stopped him. "Are you gonna act like
a person or like a fucking banshee?"
Instead of answering, Kurt took advantage of Finn's reduced hold on him to
slither out of his brother's grasp and move down the hall toward his class.
Before Puck and Finn caught up to him (Kurt had no doubt that they would),
Jacob Ben Israel rammed a microphone in front of Kurt's face.
"What's it like to prove your manhood by beating up Puckerman? And is it true
that your experiences have led to a twisted nightlife sex addiction?"
With a hiss Kurt grabbed the mic and flung it across the hall where it smashed
against a locker. "Do not ever put anything in my face like that again." Kurt
pressed a finger to Jacob's chest, and the other boy backed away slightly. "And
also, what the fuck kind of question is that? Do you make up this shit off the
top of your head or actually sit around in your lonely bedroom jerking off to
shitty lesbian porn and trying to think up the least believable lies you could
possibly put on your blog?" Kurt turned on his heel and stalked to the restroom
without waiting for an answer. The restroom emptied as soon as he entered,
except that his ever-present entourage of Puck and Finn, who had government
with him first period, followed him in.
"Dude," Puck groaned, leaning against one of the sinks Kurt wasn't using to
wash slushy out of his clothes and off of his skin. "That was a little badass,
but also a little crazy bitch. I thought you said you'd be okay for school."
"Yeah, you've been doing so well," Finn added. He held Kurt's bag in one hand
and a fistful of towels in the other but still managed the gesture awkwardly
toward Kurt.
Kurt sneered at his reflection. "I wonder what they'd do if they knew I could
fucking kill them. I know how, and I know I could do it. So what the fuck makes
it okay for them to mess with me." It had been a long time since Kurt wanted to
hurt someone this badly. He splashed water over his face more to stop looking
at his reflection than because he thought any more slushy would come out of his
eyebrows.
"What the fuck, Kurt?" Puck sounded worried. A hand—Puck's—spun Kurt around by
his shoulder so Kurt had to look Puck in the eye. "What is wrong with you
today? This is so fucked up, and I really thought you'd be okay."
Ever-helpful brother that he wanted to be, Finn pushed Puck back. "Calm down,
man. That's not helping." He sighed and turned to his brother. "Do you want me
to call Burt? You don't have to come back today if you don't want to."
Kurt actually considered it. "No." Going home would be admitting defeat. Kurt
wasn't ready to lose anything today. "If I leave now, coming back again will
only be harder." He took the towels from Finn and dried his face and clothes as
best he could before leaving the restroom.
No one in the classroom made eye contact with Kurt. He had no way of telling
how many of them knew what had happened. Probably all of them. Finn and Puck
took seats by Kurt's. Something told Kurt that they weren't the only ones who
could intimidate McKinley's student body anymore. He flashed a toothy grin at a
girl he caught staring and fought not to laugh when her eyes jerked away like
she had just seen her least favorite horror movie monster. Even though Kurt
knew this feeling, he couldn't bring himself to hate it. He knew he should.
For a while, he hadn't thought much about Robin. That phase seemed to have
passed. One day at high school threw months of therapy out the window with
hardly a condescending laugh. Kurt let out a bitter chuckle to make up for it
and wished when he let his mind wander that he thought of Puck's hands on him
instead of Rob's.
After class, Finn stayed with Kurt by his locker to wait for Mike and Tina to
go to English with him. He kept fidgeting and smiling even though he obviously
had to force it. Once Mike and Tina arrived, Finn finally spoke to ask, "You'll
be okay?"
"Of course I will." Kurt hadn't expected his voice to sound so clipped. He
rolled his eyes and started walking toward his next class.
Tina caught up to him first. "Kurt, we..." She glanced over at her boyfriend as
he came up on Kurt's other side. "We heard what happened."
"I'm hardly surprised." He took a step toward a boy who was staring at him and
mouthing what could only be 'fag.' The boy flinched away, wide-eyed and
practically trembling. Kurt smirked.
"Are you sure it wouldn't be better for you to go home?" Mike's eyes lingered
on the boy Kurt had intimidated for a moment before returning to the
countertenor.
"I'm fine."
"You're not." Tina slipped a hand into Kurt's lightly. He kept his eyes off her
sad ones.
He pulled his hand away. "It won't help to leave."
"It might. You were a lot friendlier yesterday," Mike said.
"Come on, Kurt," Tina took his hand again, tighter this time. "You're obviously
miserable and angry. If this is hurting you, it can wait."
"Just drop it." He took a deep breath and hated that it wasn't steady. "I won't
back down now." If Kurt knew how to give up, he'd never have made it here in
the first place. He ignored anything else the couple said as they walked to
English.
While Kurt saw a few other jocks throughout the day, no one bothered him. He
didn't catch even a glimpse of Strando. All he saw of Karofsky was a shocked
stare and his back as he retreated. By that point in the day, Kurt didn't even
have the energy to thank his good luck. He just wanted to go home, but his
ride, Finn, had glee club, so Kurt had glee too. Apparently, glee club needed
to meet in the auditorium. As soon as they entered, Finn ushered Kurt to a seat
and left him there to join the others on stage.
Mr. Schue stepped forward. "Kurt, we just wanted to welcome you back to glee
club. We've missed having you here." He stepped back to join the students in
the back row as Brad started the music on his piano. The lights dimmed to
spotlight Mercedes and Puck, who had stepped forward to stand in front of the
others. Mercedes began to sing, and Puck joined in.
Mercedes stepped forward and began to sing.
Mother isn't here now
Wrong things, right things
Who knows what she'd say
Who can say what's true
Nothing's quite so clear now
Do things, fight things
Feel you've lost your way
You decide, but
You are not alone
Believe me
No one is alone
The others joined in as backup at the end of the verse and continued on into
the rest of the song, moving in and out to join or spotlight Mercedes and
Puck's voices depending on the line. The song had little choreography, mostly
Mercedes and Puck moving slowly across the stage and staring out at Kurt
earnestly. It was all very overdone, to be honest.
People make mistakes
Holding to their own
Thinking they're alone
Honor their mistakes
Fight for their mistakes
Everybody makes
One another's
Terrible mistakes
Witches can be right
Giants can be good
You decide what's right
You decide what's good
Just what Kurt needed: a painfully sappy song that made him want to vomit.
Honestly, he'd thought his friends were getting better at choosing songs that
didn't feel completely wrong. Kurt sighed. He knew they weren't the problem
here, not today. He rolled his eyes thinking maybe Dr. Keynes would be proud of
him for admitting it, even if only to himself.
Just remember
Someone is on your side
Someone else is not
While we're seeing our side
Maybe we forgot
They are not alone
No one is alone
Maybe some people deserve to be alone.With that thought, Kurt stood and lifted
the strap of his messenger bag to his shoulder. Even as he turned away,
Mercedes continued singing. Her backup stopped short though.
Hard to see the light now
Just don't let it go
Things will come out right now
We can make it so
Someone is on your side
No one is alone
The door swung shut behind Kurt as he left the auditorium.
***** Puck: I'm Not Okay *****
"What the fuck was that?"
Puck swung in his chair at Kurt's voice. He hadn't expected him to come to
Puck's house at all, much less without texting first. Puck wondered if Kurt had
driven himself over and only after realized he had no idea what Kurt was asking
about.
"Um, it's like Robot Unicorn Attack but more metal?" Puck motioned to the game
(well, game over now) on his computer screen. He'd lost his last life when Kurt
startled him.
"What?"
"What?"
"I was talking about that stupid fucking song, not your gay hobbies."
"Says the guy who likes dudes." Puck arched an eyebrow.
"Oh, I bet you think you're witty." The tone and the way Kurt pulled down his
eyebrows and the left corner of his mouth set off the loudest inner alarms Puck
had.
"Kurt, it was just a song."
Kurt let out a sound somewhere between and whine and a snarl. "It's never just
a song with you people. It's an assessment or a wish or sometimes a demand.
It's the moral of the story and a picture of my character. I don't want it."
Kurt's voice rose in pitch as he spoke. Normally a guy speaking in that high a
voice would be funny. From Kurt, it was strangely ominous.
"Look, it's not like it was my idea, or like I even know what it was from. I
just did what everyone told me to, so for me, it was just a song."
"It's from Into the Woods, Puck. How do you not know that?" Good, his voice had
lowered almost to normal.
Puck shrugged. "I'm not as into musicals as some of you."
Kurt sighed, and instead of draining him of anger the gesture seemed to drain
him of whatever had held it off. "You should have known better."
"Look, Kurt, shit happens. What do you expect me to do? Hop in my time machine
and fix everything?" As he spoke, Puck stood from his chair. He started toward
Kurt but turned it into pacing around his room.
"It must be so nice to be able to pass off every mistake you make as 'shit
happens.' Is it nice Puck? Does it help you sleep at night? Make you feel like
you can do the same things again tomorrow because, you know, shit happens?"
"No," Puck spun with the word to face Kurt, arms shooting up before he caught
himself and set them back at his sides. He realized he had shouted and tried to
calm himself. Just because Kurt obviously wanted to provoke him didn't mean
Puck should rise to the bait. He was better than that, wasn't he?
"Really? Because you've done this before. I'd even let myself believe you
figured it out, that you understood that I cannot be in the same room as
something like that anymore. It only makes me feel dirtier."
Puck had nothing to say. He knew that feeling. It was the way he'd felt when he
saw Kurt naked and scarred on a motel bed and still found room in his head to
think about saving him. The two didn't fit together, never had. Puck hadn't
saved Kurt and never would.
He would have sat back down in his chair if he didn't collapse into it first.
He brought a hand to cover his eyes. "I'm sorry, Kurt."
When Kurt gave no reply, Puck uncovered his eyes to find his friend staring him
down. He hardly looked like Kurt anymore. Puck hadn't seen him like this for a
long time. He had let himself think Kurt was better, that the darkness had
drained out of his heart and returned him to the sassy boy who loved musicals.
That was what Puck had wanted to see, and probably what Kurt had wanted to
show.
Only when Puck had fully focused on him did Kurt move. He walked slowly
forward. It was scary. It shouldn't have been, but then, Kurt had learned a lot
about how to scare people, hadn't he? "I..." He let the word linger on his
tongue and pour slowly over his open lips. "Don't..." He leaned forward,
placing his hands on the arm rests of Puck's computer chair. "Care."
Kurt's face hardened to stone and fixed into the air in front of Puck's face.
His eyes had always had a sharpness to them. Puck almost believed they could
cut him now, slice him open for Kurt to study his insides and declare them
unfit. He had never felt like this around Kurt. He had been so good for Kurt
because Puck never feared him or pitied him.
"I was wrong, Puck." Kurt's voice had gone deep into his lower register. Even
if it would never be a movie super villain voice, it might have worked as a
movie psychopath voice. "You aren't much like Rob at all. You're more Kitty,
now that I think about it." He arched an eyebrow, looked Puck over, and left
with a smirk.
Puck watched him leave and realized he had just lost something. Maybe
everything.
He should have known better. Done better. Out of everyone, Puck knew Kurt best.
The new Kurt anyway, the Kurt who had just stared him down. Everyone else still
thought they knew the old Kurt and found little pieces of him whenever they
poked through. Puck barked out a bitter laugh, but it sounded more like a sob.
There wasn't an old Kurt or a new Kurt, just Kurt, and just Puck who knew he
wasn't ready for high school bullies and hadn't said a damn word about it
because he just wanted Kurt to be okay so badly he convinced himself he was.
Puck tried to still his ragged breathing only to find himself bent over in his
chair, fists pressed against his eyes to force back the tears that flowed out
anyway. He was useless, broken, worthless. The only thing he'd been good at
anymore was helping Kurt, and he'd just failed there too. Once he could see
well enough to pull up her number, Puck called Quinn.
"You were right." His voice surprised him in its stillness.
"Not that I don't enjoy hearing the words alone, but, about what?" In the
background, Puck heard a door close followed by the click and hiss of a can of
soda being opened.
"I'm not okay."
A bruised ball of hurt had hung heavily in Puck's chest for so long now he
hardly felt it anymore.
He had just blocked it off from the rest of him and pretended everything was
okay. Now he felt it reaching out to swallow the rest of him and knew he lacked
the strength anymore to hold it back. He didn't know what Quinn could have
heard in his voice since he had stopped crying, but she said she was on her way
over and to stay put.
Quinn said it was good that Puck had stopped trying to avoid her. She said it
meant he trusted her. He took her word for it and waited on his bed because he
didn't know what else to do. Part of him wondered if she would somehow twist
this into a good thing. Yes, Puck, you're useless, but it's best that you can't
do anything right because I don't make any fucking sense.
With a groan, Puck rolled over, facing his back to the door. He knew what rock
bottom was, had even been there before. And, yeah, it was supposed to help
because there was nowhere to go but up, but Puck got the feeling that wasn't
true. He could just... stay. The hollow place where he used to store up his
pain echoed the thought back at him, making Puck certain that he would just
stay in this numb, dark place.
When Quinn showed up and climbed into bed so Puck's head rested in her lap, he
tried to make himself either angry or sad, or at least to care enough to answer
her constant questions: "What's wrong? What happened? Puck, please talk to me."
But he couldn't. Or at least he didn't. The difference seemed not to matter. He
rolled onto his side and curled his legs up. Sometimes he woke from nightmares
like this, though usually without Quinn stroking the hair of his mohawk.
He would have been fine if he never started trying to "open up" to Quinn. He
had managed fine before and could have carried on. But with her help, every
little thing that ever bothered him blew into something massive, unbeatable,
and unbearable. She hadn't helped him. She had made him worse. Made him broken.
That should have made him angry. Puck sighed into the floral fabric of Quinn's
dress and thought about how it didn't make him angry at all.
***** Kurt: Burn *****
Chapter Notes
     Song: "The End Complete III: The End Complete" by Coheed & Cambria.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
They had a fireplace now.
Even though it was warm outside and Kurt still wore too much clothing to be
comfortable in any kind of heat, he sat hugging his knees in front of the
fireplace, watching the flames leap around and through the logs he had dragged
in from the woodpile outside. He had never been obsessed with fire the way a
lot of teenagers seemed to be. He didn't look at it and see a reflection of his
soul or his struggle or even an escape. He just saw fire. And he saw what it
could burn.
He rested his hand on the coarse black denim of a pair of skinny jeans that
topped a pile of clothing beside him on the floor. Kurt ran his fingertips
across the fabric, as though he could soak in the texture by feeling it. With a
scowl, he jerked his hand back and turned to the fire. It looked big enough
now. If he didn't get this done quickly, Kurt wasn't sure he'd be able to do it
at all.
Just do it.He made a fist around the denim and lifted it off the neatly-folded
stack of all-black clothing. For a moment he stopped, hand raised, jeans
dangling toward the floor, breathing in the slow, jagged rhythm of someone who
needs to pant but won't let himself. Kurt hurled the jeans into the fire.
They covered the flames for a moment before the fire leapt up, taking hold of
the jeans and beginning to burn them. Kurt had hoped it would burn through them
faster. At least no one would be home any time soon. Kurt had time. He watched
the fire eat through his jeans and set his hand down on the next garment: a
turtleneck sweater.
The sweater had not been in the first batch of clothes from Robin. This one
came after Kurt started cooperating. Robin had called it a present. He had
smirked as he held it out, almost like an offering to the defenseless, naked
boy on the bed. Kurt's stomach flipped thinking about how he had looked at that
smirking face and thought it handsome. He had learned not to mind the scar or
the crooked nose. He had learned not to mind the way Robin never asked
permission before undressing Kurt. He had even learned to like it.
Kurt took up the whole pile of clothes and shoved them into the flames. He
jerked back from the searing heat and stuck his fingers in his mouth to cool
them. The fire struggled under the cover of the clothes Robin had given him.
But it never died. Kurt smirked as he watched the flames ruin his clothes. He
wiped the dampness from his cheeks with the hand he hadn't hurt and told
himself he wasn't sad. There was just smoke stinging his eyes. He wasn't
allowed to be sad about Robin Banks.
But then instead of a smirk, Kurt's memory pulled up his last sight of Robin's
face: pale except for the blood staining his lips, eyes rolled back in his
head, mouth propped open by the shirt Kurt had shoved into it. Kurt bolted for
the kitchen. He barely reached the trash can before puking up what little he'd
had for lunch. When his stomach settled, Kurt washed his mouth out with water
from the tap.
He had thought the burning might help but felt no less scared than he had today
when he walked into the choir room for the first time since October 27, 2010.
He thought he would be okay, but then he went to walk past the piano and would
have collapsed right there, in the place he stood when he emptied his pockets
for Rob, if he hadn't caught himself on the piano. Once he had control of his
legs, he had walked to the door he came through that day and stared over at the
spot where Rob had seemed almost to materialize when he came out of hiding and
called Kurt by name. Kurt had puked then too. Finn didn't know why Kurt had
decided to skip glee practice.
He closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. It didn't matter that the
wall could support him. Kurt still inched down it until he sat on the floor,
head resting against the wall. If he had opened his eyes, he'd be looking at
the ceiling. Instead, he stared at the backs of his eyelids. Funny how much
they looked like a fresh corpse.
It had been a long time since this happened to him. Well, sometimes he still
saw Robin while he slept, but usually he was fine so long as he was awake. If
by "fine" he meant dressed in clothes Robin had given him as though by wearing
them he could feel Robin's hands on his skin one last time. This time Kurt
didn't vomit. Instead, he reached his hand forward and traced the ghost image
of the words he had carved into another man's flesh. The death of Kurt Hummel.
He flinched away from the red letters, from the image of Robin Banks. Kurt
opened his eyes and stared at the tile of the kitchen floor. He remembered how
lost he felt then and scowled because he didn't feel any more like he'd found
himself now.
Kurt wasn't supposed to come back from that. He was supposed to disappear,
become someone else. Someone who could handle a heart full of hatred and pain
and murder. Kurt Hummel had never been that kind of person. Or, at least, he
had never wanted to be. I guess I am now,he thought, rubbing his hands up and
down his arms as if he were cold.
Some part of Kurt had believed that burning the clothes from Robin would sever
his ties to the dead man. He didn't want to think about Rob anymore. He didn't
want to wake up crying from what was either a nightmare or a wet dream. Most of
all, he didn't want to be a murderer. But as soon as he thought about it, he
always saw Wayne, Jack, Kitty, and Robin. Corpses lined up in a row for his
memory's amusement and his consciousness' agony. None of them had believed Kurt
would do it any more than Kurt had. Wayne had thought himself the dangerous
one. Jack had begged for Kurt to save him, had probably expected Kurt to stand
up to Robin, or maybe just hoped for it. Kitty and Robin hadn't believed it
even when Kurt had a gun pointed at them. Robin spent all that time making Kurt
into a killer and never thought he had succeeded.
Kurt stood with a bitter laugh and turned back to the den. He shouldn't leave
the fire unattended. He clenched his hands into fists and felt his nails
digging into his skin. He would have to trim them soon.
The thought was so mundane compared to the memory of a gun's recoil as he put a
bullet in Kitty's brain that Kurt laughed again. It was an ugly laugh, one he
was glad no one else heard. For a long time now, Kurt had avoided thinking of
any of these things. He had thought that meant he was getting better, moving
away from them. Maybe he had just been hiding. He'd certainly been hiding them
from everyone else, so why not himself too?
Well, because he always remembered—
But he never thought about—
But it's not like he didn't know—
But he really didn't want to know. He wanted to forget. He wished he could
forget. Even though he couldn't forget, Kurt had managed the next best thing:
pretending he had moved on. Yes, that's right, move along, all is well here, he
wasn't the monster Robin had made of him. Not at all.
Kurt dropped heavily to the floor in front of the fire again. He grabbed the
poker and adjusted the logs and remnants of cloth a bit to keep the fire going
strong. Then again, maybe he should let it die out. The room was getting
overheated. It didn't matter either way. Kurt put the poker back and moved to
sit in the armchair facing the fire.
The room felt quiet despite the cracking and hissing of the fire eating away at
its fuel. Kurt had learned more and more what hid behind silence as time
passed. Gunshots and screams mostly. Every once in a while, a soft sigh in
Robin's voice. Kurt had learned even to sleep with music or white noise. The
fire should have been enough.
Kurt idly wondered if he'd taken his medicine only to remember he wasn't
supposed to anymore. He barked out a short, bitter sound that he shouldn't have
thought of as a laugh. The fire burned, but Kurt could still see his clothes in
it. He opened his mouth to fight off the silence and found lyrics from a CD
Puck had lent him on his tongue.
No words to say
The worst displayed
What once was courage is now cursed in the hurt we've made
We are the sinners, before our graves
He'd done it before, but had never gotten used to singing in this genre. It
felt strange in his mouth, but not so ill-fitting that he stopped. It could
feel right, he knew, given enough time. Already parts of it fit. He sang lower
than usual, but it didn't feel like a lie the way Pink Houses had. It felt like
a truth forced out through his throat and leaving him raw.
Now leave in peace
The dead unsaved
A World still turning down the path of the end complete
Now spite me, jury, We've come for change
Kurt had never "felt something break inside him." It was the sort of thing he
read about happening or heard described by sad, overdone characters who thought
it made their weeping okay. Staring into the flames and singing, he realized it
felt more like burning than breaking. Something had started up inside him from
the moment he fired at Wayne Garcia, and it had slowly begun to consume him
until it became the thing that defined him. It burned him away, and he couldn't
come back from that any more than his smoldering clothes could. But still a
little hallow in the back of his mind echoed back the words, I should have
saved him,and I should have spared them.
Dig deeper
Remember all you've been and all you've left behind
Wave goodbye, my dear
Dig deeper
Remember all you've been and all you've left behind
Welcome home, my dear
Kurt wanted to reach into the flames and save what Robin had given him. He
shouldn't have done it. He should have hesitated a little longer, just long
enough to change his mind. But then, he couldn't really be rid of what Robin
had given him. His fingers traced the long scar along his throat even though he
thought about much more than things people could see.
No one will ever know
No one will ever know
The room stank of smoke. Clothes smoke, not wood smoke. Kurt watched the fire
and waited. It would die down eventually if he stopped feeding it.
Chapter End Notes
     Thanks to Nicole/nikkithedead/carlathezombie for helping me think of
     Kurt burning his clothes.
***** Puck: Moments From Caving In *****
Puck hadn't gone to school today. He hadn't even gotten out of bed until after
two. Once he got up, he only made it as far as the toilet before turning back
to drop back on his bed. Maybe he'd have more energy if he ate breakfast (or
lunch, or whatever came between lunch and dinner... the American version of tea
time maybe), but he couldn't bring himself to care. He went to school
yesterday. That was good enough to cover staying home today.
There was a text from Quinn pulled up on his phone. Puck held it up in front of
his face, staring at it without really reading it. She just wanted to know if
he was okay. He had already typed in, I'm fine, babe, but he didn't hit send.
Quinn liked to tell Puck how damn good he was at lying to himself. Still not
good enough though. He knew he wasn't okay, and he shouldn't lie to Quinn.
Even without knowing just what was wrong, Puck could tell there was something.
He knew all the little signs Quinn would point out if she could see him right
now, starting with how much he just wanted to do absolutely nothing for as long
as possible. His stomach growled.
"Fine," Puck snarled at it. He didn't care that his stomach couldn't hear him.
He just wanted something to be angry at, even if just for a moment. Puck swung
his legs off the bed and stood, pushing himself up with a hand on his old but
sturdy nightstand. Once he was standing, he pulled open the top drawer of the
nightstand. He didn't want anything. It was just a habit. Puck kept his watch
and his weed in there beside his condoms, a pen, and Kurt's pocketknife. Puck
had already reached a hand toward his watch before he remembered he didn't need
to put it on.
He grabbed the knife instead. Yesterday's jeans lay on the floor with his belt
still through the loops and his wallet still in the back pocket. Puck sniffed
at them and decided them smelled fine, so he shoved the knife into the front
pocket and pulled the jeans on over his boxers. Then he made his way to the
kitchen, already sure he didn't feel like making anything. It wasn't really
enough, but he poured himself a bowl of cereal and pretended he didn't want a
hamburger. It was hard to get a kosher hamburger in Lima anyway.
He ate slowly because he didn't feel like eating so much as he felt like
shutting up his stomach. His fingers found their way into his pocket to rest
against Kurt's knife. Puck still remembered the day he found it, the day Kurt
was taken. He hadn't understood at first. No one had. They hadn't wanted to.
Puck opened the blade, staring at the way light reflected off it without paying
it much attention. Kurt must have cleaned it after... after he killed Robin
Banks with it. Puck himself had cleaned it regularly after taking it from Kurt
even though he never used it for anything. It still felt dirty. Sometimes when
he looked at it, Puck saw flashes of dark, dark red. He wondered if this was
what it was like to be Ms. Pillsbury, only it would be everywhere and not quite
so bloody. She must feel so helpless, trapped in a filthy world and unable to
make it clean.
Puck felt helpless.
More than that, he felt useless. Nothing he did from the moment he found the
pocketknife in the choir room had done any good. He went to save Kurt, and Kurt
had to save Puck. He convinced Kurt to come home, but only because Kurt wanted
to anyway. He tried to be there for Kurt. He got in the way and had only a scar
on his arm to show for it. Kurt didn't need him. Kurt never had. No one needed
Puck. It wasn't just Kurt he failed. He never even tried to help his mom out.
The others in glee club sometimes said Puck did a lot for them because he
helped "when it counted," but what the fuck did that even mean? It meant he did
jack shit most of the time. And the first thing he had ever really wanted to
try at had been a worse failure than going after Kurt because Puck couldn't
exactly chase down his dad.
He dropped his spoon into his bowl and turned his arm to look at the scar. If
it would help, Puck would gladly let Kurt give him a few more, but it wouldn't.
As much as Puck wanted to finally do something right, he couldn't. Hurting Puck
had only made Kurt hate himself more. Puck never cared about getting hurt.
Maybe he should have. But maybe Quinn was right when she said he felt so much
for Kurt because he was scared to feel for himself. Or maybe she spent too much
time online trying to "diagnose" him.
It didn't matter anymore since he felt as close to nothing now as he'd ever
managed. Emptiness and weight didn't seem like they fit together, but that was
what he felt. Like he had a hollow chest and a giant rock on his back. Like he
was moments from caving in. Like everything he ever did to fill that hole
inside him had only helped empty it in the end.
He ran his thumb over the puckered skin of his scar. It wasn't the first he'd
had—Puck had never led a particularly sedentary life. It was the only scar it
ever hurt to look at. Now it felt less painful than heavy, but it was there. He
transferred the knife to his left hand and pressed it against the scar. This
was the blade Kurt had used to cut him. The same blade he had used to kill
Robin Banks. The one Kurt left behind. The one Puck brought with him to
"rescue" Kurt. The one Puck pulled from Kurt's pocket while Kurt tried to fight
him off.
It was unclean. Puck had washed the pocketknife last night, but he could feel
how dirty it was. The tip of the blade pressed against the scarred skin until
it broke through. The original cut had been deep. It had bled heavily and hurt
like a bitch. Now Puck traced it lightly. He went back to the beginning and
followed the scar again, deeper this time. Still, it hardly bled compared to
the original cut.
"Fuck."
Puck more than dropped the knife. He hurled it across the room right into his
mom's fancy flower vase. The vase fell with a crash when it hit the tile floor.
A chunk of it broke off, leaving behind a gash only partly covered by flowers.
Water leaked out of the gash and cracks, spreading out over the floor.
"Fuck," Puck groaned again. He stumbled to the sink to wash his arm and watched
his blood pour down the drain trying not to think about why he was bleeding. He
closed his eyes. Maybe he could wake up and realize everything since last
October had been some weird, crazy-person nightmare. But no, even Puck's mind
wasn't twisted enough to make this shit up. If it were Puck's nightmare, he'd
be the one hurt most, not Kurt.
He grabbed a dish towel and hoped his arm wouldn't bleed too much while he
cleaned up the floor. His mom had a cheap old vase that he moved the flowers
into, and he set the pieces of the broken vase on the table. Should he try to
fix it? He couldn't hide it. Should he call his mom or wait for her to come
home? The knife still lay on the floor where it had fallen after hitting the
vase. Puck wiped the blood off on his jeans and shoved the knife in his pocket.
No, he had to hide it. His eyes drifted down to his arm. His mom would notice.
Quinn would notice. Kurt would notice. Hell, even Mr. Schue and Finn would
probably pick up on it. But he hadn't cut it deeply, and there was already a
scar there. It wasn't so bad. He could wear long sleeves... no he couldn't. It
was still fucking summer even if school had started.
Puck went back to his room and grabbed his phone. Quinn had texted again to
tell him not to ignore her. He erased, I'm fine, babe, and replaced it with, I
just cut myself. Then he dropped the phone on the bed without sending again.
His chest felt tight now, like a cramped space full of lightning. It wasn't
empty anymore. He pulled Kurt's pocketknife from his jeans and held it up in
front of him. He opened it, studied the blade, and closed it again. The
dirtiness didn't bother him so much as it had.
One of the floorboards under his bed was loose. Puck used to hide cans of beer
there before he realized he could just take his mom's from the fridge. He hid
the knife there now. Kurt wasn't the only one who could hoard tools; Puck had a
swiss army knife that he shoved in his pocket to replace the hidden blade. Then
he traced a finger along the cut on his arm. It came away red, and Puck wiped
it on his jeans.
Puck picked up his phone and added, I think I might do it again. He hit send.
***** Kurt: If Not for You *****
Strando's continued survival at this point proved that Kurt had come a long way
from the boy who killed Robin and then hid out in Meg's apartment instead of
going home. Kurt wondered why no one else saw it that way. Just because he
stood up for himself against some overweight moron who tried to push him around
didn't make Kurt unstable or a danger to anyone. Oh he was dangerous, no doubt.
He'd only recently realized that in full, but just because he could kill didn't
mean he was going to ever again.
Most of the student body had learned to stay clear of him. Hell, even Dave
Karofsky turned the other way when he saw Kurt coming down the hall. Strando
was clearly the stupid one though, and stupid seemed pretty damn contagious at
William McKinley.
"So we don't want your little fag ass infecting our school with the gay any
more, you got that?" Strando finished what Kurt had dubbed his obligatory
villainous monologue. He probably had expected Kurt to listen to that.
"Sorry, I lost track around the part about sneaking into the locker room. Maybe
you could write it down for me this time?" There. That wasn't violent or even
angry. In fact, Kurt felt downright sassy.He'd almost forgotten how great it
was to act superior to everyone instead of just imagining them with their faces
smashed in. Except now there was a fist hovering just in front of his face and
a jock behind it spouting out something he probably meant to be threatening.
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Okay, meathead, do me a favor. Picture yourself in your
mind. Now picture a man convicted of robbery who afterward managed to stay on
the run for years despite pretty much everyone knowing him for a kidnapper,
rapist, serial killer, and all around criminal jackass. Who the fuck do you
think is scarier? Now I want you to keep in mind which of you has tried to beat
me down and failed so completely he can't even come to his own line-ups
anymore." It was shorter than Strando's own speech had been, but Kurt still got
the feeling he lost his audience in there somewhere.
"You don't scare me." Oh, good, Strando had heard part of it at least.
Kurt bared his teeth in the most sadistic grin he knew how to make. "I should."
The pain erupted like a firework behind Kurt's eyes, shooting from both sides
of his head as Strando's fist connected just below Kurt's left eye and the
lockers slammed him from behind as his head shot back. Kurt didn't bother
trying to see after that. He just shot his leg out to where he remembered
Strando's balls being and knew he'd hit by the howl of pain that followed. The
lockers supported Kurt's weight well enough that he didn't fall. He glared out
at the other jocks as his vision returned. He didn't know their names, just
that they were on the football team.
He had already begun planning how to slash at the eye of the one on the left to
distract him and let Kurt make a run for it before he realized he couldn't use
his knife here. One of them might try to help Strando though. These were high
school kids, not hardened criminals. What does that make me then?Kurt set aside
the thought for when he had time for philosophy. What mattered was: these guys
were friends, and if they checked on their friend, that would give Kurt an
opening. He just had to be ready for it.
There. One of them leaned forward and asked, "Dude, are you okay?"
Before he finished speaking, Kurt darted away from him. He'd wanted to go the
other way, toward the parking lot, but this would lead him to the choir room.
Glee club wouldn't start for ten minutes, but a few people usually showed up
early. Then again, he didn't hear footsteps behind him, so maybe Kurt had
gotten away this time.
"Kurt, wait!" It wasn't the voice he expected to chase after him, so for a
moment Kurt couldn't place it. "Kurt!" The second time he had it though. Quinn.
He slowed and turned in time to see Quinn come around a different corner than
he had. There was no sign of the jocks. "Kurt what happened to your eye?"
Kurt reached up and felt at his eyes. He flinched away from the touch and knew
by the pain it had bruised. "It got bored and decided to try a new color." He
continued on before Quinn had a chance to push further. "What did you want?"
She held up her phone. For a moment Kurt arched an eyebrow at her, but he
turned to the phone when she didn't say more. It was a text from Puck.
I just cut myself,it said. I think I might do it again.
What?
From Puck. Why would Puck say that? Kurt's mind grasped at nothing until it
finally returned with the question Kurt should have asked: why would Puck
dothat? Only after he thought it and realized he had whispered it aloud did
Kurt really grasp that Puck had hurt himself. On purpose. And apparently found
something in it that he wanted to find more of because why else would he
already know it would happen again?
"Well, my guess would be you, Kurt." Quinn finally lowered the phone to put her
hands on her hips. "Which is why you're coming with me."
"I... what?" Everything had been going so well. Sure, Kurt had a black eye, but
he hadn't even reached for a knife to remove one of Strando's. He went to class
and paid attention instead of just searching for escape routes. He even went to
glee club yesterday without Finn having to drag him. Puck hadn't been there for
glee though. He went home as soon as classes let out.
"I could probably talk him down. Eventually. But I have to go slowly with
Puck." Quinn grabbed Kurt's arm and started walking him toward the parking lot
as she spoke. He hoped they wouldn't pass the jocks on their way. That could be
awkward. "But as much as you've mostly used it to hurt him, you can have an
almost instant effect on him. So I need you."
"What are you talking about?"
Quinn rounded on Kurt before thinking better of it and beginning to walk again.
When she spoke, her voice was so tightly controlled Kurt could only believe
that Quinn wanted nothing more than to scream at him. "I still don't know what
you said to him because he won't tell me. It was about the song we did to be
nice, which I guess you wouldn't understand." She took a deep breath. "He was a
mess after you left. Puck cried himself to sleep. He never cries, even his mom
says so, but he cried because of you."
"So I made Puck cry, and now everything he does is my fault?" Kurt had no
problem talking to Puck. He wanted to go to Puck as badly as Quinn did. He
just... didn't want to go with Quinn.He hated being around her. She was the
reminder that when people found out any of what he'd done, they would never
forgive him. Most people weren't like Puck. Most people were more like Quinn.
Or Strando and his friends. Or Karofsky who avoided the issue, and Kurt,
altogether.
"You did a hell of a lot more than that Kurt, and we both know it."
Kurt didn't have anything to say to that.
Quinn drove since Kurt still wasn't supposed to. His license had never been
revoked or anything. His parents and psychologists just believed driving was
dangerous and stressful enough that he had only been behind a wheel a few
times, and always with Burt in the passenger seat, since returning home. Kurt
didn't mind as much as he originally thought he would. Kurt texted Finn from
the car to let him know he was with Quinn.
Then he tried to think of what he could say to Puck. "I'm sorry," and, "I
thought you noticed I was having a bad day and have been a lot better since
then," didn't sound like they'd cut it. He wondered if Quinn was right, if he
had driven Puck to this. Fuck, of course he had. Kurt remembered Finn claiming
Puck had a lot more going on than just Kurt. But Kurt also remembered watching
something fall away from Puck when he confronted him after the New Directions
performed "No One Is Alone" for him. He doubted Puck fully understood some of
what Kurt had said, but he didn't need to. Puck understood enough.
And if Kurt saw Puck as so much like Kitty, why hadn't he ever thought he could
break Puck as surely as Robin had broken Kitty? It had taken Kurt a long time
to realize why Kitty was so devoted to a man who treated her so poorly. He
wondered if Quinn was thinking the same thing about him and Puck right now. It
made him feel out of place in his own skin to think of himself like that. It
made him feel dirty.
Quinn pulled into Puck's driveway a little too fast and slammed on the brakes.
She slammed her car door shut before Kurt even had his seatbelt off. With a
deep breath, Kurt got out of the car and followed. Quinn was worried about
Puck, but Kurt was worried about what he'd done to Puck. He shouldn't have been
thinking about himself. He still did.
He found them in Puck's bedroom, sitting on the bed. Puck's arm was already
bandaged, and Quinn was studying it and holding him at the same time. When Kurt
walked in, Puck's eyes widened in what could have been shock, fear, or both.
"I didn't tell you so you could tell everyone else." The words were for Quinn,
but his eyes stayed on Kurt.
"I know. I only told Kurt." She pulled her hand away from Puck's bandage and
motioned to it while Puck's eyes stayed on Kurt. If she were a telepath, Quinn
still couldn't have said, 'See, Kurt, it is your fault,' any more clearly. The
bandage covered where Kurt had attacked Puck before, covered it exactly. Puck
had cut himself where Kurt had cut him. Kurt felt sick.
Kurt walked over to the bed, a little shocked by how steady he still moved. He
sat beside Puck and stared at his own hands. There was nothing he could say.
His eyes drifted to Puck's arm, to the bandage on it.
"Did you use it?" Kurt hadn't believed he would speak until the question fell
from his lips.
"What?" The confusion in Puck's voice sounded genuine.
"The same one I did."
"Oh." It might not be enough for Quinn to catch on. She probably still believed
Burt had taken the knife Kurt cut Puck with. Puck clenched and loosened his
fist a few times. Kurt focused on his hand, afraid to look at Puck's face.
"Yes."
"Where is it?" How long could he keep this up? Talking to Puck without looking
at him. It felt like something a soap opera character would do. Or Rachel
Berry.
"You can't have it."The ferocity of Puck's voice startled Kurt. Puck had
turned, and now Kurt felt his friend's eyes on him. He knew he had to answer
them and looked up slowly. Puck didn't look angry, but he didn't look ready to
give in to anyone's demands either. Kurt had seen that look in the mirror
before and never thought he could find it on anyone else's face. It made him
wonder how long and how hard he had been pushing Puck without bothering to
notice.
"What can't he have?" Of course Quinn couldn't stay out of it.
"Nothing." Kurt and Puck answered together.
Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Really. Nothing? A nothing so important it's the
first thing Kurt asked you about?"
"It's not mine, Quinn. I can't just... give it away." Puck avoided her eyes.
Was it worth losing it to Quinn for Kurt to get his pocketknife away from Puck?
"Then whose is it?"
Was it worth it? That should have been an easier question. Puck was Kurt's
friend. The knife was just a piece of metal. But sometimes his fingers still
itched for it, especially now that he'd burned his clothes. "Mine."
"Tell me."
"But..." But he could lose it. Would lose it. Even now, it was safe with Puck,
even if Kurt couldn't quite get at it.
"No, I don't care. Stop thinking about yourself for one second, and tell me
what you two are trying to hide." Quinn looked not so much ready to rip him
apart with her bare hands as able to tear him to pieces with her mind.
Sometimes Kurt forgot that Quinn had a temper, but then, she hated him, didn't
she?
"A pocketknife."
"A knife? Puck is holding a knife for you." She turned her eyes to Puck,
suddenly shifting from raging to sad. "And you cut yourself with it?"
Puck looked down at his hands. Kurt kept his eyes on Quinn.
"It's the knife I killed Robin banks with. And the one I used when I hurt
Puck."
Quinn didn't bother saying Burt took that from him or that he shouldn't have
kept it around. Instead, she turned back to Puck and demanded, "Give it to me."
"No." Puck did look at her this time.
"Then give it to Kurt."
"I can't. It's..." Puck opened his mouth as if to continue but closed it
instead.
"It's bad for him? Gee, I wonder why. Might it be bad for you too?" Fuck, but
she sounded like a bitch. Well, she was angry, probably more so at Kurt than at
Puck. Kurt got bitchy when he was angry sometimes too. That felt like a weird
thought to have, but Kurt didn't spare any thought to figure out why.
"Give it to Quinn." It almost hurt to say it. He had already begun planning how
to get it back from Quinn, or at least ways to convince her to keep it quiet.
"I took it from you, Kurt. That sounds to me like you get no say in what I do
with it." But Puck sounded desperate, unsure. He didn't know what to do. In a
way, that was good for Kurt and Quinn. If they both drove him to give up the
knife, they could wear him down.
At the same time, it was anything but good for Puck. Confidence had always been
a part of Puck, even when it was a bluff. He knew who he was and what he
wanted. That was part of why kids at school feared or looked up to him. And
somehow, Kurt had taken that away from him. He let himself be frightened into
making a calculated move against Puck instead of just throwing a fit in the
moment. Kurt had looked back on what Robin did to him and used it against Puck.
One time too many maybe. Or maybe it was just that he succeeded this time. Kurt
had left Puck's room and not even thought twice about what he did and said. It
had seemed like such a little thing, a way to show Puck that Kurt was angry. It
had obviously been a lot more than that to Puck though.
"I'm sorry."
"What for?" Kurt realized then he had left the track of their conversation
behind.
"For letting you think you never helped me." Because that had to be it. Puck
knew about Rob. He knew Kurt's feelings for him and how much Kurt had taken
away from Robin. He even seemed to have an idea that most of that would stay
with Kurt for the rest of his life. Puck was the only one who seemed to get
that, so Kurt had seen no problem highlighting it. But he had as good as ripped
the stitches out of a gaping wounds and let it bleed again just for Puck to
see. Puck wanted to help him make the pain scar over, not to dance in the blood
and relish all the ways Kurt would never be like other people. "Because you
did, you know. If not for you, I'd be helping Robin hold up a bank right now.
Or watching the door of a warehouse for him while he did only I know what to a
nice girl he picked up in a dark parking lot. Or worse."
They didn't ask what he thought would be worse. No doubt they thought he meant
getting raped. But he was thinking of Jack, not of what Rob had done to Kurt
but of what he made Kurt do to someone else. Maybe Puck knew what Kurt meant.
Maybe he thought Kurt meant both. Well, maybe Kurt did.
"I didn't save you."
"You didn't rescue me, Puck. But you sure as fuck saved me." Kurt felt the
panic and the pressure behind his eyes that meant he wanted to cry. He knew he
wouldn't, not with Quinn here, but he felt like it.
"You know even if I give it to you, that doesn't mean I won't—" He stopped
abruptly, like he'd been cut off, but he just couldn't say it. Kurt had been
surprised he managed to even send it as a text.
"I know." Kurt took Puck's hand.
"Then why bother?"
Kurt had no answer, but Quinn did. "Because it's a place to start."
Puck chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "It that enough?"
"No." Maybe Kurt should have hesitated.
"But it doesn't have to be," Quinn said, and Kurt knew she was right. Puck
wasn't going to wake up tomorrow feeling like everything was right in the world
no matter what they did now. But they could at least do this much.
"Please, Puck." Kurt squeezed Puck's hand.
When Puck pulled his hand away, Kurt almost panicked. But Puck turned and knelt
on the floor to reach under his bed. Kurt and Quinn waited. After a moment,
Puck rose, holding the knife. Kurt lurched for it but jerked himself back
before he touched it. He wanted it too badly. It almost hurt.
"Give it to Quinn."
Puck hesitated. He finally handed it over with the air of a man stretching his
neck out beneath the blade of a guillotine. Quinn took it quickly, but her
expression became increasingly unsure as she held it. Eventually she dropped it
into her purse, but they all knew that wasn't enough. They also knew it didn't
have to be.
***** Strando: A Coward *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
He wasn't a coward. Sometimes his dad called him that, but it wasn't true. He
hated that his friends started calling him a coward now too. If they were so
brave, why didn't they face Kurt Hummel and the fucking claws he had for
fingernails. Well, they didn't, did they? They were the cowards who settled for
doing nothing. Karofsky was the worst of the lot. When Strando noticed he
hadn't said anything, he asked the guy for help and got shot down. That was
cowardice: inaction.
Sure Strando had gotten the hell away from the fag, but at least he was man
enough to admit he'd gotten in too deep and had needed out. He watched his
teammates run away only to deny it all the time. Usually all they ran from was
girls. Strando had a mental patient on his hands. Hummel was literally
unstable.
Hudson hated to hear about it though. He wanted Hummel to be fine, so he wanted
everyone to pretend like he already was. That wasn't how it worked though.
Hummel needed help and a padded fucking room where he couldn't hurt anyone.
Strando wouldn't be surprised if the guy hurt himself too. He seemed the type.
Now that he thought about it, Karofsky wasn't the worst. The glee guys were,
especially Hudson. They acted like throwing a slushie was a sign of cowardice.
Strando tried to tell them that was just the way it worked around here. They
used to know that.
He wasn't a coward, and today he would prove it. His determination must have
shown on his face because wherever he walked through the halls, people got out
of his way. Some of them sent him sidelong looks. He knew what they meant but
didn't care because they would stop after today, after he set things straight.
Strando didn't remember much about his mother. She wasn't dead, but she wasn't
around anymore either. The one thing he did remember was what she taught him
about cowards. Strando was always afraid as a kid. He was fat and slow, and the
other kids were mean and fast. He spent every day terrified they would chase
him down and beat him with sticks. They never did, but he saw it happen in a
movie once and knew that that was just what happened in the world: the fat kid
was too slow, so he got beaten with sticks. When he finally told his mom why he
didn't want to go play outside, she had told him that didn't make him a coward.
Everyone was afraid. Cowards were just the people who didn't do anything about
it. Run away or face it, it didn't matter, just so long as he didn't freeze up
and stop living his life because of it.
So, yeah, he was afraid Hummel would tear his face off and eat it, but he
wouldn't let that stop him. First he had run away because retreat was a
tactical decision. It happened in war movies all the time. Now he had a plan,
and it was time to set it in motion.
If Hummel had just taken the slushie that first day, none of this would have to
happen now. But he had fought back again and again, and Strando couldn't change
the past anymore than he could change that Hummel was a gay nutcase. What he
could do was take a stand. He was in the top tier at McKinley. He was on the
football team. Singing and dancing fags didn't get to push him around, and this
time, Strando would be ready for retaliation. He wasn't a scared little fat kid
anymore. He was a big guy, yeah, but more of it was muscle now, and he knew he
could take anything a scrawny thing like Hummel could throw at him so long as
he was ready for it. He nodded as though he'd been trying to convince himself.
It was weird, he realized, but no one seemed to have noticed. Or if they did,
it didn't change the way they looked at him.
There he was. Kurt Hummel. Hudson walked with him, but Strando knew it wouldn't
matter. He had chosen something no one would be able to block once it was in
place. It had been expensive, but so worth it. Strando couldn't wait to see the
look on Hummel's face.
Right now, Hummel was smiling and laughing, the bruise around his eye only
faintly visible under a thick layer of makeup. He was such a fucking fag to
wear makeup; a real man would own up to the bruise. Hudson leaned against the
locker beside Hummel's, turned to talk to him as Hummel worked open the lock.
Then the shrieking started.
It sounded like Hummel was dying. Hudson and some others, mostly girls by their
voices, who had been nearby screamed too. People started running away, but
Strando wasn't worried. The huge piles of crawling black creatures that had
fallen out of Hummel's locker to cover him and the floor around him were only
crickets. Strando had considered cockroaches or spiders, but crickets were
easier to get since they were used to feed lizards or something.
Hummel began flailing his arms and legs, slapping at himself to remove the
bugs. By the way he kept spitting, Strando guessed at least one must have
fallen into his mouth when he opened the locker. Strando laughed. Hummel looked
fucking ridiculous. Even better, Hudson was trying to help him now. He kept
slapping at Hummel's back and hair, and he even accidentally squashed a few
into Hummel's shirt.
Strando stepped up close enough to be heard but far enough out that the only
crickets near him were those already on their way away from Hummel.
"Scared of a few little crickets, Hummel?" If the guys asked, Strando wouldn't
admit to it because it wasn't cool, but he'd spent nearly an hour last night
thinking up just what to say. He wanted to make sure he was witty.
"You," Hummel hissed. Most of the bugs were off him and hopping away by now.
One landed on Strando's pant leg, but he ignored it. "You did this."
Strando scoffed, but he made sure to exaggerate it so they would know he was
misleading them when he said, "Now, how could I have done that?"
Hummel looked ready to shout, but Hudson cut him off. "Dude, what the hell is
wrong with you?"
"With me?"Hummel was the one with a problem.
"You know Kurt's been through hell, so why can't you just leave him alone liked
a decent human being. He never did anything to deserve this." Hudson advanced
toward Strando as he spoke, so Strando stood up straighter for his reply.
"He defied the natural order. We have one for a reason. There's a way things
are supposed to be, and if they're not, we're supposed to fix them. And he
wasn't supposed to hit me either." Fight back. Strando was supposed to have
said "fight back." Whining that Hummel hit him made him sound like a girl, damn
it. He cursed his memory for forgetting and hoped he would do better for the
rest.
Hummel was smiling, but in a weird kill you while you sleep sort of way. "You
don't like people to hit you, Strando?" The tone of his voice said things were
not going to go Strando's way.
"Of course not. I'm not like you, homo." There. It accused Hummel of being some
kind of freak and also set Strando apart from him. He was proud of himself for
thinking of it in the heat of the moment like that.
"Original." Was that sarcastic? "But I think I get it now," That was definitely
not sarcastic. "You want to be hurt in other ways. Sharper ways maybe? Deeper
ways? Because clearly you have a death wish."
"And you have a cricket on your ear."
Hummel jerked his hand up to swat it away. Strando took the chance to reach
down and take one of the crickets in his hand. He cupped his fingers around it
so it could not escape, but not so tightly it would be crushed. "You don't
really want to lose your little friends now do you?" He tossed it into Hummel's
face and laughed as he screamed and swatted at his own face to get the bug
away.
Strando turned away from them. He had told himself not to drag this out or they
might turn it against him. He held up one hand as if to wave behind him and
said, "Later." He felt like a fucking badass doing it. Hudson called after him,
but didn't follow. He had to help Hummel with his cricket problem. Strando
laughed. His business with Kurt Humell was done, and better yet, he'd proven he
wasn't a coward.
Chapter End Notes
     Thanks to my friend Max for helping me think of the locker thing!
     He'll never see this, but I still want to give him credit. :P
     I know I sort of ruined Strando's character in a way, but he only
     appeared briefly in canon and had no development. I don't know if
     they even said his name on the show at all, so… I don't feel bad for
     using him like this. Besides it was sort of a fun exercise to be
     honest. *kanyeshrug*
***** Kurt: Afraid of Myself *****
It hadn't been this awkward between Puck and Kurt in a long time. No, that
wasn't right. It had never been this awkward between them, not even when Puck
first joined glee club or when Kurt was still going by Alex. They had sat, or
even lain, together on Kurt's bed countless times since Kurt came home. It had
never felt so strange before. Oh, it had been plenty wrong and terrifying the
time Kurt tried to fuck Puck, and it had been strange whenever Kurt tried to
hit on him, but Puck had always shrugged everything off before. How much it
affected Puck now was what scared Kurt the most.
He had flinched when Kurt sat down beside him today.
But Puck had come to Kurt's house, to Kurt's bedroom, on his own. Even after
Kurt startled him, Puck had asked Kurt to stay on the bed and had stayed
himself as well. Neither of them knew what to say anymore. Not even the denials
they used to both fall back on remained now. Kurt almost wished he could still
lie to Puck, just to have something to say.
At least Quinn wasn't there. Kurt had slowly learned to hate Quinn. They had
never been friends, but he never used to dream about slitting her pretty little
throat before either. He shook his head to push the thought away. He didn't
have time for that sort of thing anymore. He needed to be the strong one now
because Puck couldn't.
"I'm sorry," Kurt said. He wasn't sure how many times he'd said it already. It
seemed those words were the only ones he had left.
"Yeah, me too." Puck glanced away from his hands to Kurt and seemed almost to
smile before looking down again. But then his eyes were back on where his hands
rested limply in his lap, and his shoulders hunched forward like he could form
a cocoon with his hands at its center.
The silence returned then. They used to have comfortable silences, where they
just stopped talking because they didn't need to say anything. Now they needed
to say so much, and Kurt didn't know how. He wasn't good with people anymore,
and when he thought about it, he had never been great with Puck. They were
teammates, but not friends. How had they ever become friends? They were
strangers with a single hobby in common. He had tried asking before why Puck
was the one who felt he had to go after Kurt. Of the people in glee, only the
cheerios seemed less likely to have cared so much about Kurt. Except Brittany,
she cared about everyone in her own way, but definitely not in a chase-after-a-
serial-killer kind of way.
"I burned the clothes I had from Robin," he said instead of all the things he
was thinking.
"Is that bad for the fireplace?"
Kurt chuckled. "I don't know. Probably. I thought my dad was going to explode."
"Dude, he almost didn't let me in." Puck glanced up again, this time for a
little longer. "Be sneakier next time or something."
"Thanks, Puck. I didn't know how bad the smell would be… or how long it would
last because fuck sometimes I still think I catch a whiff." Kurt rolled his
eyes. He knew they hadn't been talking as much since Puck started spending more
time with Quinn, and he was starting to think that could also have been worded
as 'since Puck began to work on his own issues.' Maybe that was part of the
problem between them. He wondered if it mattered what they talked about. "Hey,
Puck," he said, wanting to reach out but not sure he should. "I know I've asked
you before, but what the fuck possessed you to chase after me while I was with
him?"
"I don't know. I was just sick of not doing anything."
"It can't be just that, Puck. We both know that." Kurt did reach out this time
to rest the palm of his hand on Puck's knee. Puck didn't flinch.
"It was like all of our lives just stopped. And I was angry all the time, and I
couldn't stop looking up shit on Banks. I thought there was something wrong
with me. Maybe there is.But the longer you were away, the more I learned about
what Banks did to people. I couldn't figure out why I didn't just look away the
way everyone else did. They didn't want to know, Kurt. They hated that I kept
reminding them, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't look away. He was just so
fucking horrible, but there was something in there that was, not art, it was
too fucked up for that, but that draws people the way art does. Like a car
crash. It's hideous and horrible and painful. But people want to see, Kurt.
They want to study the shape of bent and torn metal. They want to watch smoke
curl in the air and to soak in the shades of red against the asphalt. But then
they turn away because they've passed by it and need to get to work. But I
couldn't drive by, and I kept staring; and no one was doing anything anyway,
and maybe it just drove me mad."
If Kurt had given a speech like that, he would have been shaking. As much as
their pain was the same, it was different, and Kurt didn't know how to deal
with any of it, whether it matched his pain or not. He scooted over on the bed
so his leg brushed up against Puck's and put his arms around him.
"There's nothing wrong with you, Puck."
Puck moved to put his arms around Kurt too, but he didn't respond. Kurt could
guess why.
"Do you remember sophomore year—or freshman year for her—when Tina was obsessed
with poems and songs about death?" Kurt asked. "It wasn't because she wanted to
die. It was because she was fascinated, because she couldn't look away."
"Do you really think that's the same?"
"Well, she had an advantage in that no one she knew was slowly dying at the
time, but yeah, I think it's the same. Less to do with sex that yours, I
admit." Kurt smirked a little and nudged Puck with his elbow.
Kurt had never thought he would be able to make Noah Puckerman blush. But blush
he did, and he even leaned back a little and opened his mouth either in shock
or to deny it. "Shut up," he finally said with a pout.
"Oh my God, Puck. Have you turned shy on me?" Kurt teased.
"Dude isn't it enough to talk about that kind of stuff with my girlfriend?"
"Well, yeah, probably," Kurt admitted. "I just miss talking to you, and I'm the
one who ruined it, and then…" He stopped, afraid to say it.
"I haven't… haven't done anything like that since." Puck's voice was strangely
soft, like he feared to speak of it too loudly. Then he growled. "Fuck, why am
I afraid to say it? When you were gone, I was the only one not afraid to say
what was going on."
"Maybe it's harder when it's yourself. It's hard for me."
"I'm not you. Not that I've ever actually said it when there was anything wrong
with me. Back when I was drunk all the time, Mr. Schue pulled me aside to point
out that I drive through convenience stores instead of talking about my
problems." He chuckled. "I watched his eyebrows dance over his forehead and
thought about how stupid he was."
"Sometimes he's stupid. Sometimes he's not." Kurt shrugged. "I find most people
are that way."
"Fuck fuck fuck." Puck pushed himself off the bed and started pacing beside
Kurt's bed. "I don't want to be so afraid of myself that I can't use the words
to describe the things I've done even when I'm with the people I trust most in
the world." He whirled toward Kurt and fell to his knees in front of him.
Looking directly into Kurt's eyes in a way he hadn't in so long Kurt had nearly
forgotten how it felt, Puck took both of Kurt's hands in his. "I…" He took a
deep breath and let it out. "I cut myself, Kurt. It made me feel like there was
something inside me again, something powerful. I don't always feel… empty, but
I did then, and I tried to fill myself up by cutting, and it worked. For a
little while, it worked."
"Do you still feel like that sometimes? Empty?" It hadn't been long. Something
strong enough to make Puck hurt himself wouldn't just go away so quickly.
"Yes," Puck whispered. He dropped his head into Kurt's lap and cried softly.
Kurt leaned down to kiss Puck's hair.
"It's okay. Sometimes I don't feel right in this world either."
"How do you do it, Kurt? How do you feel all the things you do and not hurt
yourself so some of it can at least be your own?" Puck's words weren't so
muffled that Kurt couldn't hear everything behind them.
"I…" Kurt had been prepared to say, 'I don't know.' He leaned down again and
rested his forehead against the back of Puck's head. "I do, just not
physically, so maybe I can pretend I don't notice it."
"That's fucked up, dude."
Kurt laughed at hearing again the one thing Puck had always said to him, the
one thing no one else had been brave enough to say. Puck laughed too, but not
for long. And with his cheeks still wet and his eyes still red, it hardly
looked like laughter anyway.
***** Puck: I Think I'm Falling *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
He had actually thought he wouldn't do it again. When he thought about what had
happened, he remembered the glimmer of the knife in the light of the kitchen
most of all, and Quinn and Kurt had taken the knife. Part of him wondered what
Quinn had done with it. More of him was afraid what would happen if either he
or Kurt ever found out. And if Puck started feeling like nothing he ever did
would be worth anything ever again or ever had been in the first place, he
thought back on what Kurt had said. He said Puck saved him. Maybe not the way
Puck had wanted or expected to, but Puck thought maybe he'd saved Kurt in an
even more important way.
He ran his fingers along the strings of his guitar and thought about all the
times he didn't cut himself. Maybe they were enough.But they weren't, he knew.
The clock on the choir room wall sucked at Puck's courage with every tick. He
didn't have to do this. There was still time to tell them he'd brought the
guitar just for the heck of it or to practice some chords.
Even fear is better than nothing,he thought and knew he had to go through with
it.
Yesterday Puck stayed home from school again. He wasn't sick, but when he
turned off his alarm and tried to get out of bed, he just… didn't. Nothing had
given him reason to stay in bed, but none of the reasons to get out of
bed—food, school, needing to piss—had seemed important enough to make him go to
any effort.
His mom found him there when she came home for lunch. At first she was worried;
she thought he was sick. Even lying hadn't seemed worth it. Puck just shook his
head and said he was fine. Then his mom told him his father had been that way
too: too lazy to even get out of the damn bed unless he had a gig to play at.
Too lazy to take care of his kids. Too lazy to own up to his responsibilities.
Too lazy to be worth the boots he strutted around in. Puck told her that
sounded about right, and she left screaming at him about the talk they'd have
when she was off work. She had tried to hide the tears in her eyes, but not
very well.
Then Puck did get up. Just to use the toilet. But when he was done, his feet
carried him to the kitchen instead of his bedroom. He'd thought maybe he was
hungry until he dug in a drawer for the little knife his mom used to open
plastic packaging and the tape on packages that came in the mail. There were
razors in the bathroom, he knew, but somehow it looked more right with
something with a handle.
The blade had already broken skin on the inside of his left forearm before Puck
bothered to feel anything. But at least he was doing something. At least he
could feel something. It didn't have to be pleasant. It just had to be, and it
had to be his. As his blood trailed down to drip off his elbow to the laminate
kitchen counter, he knew it was all his now.
In the choir room, Puck watched his friends trickle in, in groups of two or
three. Most of them walked, sat, talked, and lived in couples. When Quinn
arrived, she took the chair beside Puck, and he became a couple too. It should
have made him happy. Maybe it did. He couldn't tell anymore.
Kurt arrived with Finn and Rachel. He was laughing. Maybe that made Puck happy
too.
Mr. Schue arrived last. He always seemed to be either last or first. Puck
guessed it fit best with the way Schuester liked to present assignments. Today,
Mr. Schue started with one of his usual, "Okay guys," and moved toward the
white board, probably to write the word of the week. But Puck stood up before
he could continue.
"Hey, Mr. Schue, I was wondering if I could, uh, before we start…" It wasn't
hard to say, just hard to do. He hefted the guitar. "Could I do a song?"
"Of course, Puck. What's the occasion?" At least one thing he could be counted
on to do was let his students sing.
Puck shrugged and dragged a stool out to the middle of the floor. Only Quinn
and Kurt looked anything but happy to hear him sing. "Nothing. Or just I don't
know how to say things so well sometimes." He tried for a smile before
realizing there wasn't much point to it given the song he planned to sing.
Still, he thought about changing it to a love song for Quinn at the last
moment, but by the look on her face she wouldn't believe it. Besides, if he
didn't do this now, he wasn't sure he'd ever want to again, and that scared him
more than singing a stupid song did. He took a deep breath and played the
opening chords.
Please come now I think I'm falling
I'm holding on to all I think is safe
It seems I found the road to nowhere
And I'm trying to escape
The confusion started as soon as Puck's song did. Tina turned to Mike for a
moment and then back to Puck. The smile slipped from Brittany's face. Sam's
lips parted so slowly Puck imagined they didn't stop until the third line did,
and now Sam sat staring with his mouth hanging open. Mr. Schue's eyebrows
pulled up and together and then into the position they always seemed to stop at
when he decided to reach out to a student with a "helpful" talk. Finn whispered
something to Kurt who waved him away and then moved the same hand to rub at his
suddenly red eyes.
Puck put all the strength he could find into the next line. He wanted them to
know he had fought back. Or tried to at least.
I yelled back when I heard thunder
But I'm down to one last breath
And with it let me say
Let me say
Hold me now
I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking
Maybe six feet
Ain't so far down
He knew maybe six feet down could be a grave, but he wasn't going to kill
himself. At least he didn't think he was. It was more like he felt a little
like he'd already died. He couldn't tell, even staring into all of their faces
and watching them watching him, what his friends thought he was singing about.
He finally turned his eyes to Quinn. There were tears in her eyes, though her
cheeks remained dry.
Sad eyes follow me
But I still believe there's something left for me
So please come stay with me
'Cause I still believe there's something left for you and me
For you and me
For you and me
As he sang, Puck wondered what everyone would have thought if he hadn't claimed
this song was something he didn't know how to say with his own words. Maybe
they would have thought he just liked it. That was ridiculous; no one had liked
Creed since the '90s. They just… he was tired of falling was all. And maybe he
needed more help than he'd been willing to admit before.
Please come now I think I'm falling
I'm holding on to all I think is safe
Quinn stood before Puck finished singing. By the time he played the last chord,
she was wiping tears from his cheeks that he hadn't felt falling. Great, he'd
always wanted to have another breakdown in front of the entire glee club. It
would just be so much fun. He still didn't feel like he was crying, but the
sarcasm was kind of nice even if he kept it to himself.
Once his tears were dried, Quinn hugged him a bit awkwardly around the guitar.
"You're not alone," she whispered into his ear. "We're all here for you."
When Puck saw Kurt drop something metallic and a little shorter than the palm
of his hand into the trash bin by the door, he knew Quinn was right. The others
crowded in then, and even though it was them he had to share what had happened
with, it was Kurt who he watched. He realized Kurt had known it all as soon as
he began singing, or maybe sooner.
Chapter End Notes
     The song here was Creed's "On Last Breath." It came to me via iTunes
     shuffle.
***** Kurt: Like They Did *****
The members of McKinley's glee club had gotten pretty used to sitting around in
people's living rooms waiting and hoping but knowing there was nothing left for
them to do. Kurt knew he had been the one to do it to them before. He wondered
if it had been the same then. Worried eyes darted about, trying to figure out
who to look at. Hands wrung in laps, except Brittany's, which she had set to
work making Puck a get-well drawing featuring a cat sitting on Puck's head. Its
name was Mohawk. Or maybe she thought his Mohawk looked like a cat since he
hadn't cut it in a while. The sound of her crayons on paper practically echoed
through the room, broken only by the occasional whisper about him. About Puck.
Kurt knew by the end they had been able to play games and watch TV in his
living room, but in the beginning, had it been like this? And what about when
he was still gone? He was afraid to ask.
Puck's mom had offered them drinks and snacks but didn't have enough food in
the house to feed everyone dinner. That made Kurt wonder how much money his
parents had spent on food in addition to Kurt's medical bills. Sometimes Carol
said she missed the ruckus and invited everyone over for an evening, but Kurt
thought that might have been more about him and Finn than about Carol actually
wanting to deal with so many teenagers and so many appetites.
Kurt fidgeted where he sat on the floor leaning against the wall. From here he
could see down the hallway that led to Puck's room. It made him feel closer,
like he could reach Puck faster if he needed anything. Quinn was with Puck
though. Quinn didn't have to wait in the living room with everyone else while
Puck talked with his mother and sister. Quinn was part of the family.
Kurt was not.
For a while longer than he'd been able to admit it, Kurt had considered Puck
family. His family had considered Puck family. But they weren't with his family
now; they were with Puck's. Kurt barely knew Puck's mother or sister. All he
knew about Puck's father was that he was never around. He wondered if his other
friends had felt left out like this when he hid away in the basement with Puck.
Mercedes had been his best friend before Robin took him. What was she now? Did
she feel cast off and unwanted? No, this was Mercedes he was thinking about. If
she felt slighted, she would tell him to get his head on straight. Mercedes was
too proud to be anyone but herself or to let anyone walk all over her when she
knew she deserved better. He smiled thinking about it. That was part of why
they'd been such good friends.
Down the hall, Puck's door opened. His mom stepped out, red-eyed. She paused
for a moment to take a deep, shaky breath as Puck's sister followed her out. As
she approached Kurt, she smiled down at him.
"Kurt," she said, "Noah asked me to send you in"
He didn't wait to hear more. Puck's mom was saying something to the group in
the living room as he closed the bedroom door behind him. Quinn was still here,
but better here with Quinn than away from Puck altogether.
"Are they overdrawing their sadness accounts again?" Puck asked as Kurt walked
into the room.
"Transferring sadness funds to Swiss accounts even." Kurt tried for
lighthearted, but even he heard the tension in his voice.
"I didn't expect them all to come over here like that." Puck turned his eyes to
his feet self-consciously.
"You mean like they did for Kurt?" Quinn asked, resting a hand on Puck's arm.
For a moment Puck didn't answer. During the pause, Kurt sat down beside Puck on
the bed. Quinn gave him a dirty look but said nothing as Kurt laid a hand on
Puck's leg.
"Yeah. Like they did for Kurt," Puck said at last.
"They care about you too, Puck." Quinn put her arm around his shoulders and
squeezed.
"I know that. I just… they probably need to get home, and Mom doesn't have food
for them or anything, so I bet they're hungry." Puck moved as if to look at
Quinn while he spoke but then turned away and stared at Kurt's hand on his knee
instead.
"They don't mind, you know." She rubbed circles on his back with her left hand
while her right reached across to hold his.
"Well I do." He pulled his hand away from hers and hunched forward.
Quinn looked shocked. "Why?" She looked as surprised at what she said as she
had at what Puck did, as though the word slipped past without her permission.
Kurt leaned in toward Puck. "You don't have to know what to say to them. I
stillhaven't said anything."
Instead of trying to respond, Puck closed his eyes. Kurt leaned against Puck's
side and waited for him as he knew Puck had waited for Kurt so many times
already. Holding onto Puck's arm, Quinn leaned against his other side. She
kissed his neck softly before resting her head against his shoulder. In a way,
Kurt wished he could do the same.
After what felt like a long time, Puck sighed. "My mom thinks I'm depressed."
"Depressed?" It shouldn't have surprised him, he realized, but only after the
surprise passed.
"She said she used to be. Back as a teenager and again after… my dad left. And
sometimes I guess it can run in families, and she's going to get me a
therapist. The talking kind, not the pill kind." His tongue darted out and ran
across his lips. "Do you think I'm lucky enough that it's bullshit? I don't
want to be… depressed."
"I don't know. But you're not fine. So it's got to be something." Kurt moved
his hand to Puck's shoulder and rubbed it in a way he hoped was comforting.
"Something. Yeah." He sounded bitter. "She said she's been worried about this
for a long time. Before recent stuff or whatever. That she's wondered for
fucking years if I had serious issues I just wasn't sharing."
"Puck," Quinn said, her voice stern. "You already said all this to your mom.
Kurt doesn't need to hear it."
"Fuck what Kurt needs to hear." He jerked away from Quinn. "My mom thought I
was screwed in the head and never said a word because she was… what? Afraid?
Well, how did she think Ifelt?"
"Nobody's perfect. Not even mothers." She reached for him again, and this time
Puck leaned into her touch.
"You would have been. If we kept Beth, you'd have been a perfect mother."
"I doubt that." She smiled when she spoke though.
Puck kissed her. "Can I talk to Kurt?"
She frowned. "You mean alone."
He nodded and looked into her eyes until she answered.
"Fine. I'll be just down the hall if you need anything." She stood, sending
Kurt a glare behind Puck's back, and stalked from the room.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Puck grabbed Kurt. He practically
tackled him so they lay together with Puck's arms around Kurt. "You're so much
braver than I am, Kurt. How the fuck do you do it?" His breath tickled the back
of Kurt's neck.
Kurt considered telling Puck that spooning wasn't really appropriate, but then
he realized it didn't matter. Quinn was the only one who would care. And if
contact was what Puck needed, Kurt would do his best to give it. He had already
managed not to lash out when Puck grabbed him, so why not just do what little
he could?
"Puck, you chased after Robin fucking Banks. That's not exactly cowardice."
"It was crazy is what it was. I still can't figure out how I thought that was a
good idea." His lips brushed Kurt's neck as he spoke, and Kurt did jerk away at
that.
"Sorry," he said, trying to lie back down. It was comfortable in Puck's arms.
He should have felt safe there, but… it just felt too close to something else,
something more than just innocent closeness, when Puck's lips were touching
him.
Rather than hold him again, Puck pulled away. "No, I'm sorry, Kurt, I don't
even know why I…" He buried his face in his hands but didn't cry.
Kurt reached out the grasp Puck's fingers and pulled lightly. Puck let him
uncover his face and look into his eyes. "You feel like I'm the only one who
can understand. I know because I felt like no one ever could."
"Sort of," Puck admitted. "But sort of not because you wouldn't… someone else
hurt you, Kurt, but you didn't want to start doing it to yourself. I just wish
I knew how."
"Puck I tried to deny myself everyone who has ever loved me. I even took away
my own identity because it hurt too damn much to be me. Maybe I didn't hurt
myself the same way you did, but I did enough that if you hadn't found me… I
don't think I'd have made it, Puck. Meg was nice, but she wasn't my family." He
cupped Puck's face in his hands, gently so Puck could pull away if he needed
to. "You are though. You're family to me Puck, and I don't care that we're not
related."
Puck pulled Kurt in to hug him again, this time with Kurt's face pressed
against his chest. "Do you think the therapist could help me?"
Kurt still hadn't decided how much his own therapy sessions helped. But he was
going to them still, and he was better than before, right? "Yeah," he said,
hoping Puck believed him.
"What's it like?"
"I don't know… it's like someone with a lot of questions asking you to talk to
them because your parents are paying them to help." He brought a hand up to rub
Puck's back. "Sometimes I guess it's nice to have someone who doesn't care
about who I used to be though."
"I never thought of it that way."
"Of course you didn't. You never needed to." Kurt breathed deeply against
Puck's shirt, taking in his scent and wondering why it reminded him so much of
home.
"I… I was trying to help you though. I should have been thinking about stuff
like that." He began to pull away, but Kurt squeezed himself tightly to Puck's
chest.
"Why?" he asked, "It wasn't your job. My dad handled that part just fine."
"Yeah, but I—"
Kurt interrupted. "You what? You know more?"
"I do."
"But you're not the only one who helps me. You're… special I guess because
you're right, you do know more. But that doesn't mean you have to handle more
than you can." Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his hold on Puck so he
could keep his face hidden. He knew he was telling Puck the truth, so why did
it worm inside him and hurt so sharply?
"Okay, I'll… I'll try to think about that more." He pulled away from Kurt so
abruptly that Kurt didn't have a chance to stop him. "Do you—I saw you throw it
away in the choir room. Do you miss it?"
Kurt felt like Puck had punched him in the gut. He curled forward against
Puck's chest and clung to him, thinking of the knife Annette had returned to
him. "I tried to go back for it, but it was gone. I… fuck, but I want nothing
more than to have it back."
Puck hugged him tightly. "You don't need it."
"But I want it. Do you miss the one we took from you?"
"I thought I would." Puck shrugged. "But I don't. It was important because it
was yours, not because I needed it."
"What doyou need, Puck?"
"I don't know."
Kurt reached up to cup Puck's face even though he knew it wasn't his place and
Quinn would kill him if she walked in. "That's okay."
"Thanks, Kurt." Puck rolled away from Kurt to lie staring at the ceiling above
his bed. "Can we stay in here a little longer though?"
"Yeah," Kurt shifted so he could lie on his back beside Puck. He remembered the
time they had done this in his room and hoped it made Puck feel better to have
someone with him. When Puck took his hand, Kurt wondered how long he had before
Quinn came after him because, regardless of what Puck intended, Quinn was only
going to see one thing. And Puck wouldn't always be able to just send her away
as he had tonight. For now, Kurt squeezed Puck's hand and picked out shapes in
the texture of the ceiling.
***** Mercedes: If They Knew *****
Kurt chewed on the end of his pen, and Mercedes knew something was wrong. He
was too stressed. Now she just had to figure out what about. "Give the poor pen
a break," she said, pulling it lightly from his fingers. "I promise those
rumors about it cheating on you with Finn are all lies."
Kurt smiled at that. It was nice to see Kurt smiling again. He had even
relearned how to crack jokes, so long as he was in a good mood. He let out a
deep breath and pushed his homework to the side. They had been studying
together, but not getting much done anyway. Kurt was distracted, and Mercedes
was not nearly as interested in diffusion as she was in her friend.
"Come on," she said, reaching a hand out to hold one of his. "Tell me what's
wrong. I know there's something."
"You can promise me not to repeat anything I say to anyone?"
"Kurt, I know I like to gossip, but I can keep a secret when it counts." She
didn't say a word when Kurt came out to her when they were sophomores, and she
wouldn't say a word about anything he told her now. Some things were just more
important than having something to tell people about.
"I'm afraid." He seemed so tiny saying those words.
"Of what?"
"You." It hit her like a slushie: ice cold and out of nowhere. Before she could
pull away, Kurt tightened his hold on her hand. She had never imagined Kurt was
this strong, but she didn't think she'd be able to get him to let go if she
wanted. "Not that I think you'll hurt me, Mercedes, not ever that. I just. I…
There are things I've told Puck and never told anyone else. And he still wants
to be my friend after hearing them, but I just can't imagine that anyone else
would still want to be around me if they knew." Though his grip remained
strong, Kurt's hands were shaking.
"I wouldn't—"
"Don't say it until you know. Please." Kurt let go of her hand then.
"Are you saying you want to tell me?" If he thought she would leave him
afterward, then why did Kurt want to tell her? Mercedes came up blank and just
hoped he had not reverted to driving people away.
"I feel like I could go my whole life without telling anyone else, but then I'd
never be able to open up to another person ever again. I want to feel like a
person again, Mercedes, and I have to do this before I can." His eyes were red
already, shining with unshed tears. Whatever this was, it was something
intense. Mercedes tried to make herself think of what could make her hate Kurt
but had nothing. Not even stabbing Puck had driven anyone away from Kurt.
"You can tell me, Kurt. I'll listen." She'd spent most of her life more of a
talker than a listener, but she knew this was about Kurt. She could listen when
she needed to.
Kurt barked out a weird kind of laugh. "I don't even know where to start." He
took a few deep breaths, holding tightly to the edge of the table. "I helped
him rob a bank once. Not because he put a gun to my head, but because I wanted
him to be happy with me. I held a woman's hands so she couldn't set off the
alarm, and when that was done, he shot her. I let him kiss me while Kitty drove
us away." Kurt's voice remained so tightly controlled while he spoke that it
came out in a kind of strained monotone. He didn't cry.
"What else were you supposed to do? He would have killed you." Mercedes didn't
know what else to say, what else Kurt could expect her to say.
"Yeah, but at what point does that excuse stop being enough, Mercedes? Is there
a limit to what I can do in fear of death?" He was shaking. That was when
Mercedes realized there was more. "Besides, he wasn't going to kill me, not
then. At least I don't think he would have. That moment had already passed."
"Why?" No, that wasn't enough. "Why would he even want you to rob a bank. What
if you got away or something?"
"That's what he does. Not all the time, but enough, I think." A sneer twisted
his face.
"I don't understand, Kurt, what does he do?" Mercedes said the words. Or she
thought she did. They felt ripped out of her more than anything else. She
didn't think she wanted to know.
"He finds someone he wants, and he makes them into what he wants. I know it's
what he did to Kitty because, fuck, but what else could it have been? And I
think Jace and Todd too. Maybe that's why they didn't like it up the ass:
because Rob never gave them a choice about it." He laughed, eyes wide and hands
shaking, and Mercedes knew he found none of it funny.
"You mean he was… recruiting you?" It sounded like something out of a bad
movie, not the sort of thing that happened to real people, especially not nice
people. Kurt had always had some attitude, but he was sweet deep down. Even
now, Mercedes knew the center of his heart was love, not hate. Sometimes it
amazed her how strong God had made him, but now she thought maybe God just
wanted Kurt to be able to live through all of this.
"Yeah. He had me drawing escape routes and sparring with Kitty. And…" Something
drained out of his eyes, and Mercedes knew this was what Kurt was afraid to
tell. That it was worse than what he had already told her scared her more than
she liked. "He brought me to a warehouse. There was a guy there. Robin told me
to rape and kill him."
"Oh my God." What else was there to say?
"I said I wouldn't. I mean, what else would I have said? But he didn't give me
a choice. He even held my hand around the knife when we slit his throat."
Mercedes didn't care if there was more to hear. She couldn't just sit there and
listen any longer. Her chair might have fallen when she stood, she couldn't
tell. She only had eyes for Kurt in that moment. And once she had her arms
around him, she squeezed them shut like that could hold back her tears.
"I don't know what to say," she admitted, voice thick. "But how could you think
I would ever hate you, Kurt?"
"I hate myself for it. Why wouldn't you?" He didn't sound like a hardened
criminal or trained recruit. He sounded like a little boy who just needed
someone to love him.
Mercedes pulled back. Maybe if she looked him in the eye, he would know she
meant every word and believe her. "Kurt, I could never hate you for what he
did. It wasn't you, Kurt. He made you do it. All I care about is that you came
back home. That's all any of us care about."
"That's basically what Puck said too."
"Then Puck is a smarter boy than I knew. You gotta know, Kurt, no one would
hate you for what you can't help."
"What about things I did after he was dead?"
"Kurt, I don't care. Telling me won't change what I think. And you know, there
are bound to be some people in your life you want to share everything with, but
you don't have to worry about sharing this with everyone you know unless you
want to. They know enough."
He pulled away from her, and Mercedes knew he was just going to argue more.
"Quinn doesn't know anything I just told you, but she knows some of what came
after. Quinn hates me."
"Quinn doesn't hate you, Kurt."
"Yes, she does. It's okay. I hate her too." His voice had changed, or maybe it
was the way he talked. He suddenly sounded dangerous. It sounded more like he
had when he called himself Alex, and that might have scared Mercedes a little.
It made her think she could lose Kurt again.
"I know she can come off as… well, a bitch, but Quinn's really a nice girl."
Mercedes thought Quinn and Kurt were probably just fighting over Puck. They had
been for a long time now, even if neither of them seemed to realize it.
Mercedes had watched her friends cycle through enough love triangles—way too
many of them involving Rachel—to know what to look for.
When Kurt spoke, there was no emotion in his voice whatsoever, but his knuckles
turned white with how tightly he clenched his fists. "I tied Puck to my bed
against his will and tore his pants off intending to rape him. That's as far as
I got, but I still did it."
"Why did you stop?" All Mercedes knew was that Puck was fine with Kurt. They
were still friends. Well, she also knew Puck had some serious issues of his own
too… Mercedes didn't let herself think too much about it. She had to hear
Kurt's answer, hear something that could make what he'd just said somehow less
terrible before she judged him for it. She reminded herself only God had the
right to judge people while Kurt took in a long breath and let it out.
"I just couldn't do it. I untied him and gave him his pants back, and he
refused to admit I was a terrible person." There it was: he couldn't do it.
Mercedes almost laughed. She knew Kurt was a good person; he could never hurt
someone the way he'd been hurt.
"He cares about you, Kurt." Honestly she had begun to think Puck was more than
a little in love with Kurt and just didn't accept it because Kurt wasn't a
girl. Sam agreed and quoted something about balls in someone's mouth that
Mercedes hadn't decided if she wanted to know more about.
"You… you don't hate me?"
"I tried to tell you from the start that I wouldn't." She pulled him in for
another hug and held him as he cried. She hoped that maybe by accepting and
loving him, she could help Kurt to love himself again too.
***** Kurt: One of Their Own *****
Chapter Notes
     Nicole helped a lot with this chapter too, mostly by telling me to go
     for it.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Maybe Kurt shouldn't have been in
the locker room, but he had a few minutes before the end of football practice
since Finn had asked to leave early. He had time at least to yell at Finn and
clear out.
"Defending you, dude. So he won't hurt you anymore." Finn sounded more hurt
than angry.
"I don't need you to defend me, Finn. I can take care of myself." Kurt's
fingers arched into claws, and he crossed his arms to keep from raising them at
his brother. "And you'll do me even less of a favor if you get expelled over
this."
"He won't tell." How could Finn be so damn sure? "We didn't really hurt him,
just roughed him up a little."
"That doesn't make it okay." Kurt didn't like Strando—hell, Kurt hated
Strando—but he didn't want his friends to go around beating people in his name.
Thinking about it made him feel powerful. Made him feel like Robin. Most of
all, it made him sick.
Finn busied his hands folding and unfolding his shirt instead of answering
Kurt. Repeating it made the folds no straighter though, and Kurt did not have
the patience for this today. He snatched the shirt out of Finn's hands and
hurled it onto the floor beside the bench where Finn sat between rows of red
lockers.
"Look at me!" Kurt screamed, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He paused
for three deep but shaky breaths before continuing. "Never say something is for
me unless I am okay with it, Finn. Never. And especially never attack someone
in my fucking name. Don't make me regret taking it back again." The last part
slipped out before Kurt could choke it back. It was the part that got through
to Finn though. Kurt could see it in the way everything froze except for Finn's
eyes which got bigger and bigger until Kurt worried the lids would pull back so
far his eyeballs fell out.
"I'm sorry," Finn said, turning those eyes down to the floor in shame.
Kurt got what he wanted. Now he had to get out before he started feeling sorry
for Finn, who looked like nothing so much as an oversized kicked puppy. The
door swung open before Kurt reached it though. It slammed loudly against the
doorstop, but a beefy arm stopped it from bouncing back. The team was here.
They spilled in dressed in numbered jerseys and sweat. At first they chatted
and laughed, continuing conversations and jokes started before reaching the
locker room, but they quieted when they noticed Kurt. He tensed and began
planning a route out.
"What are you doing here?" One of them asked. Azimio. Somehow, Kurt remembered
him being bigger, more threatening.
"Just talking to my brother. I was just leaving, actually." His nails bit into
his palms, but Kurt kept his fists clenched.
"More like sneaking in for a chance to see some real men's junk." Strando
pushed his way to the front of the group, but Mike grabbed his arm to stop him
before he reached Kurt.
"Believe me, Strando, I don't want to see your anything," Kurt sneered. He
should have just cut the jerk's fucking throat and pleaded temporary insanity.
"I'm not the only guy on the team though. Gotta look out for my friends." He
jerked his arm from Mike's grip but remained where he stood.
"As the prettiest boy on the team," one of the guys standing in the doorway
began, "I gotta say, I'm not even worried." He was handsome, but Kurt doubted
many people would pick him out as most attractive, especially with guys like
Puck and Finn on the team.
"Spade, you are so full of shit," Azimio said, but he chuckled and clapped the
guy—Spade—on the shoulder as he spoke.
"No, I took a crap before practice."
"Shut it, Spade. No one cares." Strando huffed like he thought he could blow
someone's house down.
"You're the antithesis of fun, dude." Spade pouted, and Kurt wondered suddenly
how this guy managed not to get beat up.
"I'd be more fun if I didn't always have to worry about catching the gay
through excessive exposure." He smirked like he thought himself clever.
Spade just shrugged.
"Did you think that up all on your own?" Kurt asked.
Strando scowled. "Don't push your luck, Hummel."
"Or what?" Finn said as he moved to stand beside Kurt.
"Or he'll pull some more pranks and pretend to be a tough guy up until he runs
home crying to his mommy is my guess," Sam said. He shrugged and moved to join
Finn beside Kurt. Mike and Artie followed suit, so they blocked the space
between Kurt and the rest of the team. Kurt noted Puck's absence from the
locker room with a frown.
Strando looked around at those still standing behind him and raised his arms to
indicate them. "Looks like my side's bigger." He was a few miles past far too
smug.
"Nice as it is that you finally got the bigger one of something, I really don't
care," Spade spoke up again. He stepped away from Strando's pack at the door
and turned to bow to both groups. "Now I'll just be—"
"You siding with the fags now?" Strando cut him off.
"No. I'm siding with the showers." He waved cheerfully and left.
Another member of the team made to follow Spade, but Strando caught him. "Where
the fuck do you think you're going?" he demanded, gripping the guy's arm so
tightly his knuckles turned white.
"I want to side with the showers too, man. I have a date to get to."
"Fuck that. We've got shit to deal with here." Strando growled the words, and
Kurt wondered again how Spade got away with it. "And no one else is gonna run
away from it." He turned and looked over the rest of the team. "You're either
with me or with him." He jabbed his finger at Kurt. "And I don't see anyone
standing with him who isn't probably gay or a cripple."
"Better unable to use my legs than my brain." Artie strove for angry, but Kurt
heard more than a little hurt in his voice too.
"Dude, you don't want us to beat them up do you?" Azimio asked. "Because I'm
not hitting a kid in a wheelchair."
"So ignore him. The worst he can do is run over your toes." Strando scowled. He
had probably expected a stronger front from the team.
"Then you do want us to beat them up?" Azimio crossed his arms and appraised
Kurt's friends with a glance.
"I just want the little freak to learn a lesson is all."
"I'm a student." Kurt didn't even feel rude interrupting based on the
conversation. "I learn lessons five days a week. It's kind of the point of
school."
"Shut your fagslut mouth." Strando had lost his temper somewhere. Kurt wondered
idly if a cricket had made off with it.
"Back off, Strando." Mike stepped forward, ready to fight.
"Like hell. Adams, Karofsky," Strando named off two of the biggest guys on the
team, "Back me up here."
Azimio sighed but stepped forward. "Just let this be quick. I got places to be
too, and they ain't the showers with you."
Karofsky didn't move.
Strando spun toward him. "Are you deaf, scared, or just stupid?"
Karofsky shrugged. "You're not my dad, dude. You can't just order me around."
"We're a team, Karofsky. We're supposed to work together." Strando's face and
neck had turned red.
The biggest guy on the team finally stepped forward then. Kurt thought his name
was Shane. "Yeah, but they're on our team too." Karofsky looked almost relieved
until Strando replied.
"The homo is definitely not on our team, and it seems like the rest of them are
on his team." Strando motioned wildly at Kurt. He was obviously losing it.
Azimio rolled his eyes. "Too many teams going on here, man. Let's just teach
these guys not to bring their ladyboys into the locker room where we change so
that we get on with our days." He turned to Karofsky. "Come on, dude, we're
like a tag team."
Azimio must have been more a leader on the team than Strando because the other
guys joined in on egging Karofsky on. Kurt tried to figure out what made
Karofsky so reluctant but came up empty. Finally Karofsky threw up his hands as
if in defeat, but when he spoke, it didn't sound like giving in. "He doesn't
want to punish them for bringing the homo in, Z. The one he wants to beat up is
Hummel."
"I don't think he'd hit a girl." Azimio laughed like it was actually funny. A
few others joined in.
"Then sucks ass for Hummel that he's not a girl." Karofsky actually looked mad.
That shut the others up though.
"Dude who cares? He's gay. I mean, he's pretty much supposed to get teased,"
Azimio said. "Just like Jacob Ben Israel. He wouldn't know what to do with
himself if we didn't give him a hard time."
Karofsky looked confused. Kurt caught himself thinking he might be losing an
ally here and wondered when the hell David Karofskygot moved to the ally
category. But ally or not, he could be useful in getting the other jocks to
back down, and seeing him waver made Kurt nervous. Then he spoke, and Kurt
realized he shouldn't have worried.
"What is wrong with you?" The words hung visibly over the room. Karofsky's eyes
widened and his mouth fell open in comical surprise. That Karosky hadn't
expected to say it only made Kurt more certain he meant what he'd said.
"Nothing. What the fuck is wrong with you?" Strando answered when it became
obvious Azimio was too busy being surprised to say anything.
"He's not just gay. He's… I mean we all know what happened to him, and how is
it okay to… after that,"Karofsky stammered and darted his eyes back and forth,
refusing to look at anyone for too long.
"I can take care of myself," Kurt insisted before he could stop himself. He
shouldn't have said anything. Karofsky had presented a fantastic argument for
leaving Kurt the hell alone, maybe even the argument that had driven him to
keep his own distance from Kurt all this time. Kurt should have accepted it,
but the words pushed their way past his teeth before he could bite them back.
"Yeah," Strando added. "And he's a danger to society." He nodded as if to
confirm it to himself.
"He's only a danger to you because you keep antagonizing him," Artie pointed
out.
"Yeah, he's left me alone," Karofsky added in an almost civil tone.
"That doesn't mean he gets a free pass to sneak around in here where he knows
we change clothes," Strando snarled.
"He said he was leaving," Finn said.
"And believe me when I say I'm not interested." Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Can I
get out of here now? It's a real pain on the eyes to have to look at you for
this long."
Strando sputtered, but Azimio pushed him toward the showers and said, "Yeah,
Hummel, get out of here."
Kurt did just that. He tried to thank Karofsky on his way past, but didn't get
the chance. Karofsky got away from Kurt faster than a guy his size should have
been able to. He looked more like a deer that just barely pulled itself away
from the headlights of an oncoming truck than like a guy who just stood up to
most of a football team to defend someone none of them even liked.
Outside the locker room, Kurt leaned against the wall waiting for Finn. He
shouldn't be long since he had showered already after telling Coach Beiste he
needed to leave early to drive Kurt out to see Dr. Keynes. Finn trudged out
while Kurt was checking Facebook on his phone.
"Oh, stop moping," Kurt said when he noticed the hunch in Finn's shoulders and
the way he kept his eyes on Kurt's shoes.
"I wasn't—"
"You were moping. Now let's go pick up a snack for the drive out to
Westerville. I'm in the mood to eat something I shouldn't."
Finn smiled at that, his goofy half-smile that meant he still only half
realized it was okay to be happy. "I, um, I think they'll leave you alone now,"
he said with an almost-shrug. "Sorry I didn't say more. I should have been the
one to stop them."
"Finn, I'm friends with a good quarter of the football team. None of them
stopped Strando either. It's okay. Better it came from one of their own since
Strando's been ignoring you all from the start." Kurt shook his head and held
the door open for Finn. He squinted in the too-bright sunlight outside the
school building.
"Yeah, you got a point there."
Kurt thought of something else while he hopped into the passenger seat. "Finn,
why do you think they'll leave me alone?"
"Just the way they were talking, I guess." Finn started the car, almost shifted
into reverse, stopped, put his seatbelt on, and then pulled out of the spot. "I
don't know."
"If you don't know, then how can you say they'll leave me alone? You're talking
about a guy who filled my locker with fucking crickets because I fought back
when he tried to beat me up."
"I know, but… I've been a jock for a while, Kurt." He shrugged with his hands
still on the wheel. "I just know."
Kurt rolled his eyes even though Finn wasn't looking at him. "We'll see." Kurt
wanted to ask about Karofsky too but decided against it. Finn obviously didn't
want to discuss whatever happened in the locker room after Kurt left, and since
they'd be spending the next two hours in the car together, Kurt decided not to
antagonize his brother. Instead, he settled on hoping Finn was right.
***** Quinn: What He Needs *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The words echoed through her mind without end, forgetting that echoes were
supposed to face with each repetition. Quinn tried to scream them out, beating
her hands against the steering wheel, but she needed something more. It only
hurt more that he had started with, "I still love you." Worse, she had known
from the start that he would leave her. She had thought she was ready.
"I told you," she shouted into the emptiness of her car as tears blurred the
colors of the street together.
Quinn slammed on the brakes and swerved into a parking lot to cry before she
hit something. Now if only it would rain, that would suit her perfectly. A sob
choked her as her nose started to run, and she opened her glove box to dig
around for the tissues she kept stashed there. Even after wiping her eyes, she
only saw Puck, his eyebrows drawn together as he stared at their clasped hands.
He had thought a lot about this, he assured her, but they weren't right, didn't
fit, couldn't be. When he pressed a pillow against his nose so a lingering
scent could lure him to sleep, it wasn't her perfume he wanted.
How stupid had she been to believe he wanted her? Quinn screamed again, but
sobs fractured and overtook the sound. "I will always love you," he had said
with one hand on hers and the other on her cheek. "But that's not what I need
anymore. I'm sorry, Quinn."
"What do you need?" She had demanded, jerking out of his grasp because the only
thing she could never be for him was Kurt.
"You know." But she wished she didn't.
She had slapped him. She wished her hand still stung with the force of it
because then his face would too. Now she clutched that hand to her chest with a
wadded tissue, damp with tears, poking out between her fingers. It was supposed
to hurt less. She told herself for a long time that she was ready for this,
that it was inevitable, even that she had a chance to win him back after he
realized his mistake. None of that helped now. Lying to herself had not helped.
More than anything she just wanted someone to love her without leaving her.
She tried to tell Puck he needed her. That she could comfort him when he
couldn't go to anyone else. That she knew why he was wearing long sleeves,
could see where it caught against still-wet blood to stick to his arm. She
wouldn't tell his mother, only wanted to help. That was all she wanted.
"No," he had said. "You want—you deserve more."
How could he be socalm about it all? She knew he wasn't though, not really. He
only seemed that way because he felt better when it still hurt but had yet to
scab over and itch. Quinn should never have learned that. Puck reached out to
everyone after the second time, invited all of his friends and his family to
help him, so why hadn't it just stopped. Why hadn't he gotten better then?
Quinn wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she could hold back the sobs or
at least stop the way they shook her body. She could not understand why Puck
wanted to hurt. His problems all stemmed from someone hurting him, so how could
more pain possibly help? Quinn had tried to understand, tried to listen when
Puck explained, but it was too foreign for her. She knew what it was like to
hurt but could not imagine going as far as Puck had. Maybe that was why he left
her.
She wiped her eyes with the tissue and blew her nose. This parking lot was not
the place for her to cry. At first, she thought she would drive home, but then
she took the wrong turn by something other than an accident and pulled up in
front of Kurt's house instead. Enough cars filled the driveway and street that
Quinn knew she would have an audience. Did she want one? Unable to find an
answer, Quinn swung her feet out of the car before she lost her nerve. Kurt
deserved to know, didn't he? That Puck had finally dumped her for him. That
Puck was so obsessed with him he'd even forgotten Kurt was a guy. That Quinn
hated Kurt more than she had ever hated anyone.
"Quinn, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Artie asked almost as soon as she entered
the house. He began wheeling toward her until she spoke.
"Where's Kurt?" By their expressions, no one liked her tone.
"Getting drinks. Finn is with him," Mercedes said. She looked worried. "Quinn,
what happened?" Mercedes stood from where she sat on the couch and walked
forward, but Quinn wanted revenge, not comfort. "Was it Puck?"
Kurt entered the room then, so Quinn knew she could answer. "Of course it was
Puck." His name felt thick in her mouth, and she wished she had taken time to
work her teeth into it.
Mercedes asked, "Is he okay," but Quinn could tell by Kurt's expression that he
understood what had happened.
"He hasn't been okay for a long time, has he, Kurt?" His name she spat.
"No. Not for longer than either of us knew." He set down the cans of soda he
had carried out from the kitchen.
"He would be fine though, handling it at least, if not for you." If not for
what he did to Puck.
"He'd still be your boyfriend, you mean." His eyes narrowed, and he gripped the
back of the armchair where Sam sat while he hissed what he must have known as
soon as he saw Quinn's tears.
"Kurt, he isher—" Artie started, but Quinn cut him off.
"He said I'm not what he needs. Tell me how you're what he needs, Kurt. Tell me
how hurting him so much has made you so special." Having someone to scream at
helped quiet the words echoing through her head. Or maybe they just moved into
her blood because she felt it boiling through her.
Kurt made a strangled animal sound instead of talking. He blinked rapidly,
breathed slowly, and finally parted his lips to speak. "Maybe I just accept
what he tells me instead of judging him for it."
"Or maybe he likes that you can hurt him, Kurt. That's what he wants isn't it?
To hurt some more the way you made him hurt before?" She stalked toward him,
but Sam took her arm before she could reach Kurt and whispered something
probably meant for calming. Quinn shook him off but stood back from Kurt.
"He knows I won't hurt him again."
"Maybe not with a knife, and maybe not without him asking first. But, really,
Kurt, would you never hurt him again, not even a little?" How much did she need
to say before Kurt would know what she meant? For that matter, how much secrecy
did she even owe him? His failures and crimes deserved to see the light of day
for once. "Not even if he begged you to tie him up again and show him this time
how Robin Banks made you feel?"
Too much. Kurt launched himself from behind the chair right at Quinn. His fist
met her face before Finn stopped him. The impact forced Quinn back, and though
she stumbled, she did not fall. She refused to give Kurt the satisfaction of
seeing her on the ground.
"He told me I'm not what he needs, but you aren't either, Kurt. You can only
make him worse." She spun around and stalked from the house before Kurt could
punch her again.
"Quinn, wait up," Mercedes called after she was outside.
"What?" Quinn wanted to get away, to go curl up in her room and cry with
something cold pressed against her face to keep it from bruising.
"Are you okay? He shouldn't have hit you like that." She reached toward Quinn's
face but stopped short of touching it.
"I'll be fine." Quinn pressed her fingers to where Kurt's fist had met her
cheek and winced at the tenderness.
"It's not his fault, you know."
"And why not? Nothing is ever Kurt's fault anymore because he's too delicate
for responsibility." Quinn felt her lips tremble and stilled them by clenching
her teeth and pressing her lips together tightly.
"Kurt told me what he did to Puck. You can't hold it against him any more than
you can hold cutting against Puck." Quinn wondered how Mercedes could believe
they were the same.
But Quinn didhold it against Puck, if not nearly so much as she held attempted
rapeagainst Kurt. She just tried not to admit it to anyone because they thought
he couldn't help himself, but Quinn gave him more credit than that. "And if
Kurt had gone on to continue Banks's 'work'? Would we have to forgive him that
too?"
"No, that's different." Mercedes shook her head and grabbed for Quinn's hand.
"Kurt regrets what he did and would never do it again. I think you know that
too, Quinn."
"I don't. All I know about Kurt is that he hurts people. At least Puck has the
decency to hold the pain back for himself." She started crying again and ran
away to her car. When she pulled away, Quinn saw Mercedes still on Kurt's front
lawn, watching her. She wondered if she would have anyone left at all when Kurt
was done with them.
Chapter End Notes
     Reminder that just because a character thinks, does, or says
     something doesn't mean the author agrees, just in case you guys
     needed to hear that.
***** Kurt: I Can't Be *****
"I thought you loved her." As glad as Kurt was to be rid of Quinn, he had to
start thinking of Puck first instead of himself. Quinn had been there for Puck
when Kurt wasn't, so he owed them both at least this much.
"I did." Puck rubbed a hand along his arm, staring up at Kurt's ceiling fan
from where he sat at the edge of the bed. "I mean, I do." He shifted position
only to shift back again. "I guess I always will, but not the same as I thought
I loved her before."
Kurt beat back the impulse to grin and say, 'Good riddance.' Instead he asked,
"Why?"
Did I look that annoyed with people's questions?He wondered as Puck's
expression shifted. They stared at each other across the length of Kurt's bed
as if by staring they could each convince the other to either give in or back
off.
Finally Puck sighed. "I fell in love with Quinn because she was beautiful and
so sure of who she was and that she'd never take shit from anybody. And, even
if I only met her the once, we had a daughter who I just know is the most
perfect little girl in the world."
Even knowing about Quinn's pregnancy and the baby girl she gave up for
adoption, Kurt had never been able to picture Puck as a father. He had always
assumed that was part of why Quinn gave the child up. The tiny smile and the
soft glow it brought to Puck's face when he mentioned his daughter convinced
Kurt in a second that he had been wrong. Puck would be a great father someday.
"I know when you love someone you're supposed to accept their flaws too," Puck
continued. "But Quinn couldn't accept mine. She wanted to fix me, not take me
as I am, and I guess I couldn't handle that about her either." Puck shook his
head.
"Yeah, I get that." Everyone wanted to fix Kurt too. Everyone but Puck.
"Anyway, I heard the weirdest shit from Mike," Puck said with a smirk. "I think
it went that fucking Karofsky of all people told the jocks to leave you alone."
"Don't change the subject on me, Puckerman. Though it was weird; I won't deny
that." Karofsky's primary target had been Finn for most of Sophomore year, but
it had begun shifting to Kurt before Robin took him. When Kurt had imagined
having trouble returning to school, trouble had always worn Karofsky's face.
Then Strando had been the problem instead, and Karofsky was apparently the
solution.
"So Mike wasn't full of shit?"
Kurt rolled his eyes. "No. I think Karofsky could have gone the rest of his
life without saying anything about it, but when the rest of the team started
pushing him, he pushed right back and told them they were out of line."
"Still, that's a hell of a lot more balls than I ever gave him credit for."
Puck laughed. It was good to hear. "I'll have to remember not to call him
anything too bad next time I see him."
"If you don't start going to class and practice, you won't see him. Or anyone.
Or graduation."
Puck groaned. "Not you too, Kurt. It's fucking October; I can deal with
graduation in March or April or fuckever."
"October." Of course it was October, had been for twenty-four days now, and
Kurt had been aware of every one. Aware in the way he had been aware of Robin's
gun near the end: he knew it was there and couldn't rightfully ignore it but
tried to, tried to ignore it so hard that sometimes he forgot just a little
that he could be killed at any moment.
"Kurt, are you okay?" Puck leaned forward and placed his hand over Kurt's.
"October twenty-seventh," Kurt said before he could stop himself. Sometimes he
remembered it as a twisted grin below a broken nose, and sometimes he
remembered it as a number. The grin at least, he had done away with, but he
hadn't faced another October twenty-seventh since the one when Robin kidnapped
him from the choir room. He knew being afraid of a calendar date was stupid. He
also knew when Puck moved in to hug him, Kurt leaned into the touch because it
was all the comfort he had against the day.
"Shit," Puck muttered into his ear, "How did I forget?"
"I sort of hope everyone forgets."
"Because it's better that way or because it's easier?" Puck's words fell into
Kurt's ear with more weight than whispers should be allowed.
"You already know." Kurt squirmed away from Puck only to be pulled in tighter
against his friend's chest. He felt the beat of Puck's heart and the rise and
fall of his breath.
"So say it."
"Only if you will." He waited then for Puck to agree before saying more.
"Because it's easier. Because if no one else makes a big deal out of it, then
maybe I won't have to face up to anything. Assuming there's anything in a
number to face in the first place."
"I think there is." His arms tensed around Kurt. "And I hope to hell on
September Seventh, Twenty-Thirteen, you smack me over the head when I try to
pretend nothing's wrong." Kurt had already forgotten the date. Puck's date. The
day he first cut himself. Fuck. Some friend he was. "But maybe it's not all
bad. I mean, if it comes around again, that means you made it out a year after
it happened, right?"
Kurt nodded.
"You're allowed to call bullshit if you think I'm full of it."
Kurt laughed. "I don't know what I think. Maybe… maybe I'll know in a few
days."
"Yeah, well, don't leave me in the dark. I don't think I can take waiting to
find out on my own."
Kurt pulled away just enough to look in Puck's eyes. He felt a frown tug at his
lips and wondered if that was really as close to a straight face as he could
manage. Then, in a high, sing-song voice, he called, "No spoilers!"
It wasn't that good a joke. They both laughed anyway. Puck's arms shook and his
eyes closed as he laughed. As his last chuckles faded, Puck glanced up into
Kurt's eyes still smiling. He looked more at peace with himself than Kurt had
seen in a long time. The tension had faded from his eyes, and his smile covered
the lines of worry around his mouth. Even the set of his shoulders relaxed, as
though a tight knot had been holding them up only to be undone by Kurt's wild
jabs at humor.
Puck reached a hand out to touch Kurt's face. "You look better when you smile,"
he said. "Like something in the world has gone right for once."
Kurt almost told him he'd just been thinking the same, but choked on his words
when Puck leaned forward into what was definitely Kurt's personal space. As
Puck's arms went to circle him, Kurt readied himself to sigh and accept a hug
because harmless physical contact was a sacrifice he just had to make for his
friends. Then Puck's face was in the wrong place and much to close, and another
person's lips touched the space where only Kurt's should have been. There was a
word for this, he knew, but Kurt's mind had already shut down word processing
in favor of escape routes.
One arm rammed against Puck's chest while the other came up between Kurt's
torso and Puck's arm to shove out against the arm. Kurt twisted his body to
slide out of the opening before realizing quite how easily Puck's arm had moved
from around him. When he found himself in a defensive stance in his own bedroom
with only a wide-eyed Puck to fight, Kurt nearly laughed at himself. He wasn't
in danger here. Kurt let his arms down only to raise them again just enough to
wrap around himself.
"Are you okay?" Puck asked, his voice already small but shrinking with each
word.
Kurt nodded. "You?"
"Of course I am." Puck stood, hesitated, dropped back to the bed. "Sorry."
With an effort, Kurt slowed his breathing, but his heart still raced in a way
he knew meant fear, not excitement at being… at being kissed. Fuck. Kissed. "W-
why?"
"Because I scared you. If I knew—"
"I meant why did you kiss me," Kurt interrupted. As soon as he said it, doubt
washed over him. What if Puck hadn't kissed him? What if it had been an
accident? If Kurt had imagined it? Had some sort of PTSD-induced hallucination?
"I shouldn't have. It was stupid. I should have realized you would freak out,
and it wasn't okay…" Puck continued ranting and mumbling and occasionally
whining about Kurt's feelings, but Kurt missed most of it because he'd already
convinced himself Puck had never kissed him. It took another moment to realize
Noah Puckerman had just kissed him, and then a moment longer to remember what
exactly kissing was for because it didn't seem like something he and Puck would
do together.
It seemed a hell of a lot more like something he and Rob would do together.
"Puck, shut up."
"But, Kurt, I—" Puck stopped when Kurt held up a finger in front of him.
"You kissed me." Even though he managed to make it a sentence, it was still
just a little bit a question. Puck must have noticed since he nodded. "You
wantedto kiss me?"
"Well, yeah, that's why I did it."
The only other people Kurt had ever kissed were dead men and Brittany. Todd
hadn't been so bad. Or, well, yes he had. He was all the kinds of criminal Rob
was, just… he seemed nicer about it. Had seemed nicer back when he was alive.
Kurt couldn't say he missed him though.
He could say that about Robin. Sometimes. Kurt licked his lips and wondered how
they tasted to others. Had they tasted any different when he called himself
Alex? No, they wouldn't have. Roses and smelling as sweet and all that. It was
just a name. Just a forsaken identity that had done him no good anyway.
"But why?" He asked again when he remembered he needed to talk.
"Why wouldn't I want to kiss you?" Given how many reasons Kurt came up with
even before being asked, he was amazed that Puck managed to look honest.
"For one, you were only just telling me how you'll never be over the girl you
broke up with last week." His hands flew out, returned to his sides, trembled
despite every attempt to still them.
"Well never's a hard time to wait for, so I figured I'd just ignore it from now
on." Puck started to shrug but clearly thought better of it after raising his
shoulders. "I thought it was supposed to be more than it was, and maybe if I
waited long enough it would be. Then it still wasn't."
"Are you trying to convince me you've completely moved on and aren't in any way
emotionally compromised? Because bullshit."
Puck flinched. "It's not like I was planning anything okay. I just..."
"If you say anything about going with the moment or any possible rewording
thereof, I will glitterbomb you and then make you clean it up. By hand." Kurt
was proud of how much it sounded like something he would have threatened before
Robin taught him what a real threat sounded like.
"You were laughing. You looked happy. I ignored all the moments and made a new
one on a bad impulse. I won't do it again."
"Usually when people think I look happy they tell me how nice it is to see me
laughing again," Kurt pointed out.
"To be fair, most of the people you know are smarter than me." Puck shrugged.
"So you're saying you wanted to kiss me because you're an idiot." Kurt crossed
his arms and used the extra height added by standing to his advantage in
staring Puck down."
"What? No! I said I actually kissed you because I'm an idiot. Wanting to has
nothing to do with my level of stupid." Puck stood. While Kurt lost his height
advantage, he and Puck were still at nearly eye-level.
"I'm not seeing the difference."
"Oh." His features fell into the look people gave Kurt sometimes when they
realized why he wore long sleeves and scarves in mid-summer. "I really like
you, Kurt." He took a deep breath, and Kurt was too startled to use it as a
chance to argue. "I'm not used to feeling this way about a dude, but it's still
there, you know. You're awesome and badass and not an asshole, which is nice."
Kurt pulled Puck to the bed so they could sit while he tried to find a way not
to hurt Puck because whatever else they were, they were still friends. "Do you
remember when I took my name back and got a bit too flirty?"
"I remember you flirting too much before that too." He raised his eyebrows and
smirked.
Kurt rolled his eyes. "I was trying to reference that I thought I liked you but
I was just grateful because you were the one around when I found myself again."
"You mean you were trying to tell me I don't actually have feelings for you."
Puck scowled. He had been leaning forward but pulled back, shaking his head.
Then he sighed and relaxed into a slouch. "And also that you're not interested
in me anyway."
"I'm not interested in anyone right now, Puck." Kurt reached for Puck's hand
only to have it pulled away from him. "I… I can't be."
Given that he'd just turned him down, Kurt didn't expect it when Puck pulled
him in for a hug. But even if Puck only wanted to comfort Kurt, it wasn't the
same anymore. Kurt knew Puck wanted more, wanted something Kurt could not give
him. He let Puck hold him anyway because he couldn't stand to lose him now.
***** Puck: Take a Look Inside *****
Chapter Notes
     Song: Damn Yankees – "Where You Goin' Now." I had actually thought of
     using this song a loooong time ago when I first started the story,
     then decided not to use it, and then suddenly found I had a place for
     it again. :P
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Puck wanted to say fuck sectionals and be done with it, but Mr. Schue kept
insisting they practice and think about setlists. For the most part, Puck had
been skipping practice because, well, fuck sectionals. Given that tomorrow
would be Kurt's not-awesome big day, Puck thought he should be there for the
guy today. So yesterday when he'd decided fuck school altogether, he spent the
day going through his music so he'd have the right song for fucking sectionals.
Schuester had been so surprised he went off to print out music for everyone
without even getting on to Puck for ditching again.
When Puck reached the choir room, he found it empty except for Kurt and Finn.
He dropped down into the unoccupied seat at Kurt's left with a grin.
"'Sup."
Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Really? 'Sup? That's not even a word."
"Dude, chill. How about, Good morrow, good sir, and how good are you this
goodly day?"
Kurt chuckled, but it died out too quickly. Finn had an awkward grin stuck on
his face so hard Puck wasn't sure he'd ever get it off. He guessed Kurt was
stressing them both out worrying about tomorrow. The others began to trickle
in, and Puck decided he should let Kurt alone for now. Mr. Schue came in last,
and Puck was convinced he'd watched from further down the hall to make sure
everyone else arrived first.
"Okay, guys, at least one of you is serious about sectionals this year, and we
have our first suggested number!" Schuester began handing out music as he
spoke. It was weird how irritating this guy could be without even trying.
Puck just rolled his eyes until he had his own part. He raised his hand in
confusion. "Mr. Schue, I think I got the wrong one."
"No, that's right." He smiled.
"But it says I'm lead though." Puck scratched at his hair. "I don't even know
if I can hit some of the notes in this song."
"Just try it, Puck. You've got it in you." Oh, fuck, inspirational motivational
shit. Just what Puck wanted.
And oh man, Kurt was looking at him. "Did you have anything to do with this?"
"No?" Kurt was so on to him.
"Because it says I'm also lead."
"Wasn't me." Damn that Schuester making Puck's plots even more transparent than
they were on their own. "Hey did he give you the high notes?" Puck checked his
sheet and apparently he didn't get to pass all the hard parts off to Kurt.
Damn.
"Can we stop talking about singing and actually get to it now?" Oh, yeah, Glee
club was always serious business to Rachel. Puck let out an exaggerated sigh
and twirled his fingers at the musicians (what were their names? Did they even
have names?) to start. Rachel seemed pleased, which was strange given that she
was about to sing backup.
There's a face in the mirror
And you close your eyes
Much easier to turn away
Than to take a look inside
The first stanza went to Kurt. He sang soft and high and more than a little
sad. Puck wondered if Kurt knew the song. Damn Yankees didn't seem like Kurt's
thing, even if it wasn't one of their more hardcore songs. Know it or not, Kurt
handled the song as perfectly as he did any other. Puck pictured him spotlit,
on stage, the rest of the club in rows behind him. When he opened his mouth to
start in on his part, Puck realized he wanted a duet with Kurt, and if
sectionals was what it took to get there, then so be it.
So you blow out the candle
And you turn out the light
Then you stumble into darkness
Do you believe that love is blind
Puck caught the look Kurt gave him at the last line and couldn't blame him. He
chose this song for a reason, for a lot of reasons actually. Maybe Puck had
spent a long time focused on attractive women, but that didn't explain his
feelings for Kurt any more than Schuester's eyebrows explained why Rachel
hadn't demanded the solo for herself. He could feel the darkness around him
already, and it felt like touching a knife at both ends. Maybe blocking out
everything else was just what it took for him to know what he'd been feeling
all along.
Didn't anybody tell you
It's never too late to try
Hold the line
Before you say goodbye
They finally joined their voices, Kurt singing even higher than the original.
Fuck but Kurt's voice was beautiful. Puck especially loved the words, "never
too late," in Kurt's voice because sometimes Kurt acted like it wastoo late,
like he'd been ruined before he turned eighteen and need not bother trying to
live anymore.
Where you goin' now
When your world's turned inside out
Isn't love what it's all about
Where you goin' now
When you get to the top of the hill
Gonna be there yes I will
Puck wondered how much he gave away when he looked at Kurt only to decide he
didn't care. He would give anything away for Kurt, maybe not now because there
were some things neither of them knew how to part with just yet, but
eventually. He could wait. He would wait for Kurt as long as he needed to.
After practice, when everyone had wandered off in twos and threes to head home
or to the Lime Bean, Kurt found Puck. He stopped Puck in his tracks by planting
himself in the middle of the hall, hands on his hips and, "Bitch please,"
practically written over his face.
"I know you were behind that, Puckerman."
"I didn't tell him who should sing it, Hummel."Puck rolled his eyes. "Actually
I expected it to go to Finn and Rachel."
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Puck, Mr. Schue worries about his students probably more
than is normal. If you bring a song to him, he's going to assume it's because
it lifts up your spirit into the fluffy clouds and rainbows of happyland. Then
he's going to give you that song to sing because he wants to help you be in
happyland despite its terrible name. Honestly, who even thought of that?"
Puck raised an eyebrow.
"I was trying to be funny, Puck. Just laugh."
Puck obliged. "Dude, you have got to work on your jokes."
"Shut up."
"Have you always been this bad?" He rolled his eyes and stepped toward Kurt so
he could link their arms together to lead Kurt down the hall.
"My most successful humor is typically unintentional," Kurt admitted. "Or a
poorly thought-out insult that ends up being okay because it's funny too."
If he didn't know how badly it would go over, Puck might have kissed Kurt
again. Instead he made the mistake of staying silent until Kurt returned the
conversation to what he'd meant it to be from the start.
"Even if he hadn't made us sing it, I think I'd have guessed the song was from
you. And meant for me."
"Hey, I could be singing to Mike this time, you never know." Puck shrugged. "I
like my men unavailable."
Kurt rolled his eyes, but his frown looked too serious. "I wasn't exaggerating
when I said I'm not ready to be in a romantic relationship. I'm not even
close."
"I know."
"You're not ready either." Kurt pulled his arm away from Puck and jabbed a
finger against Puck's arm as he spoke.
"So I'll wait. I'm okay with that."
"And how long are you prepared to wait, Puck?" Kurt stopped walking entirely,
and Puck turned to face him.
"As long as you need me to." That could be any length of time, he knew. It
could be days or years.
"What if I'm never ready though? Do you really want to spend your whole life
waiting around for something that will never happen?" Kurt's voice rose in
pitch if not volume as he spoke.
"For you, I would."
"I don't want you to. That's stupid to spend your life alone just because I
have to." His eyes turned red and wet.
"But you don't have to. And even if we're not dating, we won't be alone, Kurt.
It's not like I'm gonna go live in a cave in the forest until you decide it's
time to make out." Puck would stay with Kurt regardless. He didn't know how not
to anymore and had no interest in learning.
Kurt sighed and shook his head. "I don't know what else to say to you. We're
not right for each other."
"We could be."
"Puck, you want..." He paused to study the floor. "Things I can't give."
"Give me a break, dude. I don't want anything more than I want to be with you."
He knew what "things" Kurt meant and had more than a small suspicion that Kurt
couldgive them, that Kurt would even enjoy it if he weren't so terrified of
going too far. Those were ideas for another talk though, a much later talk when
saying the words wouldn't send one or both of them into a panic attack. "But
not yet. You're right: we're not ready. So first we get through tomorrow as
friends, and then we go on as friends and try to hurt a little less someday
down the line."
"Yeah... tomorrow." Kurt shuddered.
"You'll make it through." He wanted to say Kurt would be okay but knew better
than that. Instead Puck took Kurt's arm again and tried to convince himself
that hiding away in his room tomorrow was not an option. For him or for Kurt.
Chapter End Notes
     So we've already passed the one-year mark from chapters 1 and 2, but
     I've always measured the passage of time in this story based on
     chapter 3. As of chapter 75, it will have been exactly one year. Does
     it feel like a year? I know it's been longer for those of you who
     have been with me from the beginning.
***** Kurt: So Your Nightmares Really Happened *****
Chapter Notes
     I am so sorry. I thought this was the last chapter I posted. But no,
     I left you in suspense (assuming you felt suspense, that is).
     Trigger Warning for a description of cutting.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Kurt woke up on October twenty-seventh and decided to hide away at home, but
Puck called and convinced him to leave the house. The conversation went
something along the lines of:
"Go to school."
"Fuck you."
"See you there."
There was more about facing his problems head on and letting his friends help
him through hard times, but Kurt just directed them back at Puck until they
were left with only silence because they both wanted to hide. When he ended the
call, Kurt got up and began selecting what to wear today anyway. First he
pulled out a subdued outfit all in black. But, no, that wouldn't do. He needed
something that screamed, 'You can't hurt me. I am Kurt Hummel and I am the head
bitch in charge of this school, this town, and the whole fucking world.' He
went back to his closet for something with color and a more interesting shape
than just skinny jeans and a shirt.
He started with red. He wanted a bold, take-no-prisoners color, and only bright
red would do. He chose to accent it with dark teal and a splash of pale lime.
He spent half an hour debating the merits of a tie versus a scarf for his lime
accent. By the time he found the perfect knot for the scarf to match his
outfit, Kurt only had time left to grab an apple on his way out the door or
risk being late. In a way it was fun to waste time obsessing over an outfit
again. Somehow he had forgotten why he used to care so much, but he remembered
now that he enjoyedthings once upon a time and hadn't always dedicated all of
his time to simply surviving another day. Kurt decided to ask the girls out to
the mall on Saturday. Maybe he could finally have some fun shopping again.
Finn kept trying to say something on the drive to school only to clamp his
mouth shut and adjust his grip on the wheel. Then he slid his eyes from the
road to Kurt whenever they hit a stoplight, parted his lips, shaped them around
a word, and cut off once more. Kurt could guess what he wanted to talk about,
and why it was hard for Finn. He meant well, but he rarely understood.
"I'm fine right now. You'll be able to tell if I'm not." Kurt chewed on his
lip, imagining all the things that could set him off today. It helped to
imagine his friends standing by him in each scenario.
Maybe one of the jocks would decide his respite was over. Kurt had handled them
before, but maybe this time he'd try to handle them permanently or collapse to
the ground imagining the chains or ropes that used to hold him down. But maybe
Finn would be there to hold him back or pick him up, and maybe Puck would beat
the shit out of anyone who tried to give Kurt a hard time. Maybe Kurt would
walk into the choir room and instead of seeing Brad at the piano, Kurt would
remember Robin standing in front of it. Maybe he would try to run or forget
that Robin was dead now. But maybe Finn would chase after him, or Puck would
remind Kurt that he slit the fucker's throat. Maybe it wouldn't be anything
except thinking about it too much, but maybe could still include Finn and Puck
and Mercedes and the rest standing beside him.
Kurt took a deep breath. He could do this. "Just... don't leave me alone today,
okay?"
Finn crooked his mouth into something like a smile except that it was sad. "Not
for a second."
"I may have to ditch French." None of his friends took French with Kurt.
"That's fourth period, right?" Finn asked, and Kurt arched an eyebrow in
response because of course it was fourth. Finn had memorized his schedule
before Kurt had. "That's Mr. Schue's free period. Maybe he could sit in with
you or let you stay in his office or something."
"You already talked to him, didn't you?"
"Yeah, he said he had to talk to the French teacher though, so he couldn't say
which of those he could do. Either way we're supposed to meet him at his office
after third period." Finn's eyes darted nervously as he turned into McKinley's
parking lot. "That's okay, right? That I talked to him. Without you."
Kurt shrugged. "Let's just get to class."
As soon as they walked through the doors into the waves of whispers and poorly
hidden glances, Kurt realized the whole damn town knew what day he'd been taken
on. Of course they did. An abduction was big news in Lima, and it'd happened
right here at William McKinley High School. Kurt knew he'd been wearing an
olive jacket and tall black boots but couldn't remember what class he was
supposed to be in when he ran to the choir room where Robin waited. What had
Rob expected anyway? He'd acted surprised to see Kurt so early, but had he
really thought he could steal Kurt away with the whole glee club there to see?
Oh.
No, Kurt realized, Robin had just expected to kill them all.
Kurt forced himself to breathe slowly, to ignore everyone's stares, to deafen
himself to their whispers. He distracted himself from imagining Robin
slaughtering all of his friends in front of him by remembering that no one had
been hurt, not even Mr. Schuester when they met him in the hall. When Finn
stopped, Kurt almost ran into him.
"What?" Kurt snapped.
"Your locker." Finn motioned to his left. "Are you—"
"Don't fucking ask." Kurt opened his locker. He stared inside it at books,
photographs, and glitter. He'd been looking into the same locker since school
started, but the only thing he recognized was Finn's face on a photo of the
pair of them. "What do I need out of here?"
"Government and English books. Mike will walk you back over after that, and
you'll get your physics and French books. French has two books." Finn watched
while Kurt retrieved his books. "This too," he said before Kurt closed his
locker, pulling away the photograph of the two of them grinning like idiots in
the dining room of their old house after a competition.
"I doubt I need this for class, Finn."
"For the ones I don't have with you." He tried to smile but abandoned it. It
left his face looking too sad. "Just keep it with you, okay."
"Fine." Kurt slammed his locker shut, and a girl three lockers down yelped.
"Let's go." He scowled at the girl as he passed her on the way to government.
At least he wasn't too freaked out to remember the way.
They reached the classroom with only half a minute to spare before the bell.
Kurt collapsed into his usual seat, and Finn took the one to his left. Normally
Puck would be to his right, but that seat remained empty.
"Where the fuck is he?" Kurt scowled, but Finn shushed him as class started.
Kurt sighed and rolled his eyes because of course Puck would be late. He almost
welcomed the mundane problem because at least it had no relation to serial
killers.
Forty-eight minutes into the class, Puck still had not shown. Kurt fidgeted in
his seat and ignored her when the teacher tried to ask him something.
Eventually she moved on, but Kurt's fingers kept twitching. Puck was supposed
to be there. Then the bell rang. Class was out. Puck never came. The next time
Kurt could see Puck was lunch. He had three more classes before then. While
Finn handed him off to Mike and Tina, Kurt pulled out his phone.
Where the fuck are you? He sent the message to Puck three times before he got a
response.
It only said, fixck.
What the hell is that supposed to mean? Kurt reached his English class, but he
kept his phone available. Class started, but Kurt ignored everything except the
stillness of his phone. Minutes crept by. No response. Tina reached across the
space between their seats to hold Kurt's hand in hers. No one complained. It
didn't help a lot, but... at least the fuckup who couldn't bother to text him
wasn't the only person Kurt had there for him. He knew it was harsh to think
about Puck that way, but figured he could worry about that later.
Over half an hour later, Kurt's phone finally vibrated in his lap. Fucking
finally, he thought, opening the message.
on my way. u ok?
Kurt wanted to scream at him that of course he wasn't fucking okay. He'd been
counting on Puck. Hell, he'd probably still be at home right now if not for
Puck. Tina squeezed his hand and offered a reassuring smile when he glanced at
her face.
After class, Kurt stopped Mike and Tina. "I don't want to go to physics."
"Do you need to go home?" Tina asked
"No, just... not class." Kurt knew it was stupid to stay at school and not go
to class.
"I guess we could hang out in the choir room," Mike suggested with a shrug.
Kurt almost agreed. "No." Last time he had skipped third period to go to the
choir room. It was too close. "You should go to class. It's exam review today.
At least one of us should have the notes."
"What about Miss Pillsbury's office? Then we can meet you there after physics,
and you can switch over to Mr. Schue's." Tina turned slightly in the direction
of each office as she mentioned them.
Kurt nodded. When they reached Miss Pillsbury's office, Tina took care of
explaining while Mike and Kurt stood by the door. They waved to Kurt before
leaving, though he wasn't quite sure why. He took the seat farthest from the
door even though it wasn't by much, and Miss Pillsbury reclaimed the seat
behind her desk.
"Kurt, do you want to talk about it?" She placed her hands lightly on the edge
of her desk while she spoke, as if pressing harder would dirty them even though
she kept her office spotless. He shook his head and stared at her fingernails
instead of her wide eyes. "That's okay. We can do that too, just sit in
silence." She retrieved a file from a drawer in her desk and a pen from the
penholder. "Just let me know if you need anything, okay?" She waited for a
moment but set to work on the file when Kurt didn't respond.
He pulled out his phone and texted to both Finn and Puck, I'm in Miss
Pillsbury's office. Then he occupied himself for the next fifty minutes by
reading a series of pamphlets he found carefully organized in sections
throughout the office. Miss Pillsbury smiled when she noticed and offered him a
supply of past pamphlets from her drawer. She kept sneaking in ones about
depression and even one on PTSD called, "So Your Nightmares Really Happened."
He thought about asking her if she had one on OCD.
Mike, Tina, and Finn all showed up when their classes let out. They ignored him
when he said it didn't take three people to walk him to an office they all knew
as well as Mr. Schue's. They worried over him, and Tina slipped him her notes
even though he cared about as much about the physics exam as he did about Miss
Pillsbury's pamphlets on dating in high school. As soon as they reached his
office, Schuester joined in on the worrying. At least Miss Pillsbury could be
quiet about it.
Before Kurt could think of a suitably sarcastic comment, the office door burst
open as Puck hurdled through. "I'm so fucking sorry," he stammered. There was
more, but Kurt didn't care to listen.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Kurt's voice was quiet but not soft.
Puck's eyes widened as he took a step back. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I..." He ran a
hand through his mohawk and then tugged at it. "I had to walk."
"That counts for like one of the classes you missed, but there've been three."
Finn's eyebrows pushed down toward his eyes, but somehow he still looked more
hurt than angry. "You were supposed to be there for Kurt."
"I know. I fucked up. I'm sorry." Puck held his hands palms-up in front of him
and stared into Kurt's eyes. Kurt wasn't interested in forgiving him. He turned
his eyes to the side and stared at the wall instead of Puck. He clenched his
fists and willed them not to tremble.
"I'm pretending you didn't swear for Kurt's sake right now," Schuester pointed
out. "And you all need to go to class if you don't want to be late."
"I don't care about class. I care about Kurt!" Finn shouted. A thump followed
the sound of his voice, and Kurt looked to see he had shoved Puck against the
wall. Schuester pulled them apart, holding them at arm's length from each
other.
"I said I was sorry." It sounded weak, like even Puck didn't believe it was
enough.
"Then why weren't you here?" Finn looked at Puck then the way he had when he
beat Puck to the floor after finding out who really fathered Quinn's child.
Puck's eyes darted around the room, not looking for ways out so much as relief.
They bounced from person to person but skipped the door. Kurt hardened his
expression against Puck. He was supposed to be there for Kurt today. Puck's
eyes settled on Kurt eventually. No one else offered him a way out. Then his
eyes slid to the floor. He let out a breath as his shoulders slumped.
"I couldn't get it to stop," he said in a voice too small for his body.
"Get what to stop?" Mr. Schuester asked, and Kurt was glad because he hadn't
wanted to.
Puck rubbed at the back of his neck, moved the hand over his mouth, and finally
dropped it down to the front of his neck. "The bleeding." He stared at the
floor.
Fuck.
Kurt launched himself forward and jerked up the sleeves of Puck's shirt. Under
the first one he found only a few scars and half-healed cuts. The second arm
was wrapped in the off-white cloth of a bandage, stained with spots in the dark
red of dried blood.
"You're a fucking idiot." The hitch in his voice caught Kurt by surprise.
Puck laughed. It went on too long, and listening to it hurt. "Yeah."
"You were bleeding for two hours?" Finn's eyes widened as he stretched a hand
forward and took a step back, too confused to know where he wanted to go.
"No, I doubt I'd have survived that. I spent most of that time passed out."
Tina pushed through the small office to give Puck a hug. Kurt should have been
less surprised to realize she was crying. The bell rang as she muttered through
her tears, "I hope you can be okay again."
"Yeah," Puck said as he set his arms to rest around her shoulders. "Me too."
Kurt kept his feet where they were but squatted down and wrapped his arms
around his legs. He knew Puck had cut himself before. Hell, he could see it
just by lifting his eyes to where Puck's arms still circled Tina. But he'd
never seriously hurt himself before, never passed out or lost so much blood or,
fuck, come close to dying. How much blood did he have to lose for consciousness
to fade? How close was that to enough to end his life? Kurt pictured Puck
sitting at the edge of his bed, knife in hand, digging into the flesh of his
arm deeper and deeper as the red seeped out. He imagined the twitch in Puck's
eye and the twist of his lips as he dug the blade in with a jerk and the flow
of blood increased and gushed out onto the floor.
He rammed the palms of his hands against his closed eyes to block out the
images. Spots appeared in the darkness of his vision, but nothing clouded the
image of Puck pulling the knife out, dropping it, staring at the blood that
wouldn't stop, covering it with a hand and watching it seep out between his
fingers.
Today was supposed to be Kurt's day. Kurt's day to break down and give up. Puck
knew that. He wanted to help Kurt. He must have been terrified. Someone was
shaking Kurt by his shoulders, but Kurt ignored them. Puck had cut himself this
morning to ease the stress of dealing with Kurt today. He had thought of Kurt
and forced a knife so deep into his arm that he passed out from shock or blood
loss.
"It wasn't you." It was just a whisper, hot breath brushing past his ear.
Kurt opened his eyes. He found Puck on the floor beside him, arms around him
with the sleeves pulled back down.
"It's not your fault." Another whisper, but Kurt could hear something more
behind it, a soft ringing he hadn't often recognized from Puck. Still Kurt knew
it when he heard it: the ring of a lie.
"Of course it is." He turned to Puck and buried his face against his chest even
though he had no right to search for comfort there. Puck tried to say something
more but came up with nothing coherent.
Schuester tried to convince them to go to class but eventually settled for
letting them all sit on the floor of his office. He tried to send Puck to the
nurse or the hospital too, but the bleeding had stopped. Besides, Puck refused
to leave Kurt's side again now that he'd finally made it there.
"You're an idiot," was all Kurt could think to say to that. Puck laughed and
agreed. No one else had much to say either. They held hands and waited.
Chapter End Notes
     So I wrote a short Teen Wolf fic recently, and I really liked it and
     reread it a few times over and told myself yes i did a good job now
     pat myself on the back. But then I read this, and it just... doesn't
     impress me as much as that did? At the same time, I didn't see a ton
     of things jump out at me and scream, "I NEED FIXING," but, I mean,
     they must be there somewhere or I'd be happier with it. I don't know.
     I don't even know why I'm bringing it up. Also: I watch Teen Wolf
     now. Teen Wolf is cool.
     On a happier note: guys, GUYS, Brandon Sanderson finished writing A
     Memory of Light. It's finished, written in full. The Wheel of Time is
     done. (Well there are still copyedits and printing and such to do,
     but the story is all there.) And my name is in there somewhere.
     Excuse me while I fangirl.
***** Puck: Fault *****
Chapter Notes
     Oops, turns out I'm not done with Quinn. Somehow I can plot ahead for
     everyone else, and I even have an idea of where I want things to end
     up otherwise, but Quinn always sneaks up on me.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Puck never felt weak while he was cutting. That came later when he saw the
marks it left. Sometimes he glanced down and found them waiting there just to
remind him how much he must hate himself to have done that. Some of them had
healed but not faded. It had seemed less real looking at them when they were
only scabbed over. Scabs could still return to unbroken skin. These were scars
though. Scars stayed. Puck rubbed his thumb along the first one, part of it
from Kurt and part from Puck himself, both carved by the same blade. In a way,
it was easier to look at the scars than at the girl sitting across from him at
his mother's dining table.
"I am sorry," she said as if that were enough.
"Wow, suddenly everything is better. Look at that. Even the cuts are gone." He
shoved his forearms into her field of view. "Oh, wait." He glared at her, angry
that Quinn thought she could just show up and say a few words like it would
change anything.
She tore her eyes from his scars and scabs and open cuts to look at the flowers
on the table. Puck's mom had glued the vase he broke back together and covered
the inside with some sort of sealer so it would hold water again. The cracks
still stood out against the pattern of the vase.
"Remember when you brought me a flower you took from your mom? It was just like
these." She reached out to lay her fingers against the petals of a rose but
pulled them back again quickly.
"You told me you had to find yourself." Puck caught himself scratching at a
scab and crossed his arms so he couldn't reach it.
"I never did though. All I found was you, and I tried to convince myself that
was enough because it's what I do every time I like a boy." The chuckle she let
out fell flat, weighed down by regret.
"What about now?"
"Well, now I don't know any guys who would date me, so maybe I'll have no
choice but to figure out who I am on my own." She brushed her hair behind her
ear in exactly the way Puck loved to watch. "But I came here to say that I
shouldn't have taken it out on Kurt. It's not his fault you broke up with me."
"Damn straight. I think that's the first time you've ever admitted anything
isn't his fault though. You should try it more often." Puck bared his teeth and
hoped Quinn wouldn't mistake it for a smile.
Quinn sighed. "I know you're Jewish, but just bear with me here okay, Puck?" He
shrugged and waited for her to go on with what was probably some Jesus shit.
"You know how Christians have confession?"
"Yeah, you sit in a box and say how bad you are, and an old guy tells you it's
all cool because Jesus."
Quinn hesitated, probably put off by Puck's shitty description of something
that mattered to her. "...Close enough. But we cannot be forgiven unless we
first confess. We have to admit fault within ourselves and repent."
"And Lord knows you've got plenty of fault within yourself, huh Quinn." Okay,
that was mean. Puck let it stand though.
She grimaced. "I'm trying to say that, based on my own beliefs, Kurt can't be
forgiven for what he's done unless he admits it was his fault, and you're
acting like nothing will ever be his fault again."
Puck laughed outright at that. "First: like you care about Kurt. Honestly.
Second—"
"I know you don't remember this, but I was right there with the rest of you
while he was taken. I wanted him back as much as the rest of you. I—"
"Second: Kurt owns up to the blame like nobody's business. The problem is he
doesn't believe in your absolution or that he even deserves to be forgiven."
Puck's laughter fell into a scowl.
"It's not my fault he doesn't believe in God." She crossed her arms.
"Well, it's not his fault you do." Puck made a fist with one hand and scratched
at a scab with the other.
"You believe in God," she said as though it made his defense of Kurt somehow
wrong.
"I also believe I'm not allowed to eat ham." Puck rolled his eyes. "What does
that matter to anyone else? Maybe it's time you practiced some of this fucking
forgiveness you've been telling me about. I seem to remember he confessed a few
sins to you."
"I don't..." Quinn stood and paced beside the table. "You want me to just go up
to him and say, 'It's okay now, Kurt. In fact, have your knife back; you
definitely deserve it for going a full month without any stabbing incidents.
Congratulations!.'"
She still had the knife. That caught Puck off guard, though he wasn't sure what
he expected her to do with it.
"I thought confession was the requirement for forgiveness, Quinn. He confessed,
didn't he?"
"Confession and regret and striving to do better, and the confession isn't
supposed to go to some girl from school." She spoke more quickly as she became
flustered.
"But where in that is 'some girl from school' given the right to withhold
forgiveness?"
"It's not. I don't get a say, Puck. I'm just..." Quinn stammered.
"Just a hypocrite?" He stood, shoving his chair back so far it ran into the
wall. "There will never be an official heavenly memo on whether Kurt's forgiven
or not, Quinn. You have to live the way you think is right, which means
forgiving him. And you haven't yet because you're bitter and selfish." Puck
stalked across the kitchen toward Quinn, his voice rising as he spoke. "That is
why I couldn't stand to be with you anymore. Because you've become so fucking
petty." It stung to say because he loved her anyway, but not as much as she
wanted him to love her, not enough to be with her again. "I'm not the one you
should be apologizing to, Quinn."
He wanted to march her over to Kurt right now and force her to apologize. He
wanted to watch her crumble apart and admit all her mistakes. He wanted her to
stop and think about how she would feel if it had been anyone but Kurt or
anyone but Puck. How would she feel if it had been her? If it had been Beth?
Quinn turned away from him, back toward the roses on the table. "I don't know
what to say to you, Puck."
"Try, 'Goodbye.'"
She had no right to look so sad. Everything that happened to her, she brought
on herself. Still, each of her features fell just a little until she was left
staring at the floor ready to cry. "Goodbye," she choked out as she turned and
bolted for the door.
Puck rubbed roughly at the large bandage covering where he'd cut himself on the
twenty-seventh as he stomped down the hall to his room. It would be easier if
he could just be over Quinn already. Seeing her cry, or almost cry, still hurt.
Puck wanted her to be happy. He also wanted her to be the person she was
supposed to be instead of the bitchy little brat he'd recently realized he was
dating. Most of all, he wanted her to apologize to Kurt so they could be
friends again. Then maybe he could fantasize a threesome in there somewhere
even though he knew it couldn't happen in reality. The idea of Quinn and Kurt
fighting over who got to tie Puck down and how was hot though, so he didn't
think anyone could hold a harmless bit of imagination against him.
Once he had sprawled on his bed, Puck rubbed himself through his jeans. He
glanced at the door to make sure it was locked as he unzipped his pants because
hell, he'd rather get this out of a fight with Quinn than have to actually
think about what it meant that she'd come over today. Then he stopped and
turned his eyes from the door to where his hand dipped into his boxers. It
wasn't just Quinn.
Accepting that he loved Kurt had taken Puck a while, but he had... eventually.
He'd also begun to assume it was mostly asexual love because when he thought of
being with Kurt, kisses and cuddles were as heated as it got. But he was hard
now, and when he stopped thinking about Quinn and imagined Kurt strolling in,
dressed all in leather with a pair of handcuffs and a devilish smirk, Puck
realized he could absolutely jerk off to this. So he did.
Chapter End Notes
     So I am not an expert on Confession, and even if I was, I'm not sure
     what denomination Quinn is. I'm pretty sure the version most often
     featured in movies is Catholic Confession, so that'd be what Puck
     tried to describe regardless of what Quinn actually meant.
     Fortunately this is from Puck's POV, so I didn't have to explain. XP
***** Kurt: The Only One *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"You know I hate you, right?" Kurt scowled. The last thing he wanted to deal
with today was Quinn Fabray. He lounged on his bed and wished really hard that
she would disappear.
"I don't hate you." Instead of disappearing, she pulled over his computer chair
and sat down facing where Kurt lay on the bed. "I know I haven't been a good
friend lately, but I don't actually hate you."
"When were we ever friends?" Kurt stretched his arms above his head, both to
make himself more comfortable and to show them off. He knew the sight of his
skin—the punctures and ridges added to his skin—made people uncomfortable, and
for once he was glad someone had walked in on him in just his undershirt. The
motion pulled up the bottom of his shirt, baring his midriff and the scars
there too.
Quinn stared but didn't flinch. It would have to do. "You let the others call
you friends. Even you and Puck weren't close before."
"Believe me when I say I questioned his motives."
"And I questioned his sanity." Quinn took a deep breath and folded her hands in
her lap. "I went to see Puck because... well, because I wanted him to take me
back."
"He won't."
"I know." She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and let it back out
before continuing. "He told me I was talking to the wrong person."
Kurt rolled his eyes. "At this point I don't think any of your exes are taking
you back." He smirked because she fucking deserved it.
"That I was apologizing to the wrong person. I didn't tell him I wanted to date
again, Kurt. I think I missed my chance already." What right did she have to
look so sad over that?
"You think?" Kurt widened his eyes and let his mouth hang open in mimicry of
shock.
Quinn let out a frustrated squeal. "Why do you have to make everything so
difficult?" She stood and began pacing as she spoke. "I came here to tell you
I'm sorry and to admit that I haven't been fair to you in all this because I
felt threatened, okay. Because I saw this coming before either you or Puck did,
and instead of stopping it by being a person Puck could love, I just let it
make me bitter and jealous."
That surprised Kurt so much that he bolted upright before remembering he was
lazing about to annoy Quinn. "Jealous?" He scoffed. "Of fucking me?"
"Of how devoted Puck is to you." She stopped pacing.
"Wanna trade?" He held his scarred arms up in offering.
Quinn shook her head. She sighed, retaking her seat beside the bed, and Kurt
leaned back on his elbow. "I'm sorry, Kurt."
"Wow, this must be hard for you."
"Shut up." She rolled her eyes. "I talk like I believe in forgiveness, but I
denied it to you because of my own problems. You don't deserve that. I'm
sorry."
"I don't want your forgiveness, Quinn." Kurt sat up again and leaned forward,
pressing his chest against his thighs and wrapping his arms around his legs.
"I didn't expect you to. You have it anyway. I... I don't expect to have earned
yours."
"Why are you doing this? You're a bitch, Quinn. Why bother pretending
otherwise?" Kurt glared at her as his fingers twitched.
"I know who I am, Kurt, but I want to be more than just who I've been. I'm
tired of driving everyone away because I can't bother to be a decent person,
and I don't want to live my life all alone when I don't have to."
"So it's still selfish?"
"Most things are." She said with a shrugged.
Kurt chuckled. "Fair enough."
"I said what I wanted to say, so... I guess I'll go." Quinn picked her purse of
the floor by the chair and stood.
"I raped someone. Puck wasn't the first time I tried it."
The purse fell back to the ground. Quinn stood frozen, staring at Kurt in shock
and... fear. "What?"
"His name was Jack. Robin had him brought in and chained down just for me, and
I rammed my dick in his ass as he begged me to stop."
Quinn collapsed back into the chair. Kurt almost wished she'd missed it and hit
the floor.
"Jack begged me to save him. I told him I couldn't. Robin was too strong. Kitty
was at the door with a gun. I tried to tell Rob that I couldn't rape Jack.
Physically couldn't, but he held me while I did it, and when I had trouble
staying hard, he stroked me and breathed in my ear and along the back of my
neck until I could get back to fucking."
"Kurt," Quinn choked on his name, and Kurt saw her throat clench around
whatever else she wanted to say.
"When we were done, Robin told me we had to kill him. I didn't want to, but
Robin made me cut him. We missed at first because I was being a little bitch.
Rob told me Jack was going to die slowly now, that it would hurt. I told him to
fix it, and that's how I knew how to slit a throat when the time came to do the
same to Robin."
"Why are you telling me this?" Quinn leaned forward to clutch at the bed,
though Kurt suspected she wanted to run away instead. He wondered how long it
would be before her legs worked again.
"In the time after we raped and murdered Jack to the time when Kitty brought in
Puck, Robin didn't bring me any more innocents to ruin. If he had, I think I
would have done it. I don't even think I'd have complained or asked for help.
I'd just have done it." He barked out a broken laugh. "Hell, I was set to do it
to Puck when Robin told me to. I didn't want to, but I would have."
This time she screamed, "WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS?"
"Because you're the only one I can count on not to tell me it isn't my fault."
He felt the tears in his eyes and blinked them back. "So tell me, Quinn, do you
forgive me now?"
She froze with her fists clenched around his sheets and her eyes locked on his
face, breathing heavily and blinking rapidly. Finally, she took a final breath
and spoke, "Are you sorry?"
"What?" She was supposed to cry or some shit, not ask questions. She was
supposed to hate him forever and never care again.
"Are you sorry you did those things? Will you never do them again?" He watched
as she calmed herself, slowed her breathing, leaned back in the chair, returned
her hands to rest in her lap like a good little girl.
"Of course I'm fucking sorry. I'm a hell of a lot more than sorry. I'm ruined,
Quinn." He leaned toward her so she couldn't create more space between them
just by sitting up.
"Then I forgive you." She sounded as surprised as he was.
"Don't you dare fucking tell me it's not my fault after everything you've done
already."
"I won't." Quinn looked down at her hands, but after a moment, she turned her
eyes to Kurt again. "You had a choice Kurt. Not much of a choice since the
alternative was death, but you had a choice. You made it. You let him make you
into a rapist and a murderer. But it's not who you are anymore, so you deserve
to be forgiven."
"It's not as simple as that."
"I would have agreed with you a few days ago." She stood and closed the
distance between them so she could sit on the bed. "You did terrible things to
survive, Kurt, but you don't do them anymore. You're a good person. Damaged,
but still good." She set her hand atop his and squeezed gently. "I'm sorry I
ever helped you think otherwise."
Kurt didn't know what to say. He couldn't just admit that he wanted her to hate
him so he could feel justified in hating himself. "You too," he said finally.
"I think they say it wasn't your fault because they want you to forgive
yourself."
Kurt laughed bitterly. "Of course they do."
"What do you think happens if you forgive yourself, Kurt?"
"I don't know." A lie.
"Yes you do. You don't have to tell me, but it might help to tell someone."
Kurt had no one else to tell, no one who would even try to hate him the way he
hated himself. "I become like him. He never blamed himself. He never cared." He
liked it. Kurt shuddered.
"You couldn't be like him if you tried, Kurt." She squeezed his hand again.
"I could—"
"Even if you did all the same things he did," she cut him off, "You would feel
differently about them. So you'd be a monster, but not the same kind of monster
he was."
Kurt laughed. "It's kind of nice to hear someone use me and monster in the same
sentence."
"Don't get used to it." Quinn paused, biting at her lip. "I don't know if we
can ever be good friends, Kurt, but if you want me to be, I'll be here for you.
And I promise not to lie to you, not even if I think it will help you."
"Thanks." Kurt considered letting her go then. That would be too easy though,
and he might as well test this honesty. "Am I bad for Puck?"
"I should have seen that coming." She sighed. "You have been, maybe you will be
again. Right now, he needs you."
"Did I make him worse?" Kurt already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it
from the person who had made herself Puck's protector.
"Yes."
"Can I help him get better?"
"Yes," she nodded as she spoke. "You can also help him get worse. So be better
for him than I was."
Kurt leaned forward and pulled Quinn in for a hug. "Thanks," he said into her
hair. "But you're still a bitch."
"So are you. Maybe it'll give us something to bond over."
Kurt laughed. "Now go tell Mercedes we talked. I'm too exhausted, and she's
going to want details."
Quinn laughed too, but it was the shaken sound of nervous laughter. "She's
going to expect us to go shopping with her now. Together."
"... We could be enemies again," Kurt suggested.
"I'd rather not, if we can help it." Her smile faltered. "I'll talk to
Mercedes, but... will you talk to Puck?"
"Why? Do you want me to put in a good word for you?" Kurt beat down a pang of
jealously, telling himself it was stupid because he and Puck were not happening
as a couple.
"No. I'm better off single for a while. I just want to be friends with him
again."
"I'll tell him."
"Thank you." She retrieved her purse again. Before leaving, she turned to face
him one more time and said, "I think you should try it."
"Try what?"
"To forgive yourself. Puck was right when he said you deserve it." She smiled
sadly and turned on her heel without waiting for an answer. She probably knew
Kurt would only have told her to go fuck herself.
Kurt leapt off his bed and jerked off his undershirt. He stood in front of the
mirror and studied himself, studied his scars. He hated them. His fingers
traced the lines of his hate. This one he got because he tried to run. This one
because Robin was bored. He reached up to his neck. This one because he had
throat surgery. It didn't feel right, that scar sitting next to the others. He
traced another along his abdomen that Rob had given him while they fucked Jack.
He deserved that one for what he had done. But then how many of these had he
earned? If he ran, was it his fault or Robin's? Did he retroactively earn scars
by killing Kitty and Robin? Maybe Puck had it right to make his own scars.
No.
Fuck.
Kurt crouched on the floor in front of his mirror and gripped his head between
his hands. He was past thinking that way. Even worse, it would only hurt Puck.
He couldn't afford to hurt Puck any more. He couldn't afford to do anything
anymore. Why couldn't he just be fucking okay again? Not even healthy or happy
or who he used to be, but just okay. He cried on the floor, staring at himself
in the mirror, and hoped no one would walk in because he needed them to think
he was okay. If nothing else, let them believe that I am okay, he begged
silently even though he had no one to beg to.
Chapter End Notes
     I am honestly not sure what people are going to think about the
     direction I'm taking these two characters. Um. I hope you're cool
     with it?
***** Puck: Who You Are *****
Chapter Notes
     Aw, man, I was rereading some old chapters the other day, and I kinda
     miss my villains.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
He lay in Kurt's bed wondering if Kurt had ever masturbated just there. Then he
remembered Kurt telling him he was afraid to even touch himself anymore, that
he generally came in his sleep or not at all. That had been a while ago. Puck
wondered if Kurt had ever moved on from that. He shifted onto his side so he
faced Kurt where he lay on the other side of the bed.
"What?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.
"What?" Puck wondered if something in his expression gave away what he'd been
thinking.
Kurt rolled his eyes and propped himself up on an elbow so he looked down on
Puck. "You're staring. What do you want?"
"Maybe I just like to look at you."
"No it was definitely a question kind of looking. Spill it."
Puck licked his lips. "It isn't—"
"Don't you dare tell me it's not important."
"—appropriate."
"Oh." Kurt scratched at his wrist. "I thought you agreed just friends was
best."
With a heavy sigh, Puck rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling again.
"Well I wasn't trying to ask you, was I?"
The mattress bounced as Kurt dropped back down beside him. "Fuck, now I want to
know what it was."
"You don't," Puck warned.
"Just tell me. Or ask me. Or whatever."
Puck half-shrugged as best he could while lying down. "I was wondering if you
ever started jerking yourself off again."
"What?" Kurt sat up again to stare down at Puck in something between confusion
and distaste.
"Well you told me you had stopped, and I was just wondering if that was still a
thing for you... I told you it wasn't appropriate." Puck regretted rolling over
now. This was awkward. Beyond awkward.
"You... you think about me masturbating."
"Apparently." Still awkward.
"Why?"
"I don't understand the question." Why the fuck wouldn't he think about Kurt
masturbating? Then again, why did he ever admit to it?
"I assumed you were interested in me because we've shared probably too much
since you found me in New York." Kurt fidgeted with his arm warmers.
"I'm sure that's part of it." Every once in a while Puck wondered if he would
ever have fallen for Kurt if not for everything that had happened. It made his
head hurt though, so he never kept at it long.
"But why would you think about me physically?"
"Oh." It made more sense now. "Yeah I didn't think for a long time I was
interested sexually either, you know. Because, dude, you're a dude. But I guess
I just never bothered to consider it because I liked girls and didn't want to
bother facing what liking dudes too would mean, y'know."
"But me though."
"Yes, you...?" Puck was missing something here. He waited, hoping Kurt would
offer clarification.
"Puck you know what I look like. I'm..." Kurt wrapped his arms around himself.
"Ugly." Something deep and painful lurked behind that word. Puck thought it
might have worn Banks' twisted grin.
"There's gotta be something wrong with your mirror." Kurt had always been
pretty as a girl. Puck guessed Banks must have done something to make Kurt
think otherwise, but he was short of figuring out how when Kurt responded.
"Maybe you've had the luxury of forgetting, but I am fucking covered in scars."
Kurt tore his shirt off, and it took the arm warmers with it.
"I didn't forget." He'd been a moron not to realize that was what Kurt meant,
but it didn't mean he'd forgotten. He pictured Kurt as he first saw him after
being kidnapped, naked, scarred, sitting and waiting for Robin Banks to ruin
him some more because it was the only thing he knew how to do anymore. "They
don't make you ugly."
"You'll have to explain that. The scars are ugly. Their origins are ugly. So
how is it I'm not made ugly by having them?" Kurt hissed as he spoke, and his
mouth twisted into a sneer. "They certainly don't make me look any prettier."
"I remember sitting with you in the living room of your family's old house and
thinking how I wished I was gay so I could tell you you're still beautiful even
with the scars." Puck laughed far too close to bitterly. "That's a fucking
stupid thing to think because you don't have to want to fuck someone to know
they're attractive, and also apparently I'm hot for you anyway, so..." he
shrugged.
"Oh, God, don't say you're hot for me." Kurt cringed. "It's weird."
"Oh, so I'm hot, and you're bothered." Puck waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Fuck, why would you say that?" Kurt collapsed back onto the bed with his face
buried in his hands.
"I'm just messing with you, Kurt. You can relax." Puck wasn't about to try
anything now that he knew Kurt had no interest in dating him, but what kind of
friend would he be if he never teased Kurt when he'd honestly walked right into
it?
Kurt peeked out from behind his fingers. "You do think I'm attractive though?
Physically, I mean."
Puck nodded. If he could, he'd have shown Kurt. He wanted to press their bodies
and lips together, and run his hands across Kurt's skin. He took advantage of
Kurt hiding his face again to study him. Kurt was still thin and would always
have a lithe build, but there was more muscle on him than Puck would have
expected. More than he remembered from Banks' hotel room too, so he guessed
that Kurt must have been working out since returning. It felt weird to Puck
that he wouldn't have known that. Too little fat covered the muscle though.
This time Puck wasn't surprised; he'd have been more shocked to find that Kurt
was eating enough.
"You're staring." Kurt had uncovered his eyes.
Puck shrugged and punctuated the motion with a smirk. "You're the one who
provided the view."
"I don't like when people stare." He sat up and curled forward like he could
hide away if only he made himself small enough.
"I think I was looking at something different than what you were thinking of."
When Kurt only stared at him like a moron, Puck added, "I wasn't looking at the
scars."
"I don't think that's possible." Kurt rubbed at the messy scars on his wrist,
the ones left by two months of rope and metal digging into the skin there.
"I was looking past them. Don't laugh. It's not that hard."
Kurt laughed anyway. "And what exactly do you see behind the scars, Puck?"
"You're fucking sexy but a bit underfed. Also pale, but you've always been
that." Puck crossed his arms over his chest and made a point of studying Kurt's
naked torso as he spoke.
"Too much sun is bad for your skin. Stop fucking staring, Puck." He scowled.
"Then put a shirt on." Puck wondered if it was weird to want to lick Kurt's
chest. "And you never answered my question." Yes, he decided, it was probably
weird, about as weird as the question was awkward. He still wanted to do it
though, and to know the answer.
"Do I masturbate? Yes. It's helped my sheets a lot." He hands twitched while he
said it.
"Do you think about him?"
"Oh God, when you say it like that it sounds like he's my ex and you're fucking
jealous." Kurt groaned.
Puck only shrugged. He nearly asked if he should be jealous, but he'd teased
Kurt enough for one day (for a whole month, probably). Neither of them wanted
to hear the answer to that question anyway. Puck remembered that Kurt had
explained Banks away to Meg in New York as his abusive ex-boyfriend.
"Never mind," he said instead of pushing on. Kurt thought enough about Robin
Banks without Puck asking questions like this. He dropped onto his back and
stared at the ceiling above Kurt's bed.
"It's your responsibility to change the subject now," Kurt said, prodding
Puck's side with his elbow. "Since you're the one who made it a stupid one."
"Fine." Puck bit his lip, trying to think of something other than Super Mario
Brothers because that never went over well with Kurt. "Did you think more about
what Quinn told you?"
"Really? You couldn't talk about something normal? Like school or the weather?"
The mattress bounced as Kurt shifted heavily, but Puck kept his gaze on the
ceiling.
"School sucks. Weather sucks. When have we ever had a normal conversation?" He
turned his head to find Kurt on his side facing Puck. "So what about Quinn?"
"Quinn said a lot of things."
"I mean the part about forgiving yourself." Puck reached forward to grasp
Kurt's hand. "What's the difference between Kurt Hummel and Alex Hood?"
"There isn't one." The words were bitter. "I only fooled myself into thinking
there was."
"But you wanted there to be?"
"Of course I fucking wanted there to be." Kurt sneered but left his hand in
Puck's.
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to be someone else." Kurt's hand trembled. "I wanted to be
someone who could never be hurt. Or whose hurt could never reach me, at least.
A lot of fucking good it did."
"Why did you change back?"
"You were there, moron."
Puck rolled his eyes. "Just answer the question."
"Because I realized I wasn't..." His shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug, but
he didn't continue.
"You weren't what? Alex?"
Kurt shook his head. He lunged forward to bury his face against Puck's chest.
"Robin."
"Then why haven't you forgiven yourself?" Puck pressed a hand into Kurt's hair.
When Kurt answered, sobs choked his voice. "What if I was wrong?"
"You weren't," Puck promised in a whisper. After all this time, he had thought
maybe Kurt began to move on, to see himself as something other than the shadow
following a monster in the night. "You can't be like him, Kurt. It hurts you to
watch people suffer." He stroked Kurt's hair and hoped they were the right
words at last.
"But I hurt people anyway. I hurt you." His voice was small.
"You couldn't hurt me the way he wanted you to. The pain isn't who you are."
His own words echoed back to Puck in his mind. The pain isn't who you are. He
tried to ignore the itching of his forearms as Kurt huddled against his chest.
They lay together in silence since neither had more to say.
Chapter End Notes
     So, um, I think this thing is going to be 82 chapters in total. I
     won't swear to it because things could change in editing, but that's
     how it looks right now.
     We're almost there, guys.
***** Kurt: Fear *****
Chapter Notes
     So far I'm still happy with what I wrote for the end. I've edited
     bits and pieces (and corrected way too many tense errors), but I
     think the majority of it will be okay. This means we're on track, and
     I shouldn't need too long between these last few updates.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It had felt strange calling Quinn and asking her to come over, but Kurt
couldn't discuss this with Puck. Maybe Puck wouldn't understand or maybe Kurt
wasn't ready. Either way, he needed someone else, someone who would listen
without ignoring how... wrong it was.
"Have you been crying, Kurt?" She asked, as if his puffy red eyes and the pile
of tissues in his trashcan left any room for doubt.
"What are you afraid of?" Kurt asked instead of answering.
"Excuse me?"
"Everyone's afraid of something. What is it for you?" He rubbed his hands up
and down his arms even though he wasn't cold under the three layers of cloth
that covered them.
"Being alone and unloved for the rest of my life." She sat down on the bed,
hands folded primly in her lap. "Why?" Kurt hadn't expected her to answer
honestly, much less so calmly, but he remembered Puck ranting about how calm
Quinn seemed sometimes when she was trying so hard to help him instead of to be
herself. Kurt hoped she would shake that habit with him; he wanted her around
because she was a bitch, not because she was willing to be nice.
"The pain isn't who I am," he whispered. "But maybe the fear is."
She paused, probably lost without the context of Kurt's conversations with
Puck. "Whose fear?"
Clever. Would anyone else have known to ask? Kurt hesitated even though he'd
asked Quinn over specifically to talk this out. "Everyone's. Mine and theirs."
"You mean because you're afraid of Robin Banks?" It was weird how everyone
called him by his full name, Robin Banks. The weirdest part might have been
that she didn't even hear the joke in it anymore. Robin Banks has been robbin'
banks, Kurt thought to himself instead of answering. "Kurt," Quinn said
sharply, "You asked me here. Don't ignore me."
He flinched. "Sorry. Robin's dead; I don't have to fear him anymore." Kurt saw
the question in Quinn's eyes: If not Robin, then who? Or what? "I mean fear of
me." There. It was out. Too late to take it back, too late to deny it, too late
to pretend it never existed.
"You're afraid of yourself?" She reached out to take Kurt's hand but let him
pull away easily.
"I don't know most of their names, but a few people at school are afraid of me.
It started in my first day back when I attacked Strando." He remembered the
shift, the way people had looked at him first as some sort of novelty, a circus
freak for their amusement, and then they way their eyes widened and they took a
step back as he approached after they saw him claw at Strando's face. He
remembered a boy who always stared at Kurt's feet and walked as far across the
hall from him as possible. He remembered a girl who flinched every time he
looked at her. Most of all he remembered the way it felt, like he could taste
their fear, draw it into himself and subsist on it alone. It felt like power.
"Not now, but there were a few times when Puck was afraid of me too. And you,
you've been afraid."
"People fear what they don't understand, Kurt. You can't help—"
"That's not what I mean. I..." He thought—hoped—Quinn would understand. She was
head bitch in charge of McKinley before she got pregnant, and she'd had people
terrified of crossing her then. It wasn't the same. Kurt knew that, but still
he hoped. "I like when people are afraid." He took a long, shuddering breath as
Quinn stared at him. "I like the way it feels."
"That's why you're afraid of yourself." Her eyes flicked down to Kurt's hands
and then her own. "You're afraid it makes you like him." She didn't have to say
who she meant. Everything with Kurt came down to Robin in the end.
"I know I'm like him." He raised a hand to stop Quinn before she could protest.
"Not exactly like him, just in little ways." He dropped his hand to clutch at
the comforter on his bed. "I know that people have little things in common all
the time without it meaning anything. It's just... I could be more like him.
Not in a weird hypothetical but more like I know I'm capable because I've
done... things and survived. I could do them again, and I would survive that
too."
"But you're not going to, are you?" She spoke like she was certain, like she
was just prodding him to realize what she already knew, but Kurt saw in the way
she tensed up as he spoke and the narrowing of her eyes that Quinn still had
doubts.
"Of course not." Robin wasn't there to make him. How different would Kurt be if
he was? Rob had been trying to mold Kurt into someone like Kitty, Jace, and
Todd, someone who would follow him and work for him. Kurt wasn't afraid of
those three though, wasn't worried about turning into them. If Rob were alive,
would Kurt still worry about turning into him?
Would he hope for it?
"Why are you so afraid of becoming something if you know you won't?" Quinn had
dropped the calm facade and now sounded like she was talking to a dense child.
Kurt struggled for an answer. "I got lucky when Puck found me. If he hadn't, I
would never have come home. I'm sure now that I won't do the things Robin did,
but that's only because I've been here and had people to help me." Puck hadn't
been so lucky in the time since he found Kurt though. As Kurt slowly got
better, Puck slowly got worse. Kurt shook himself, but the guilt hung on.
"But..." His throat tightened on the words, choking him of breath.
"Kurt are you...?" Quinn leaned forward to press a hand against his knee.
"What if Jace didn't call Rob that night? What if Robin stayed and made me
fucking rape Puck? What if he made me kill Puck after? What if no one ever
saved me? What if I kept working for him? What if I started liking it? Maybe I
won't now, but if that happened, I could have... I could have been like Robin."
It all came out in a rush before he could lose his breath again. He stared,
gasping, at Quinn, eyes wide, hands shaking, hoping for something without
knowing what.
Quinn's eyes opened as wide as Kurt's, and her mouth clamped shut. Her hand
shot off Kurt's knee to find Kurt's hand and grip it tight. "That didn't
happen. It doesn't matter," she said with a conviction Kurt would never have
expected from her. "You'll just drive yourself crazy if you let everything that
could have happened matter as much as what actually did."
"Well, fuck, who did you almost kill?" Kurt asked when he couldn't work out why
Quinn cared so much about this part of their discussion. What about could-have-
been's made them a touchier subject than rape and murder?
"Beth," she answered so quickly Kurt knew she hadn't even had time to process
the idea of hiding it from him. Quinn yelped and slapped a hand over her mouth.
Kurt raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying you, what, considered an abortion?
And that's basically the same as my hypothetical sadistic torture and murder
spree?"
"In that neither of them did or ever will happen, yes." Quinn stared at her
hands as she wrung them in her lap. "I was being stupid and weak, and I thought
better of it, and that's not important right now. This is supposed to be about
you." She glanced up through her eyelashes. "And no offense, Kurt, but I don't
want to go into the abortion debate with you."
"Oh, good, because I am so not fucking up for any sanctity of replicating cells
because God said so crap." Kurt glared at Quinn when she opened her mouth,
probably to defend her beliefs, but she backed down. "But you at least had some
pretty firm beliefs that kept you from doing anything you'd regret. I didn't.
It was someone else who stopped me."
"If you were so ruined already, then why did you help Puck get away?"
"I..." Kurt paused. He remembered feeling empty except for Robin, like nothing
else could matter except doing whatever he wanted. Kurt remembered believing he
was doomed to spend the rest of his life as Rob's plaything. But then he had
seen Puck, and he had wanted something else. It only amounted to helping Puck
instead of hurting him at first, but it was enough. "He reminded me who I am."
"How?"
Kurt shrugged. "He didn't do anything. I just... didn't want to hurt him, and
knowing I was still capable of that—of wanting to help someone—was enough, I
guess."
"If he didn't do anything, then it was you, Kurt." Quinn leaned forward again.
"You saved yourself. Because you aren't like Banks."
"But I don't think I'd have done it without Puck. I didn't with... with Jack."
He licked his lips nervously. Kurt knew he was pushing Quinn, trying to find
the one thing that would make her condemn him because if she did so now, after
claiming to forgive him, then he'd have an excuse to condemn himself too. He
knew what he was doing, knew it was self-destructive and stupid. He continued
anyway.
"The point of forgiveness isn't that you're always right. It's that you can
make up for being wrong." Quinn said, her voice muted with unexpected sadness.
"I guess it wouldn't exist otherwise." Kurt tried out a smile, but it fell away
from him. "I've never wanted it, you know."
"Everyone wants to be forgiven."
"No," Kurt said, pulling back from Quinn. "Not everyone does. I've never wanted
to be forgiven because it means I have to be a good person again. Forgiveness
for most of the people I know means ignoring that bad part of my life and
rewinding to before I ever met Robin. It's not about me; it's about them. It's
easier if we pretend I can be happy again."
"What about from Puck? He forgives you too." She crossed her arms.
"I didn't ask him to. Most of what I've done to Puck was to try to make sure he
wouldn't forgive me." Kurt scowled. "I've been trying to make people hate me
ever since I came back." Even though she didn't say it, Kurt could practically
hear Quinn wondering why. "It's easier to believe I deserve to be hated." Kurt
still had nightmares about Robin, but there were others too. Nightmares about
Kurt. He didn't need Rob to be a monster. He knew how it worked, could do it
himself. There was some part of him, buried deep under the scars and the
roiling mass of pain, fear, and what his friends called his kindness, that was
all darkness, like Robin's shadow cast on Kurt's soul. That part of him, he
knew, could hurt people, could enjoy it. That was what left Kurt trembling and
drenched in cold sweat in the middle of the night. No matter how much everyone
said his nature was good enough to cancel out the bad, that darkness refused to
leave, so Kurt thought maybe it was the stronger of the two. "It's easier to
give up than to keep fighting knowing that if I go on, I'll never be allowed to
stop."
"You haven't stopped fighting yet."
"I never managed to convince anyone that I should." He barked out something
like a laugh. "I thought I did with you, but apparently not."
Quinn bit her lip thoughtfully. "Why does it have to be based on someone else
though? Why did you never decide on your own to give up on yourself?"
"You ask more questions than my therapist." Kurt rolled his eyes.
"I doubt it. Now answer." She tapped her foot, waiting for Kurt to go on.
"I don't know. Maybe I needed a second opinion." Kurt fidgeted, scratching at
his wrists through the long sleeves that stretched over them to reach halfway
across his palms.
Quinn let out a world-weary sigh. "Do you know how you look right now?" Kurt
shook his head. He wasn't interested in guessing games. "You look like you're
lying."
"I never thought about it, so how am I supposed to know?"
"It's your mind Kurt." She stared him down as if her being angry enough would
help him have some sort of epiphany.
"That doesn't mean much. It's the same mind that developed romantic feelings
for a man after I carved my name on his chest and slit his throat."
"Holy shit." Quinn rarely swore, and the way her eyes widened and she pulled
back as the words fell out of her was so ridiculously comical that Kurt
couldn't help but laugh. "Are you baiting me or something, or...?"
"No I really did. I also inserted a knife into his anal cavity before I killed
him. The same knife Puck gave you." He smirked.
"You're definitely trying to scare me again." She jabbed a finger into the air
in front of Kurt.
"Yes, but I'm telling the truth too." He shrugged, realizing he didn't even
care. He told Quinn something horrific that he never wanted anyone to know,
and... didn't care. He studied her as they both processed what he'd said. They
weren't really friends regardless of how much he might share with her. Quinn
was just a voice he needed, one that told him he could go on without ignoring
that he had been wrong before. She didn't need to be a person or a friend for
him at all, just a voice.
"You still didn't answer my question," she said. "I think it's because you're
afraid to admit to having hope."
"That's ridiculous." Kurt sneered as he rolled his eyes. "I changed my name
back, didn't I? That's basically the definition of hoping I could be like
myself again."
"Do you have any idea how much time you spend telling people you're never going
to be like yourself again? You've even started using the scars like weapons,
showing them off at just the right moment to remind someone else of what you
can't get away from." She frowned. "You're trying to avoid hope because it's
easier not to have to live up to any standards."
"Fuck you, Quinn." Kurt stood just to get further away from her. "It's hard
enough just trying not to be a fucking basketcase. Where do you get off
expecting me to magically stop worrying and be somehow okay and happy?" He
didn't care that part of what she said was just the echo of what he'd already
told her. Enough of it was different.
"I wasn't saying I wanted it." She left her seat behind to follow Kurt across
the room. "I was saying you want it. You want to be happy, and you're too
scared of falling short to admit it. So you keep trying to find someone to
justify your refusal to take back your life."
"It doesn't matter what you think I want if it's not something I can ever—"
Kurt stopped short when he found his hand in his pocket, fingers trying to wrap
around something that wasn't there anymore. The knife. He yanked his hand out
of his pocket like he'd been burned but then turned it over, slowly, in front
of his eyes to stare at it as though the hand had reached for a weapon on its
own.
"Stop right now," Quinn hissed, grabbing hold of his hand. "Don't you dare
start that again."
"Start what?" He pulled his hand away from her and cradled it against his
chest.
"I know you used to keep a knife in your pocket; I saw you throw it away. So
don't you dare pretend you were actually going to hurt me." Her voice rose to a
shout. "I won't let you get away with it, not after I've been telling you to
stop looking for excuses to hate yourself."
She was right. He had reached for it because having a blade made him feel safe
and she had made him feel threatened, not because he wanted to fight her off.
He'd not have been threatened unless she was right. Kurt looked into Quinn's
eyes, hoping to understand something there. Was she right? His mind latched
onto something else she had said, and Kurt welcomed the distraction. "You saw
me throw it away?" He had dropped it into the trash can of the choir room after
listening to Puck sing "One Last Breath." If she saw... "Did you take it? I
went back for it later, and it was gone. Was it you?"
"Yes." She stepped back. "I'm not sure why, except that I didn't want you to
get it back. You wouldn't have thrown it away like that unless it was important
somehow, and... the timing made me think it might have something to do with
Puck too."
Kurt nodded. Everything had to do with Puck somehow, or at least it did now.
"He... held it for me, like he did with the other one we gave you. Do you," he
paused, licked his lips, and dropped his hand to his side. "Do you still have
them?"
"I'm not sure what to do with them," she admitted, "But I won't be giving them
back to you or Puck." She took a deep breath. "Kurt." She paused until he
looked her in the eyes. "Do you want to help Puck?"
"Of course I do. He's—"
"Then you have to help yourself too." She raised a hand to keep him from
interrupting her the way she had interrupted him. "You have to be a better
person in order to be good for him. So if you aren't willing to fight for
yourself, maybe you should fight for him."
Kurt crossed his arms and glared. "Is it really fair for you to say that?"
"No." Quinn didn't even look guilty. "Everyone's given you so much space
though, that maybe you need to be told you're not allowed to be broken
anymore."
"It's not that simple. I can't just magically be better," Kurt growled.
"You're already better than you were before. Honestly, except for refusing to
admit how far you've come, you're doing fantastic. You're damaged, Kurt, but
you're not broken anymore." The emotion in Quinn's voice caught Kurt off guard,
but he couldn't bring himself to care beyond trying to decipher if she was
angry or proud. She should not have been capable of projecting both emotions at
once.
"I..." He needed to say something, needed to argue with her, but nothing came
to mind. Nothing. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to force something
out, until, finally, he realized he couldn't argue because he wanted her to be
right. "I don't want to be broken anymore," he whispered. "But... isn't that
too much to hope for?"
"No, it isn't."
Kurt couldn't decide if that was the answer he wanted, but somehow it had
become the one he believed.
Chapter End Notes
     ...Guys I don't think you understand. This is the LAST climactic
     confrontation. Everything else is falling action and resolution.
     Dude, is this even climactic enough for that? I mean, not much is
     gonna live up to murdering a psychopath, and this final portion of
     the story is naturally much... I guess softer than early ones. I just
     hope in the end, it doesn't come off as too anticlimactic.
     This story was an experiment in a lot of ways, and after trying to
     write out a long, slow, and as truthful as I could make it
     progression of healing, I see why we get the Hollywood version from a
     storytelling standpoint. I also see why the stories focus on either
     the trauma or the healing with the other as more of a hint. The tone
     literally makes it feel like two stories (in this case, it might be
     more like three: The Robin chapters, the Alex chapters, and the Kurt
     chapters).
     Anyway, I'm talking too much. Next time is Carole Hudson's first and
     only viewpoint chapter.
***** Carole: The Strong One *****
Chapter Notes
     So apparently I've been spelling it wrong, and the character from
     Glee uses an 'e' on the end of her name. :/ "Carole" looks weirdly
     like "casserole" to me though, which is why I previously assumed it
     was "Carol."
     StormsInNeverland (on FFnet) actually requested that I add a bit more
     Carole to my story. Initially, I wasn't sure there was room, but I
     guess just having the idea in my head helped me find some. :P
See the end of the chapter for more notes
One day Carole would figure out just how Finn managed to leave every pair of
pants with one leg inside-out and the other inside-in. She shook her head and
fixed the messed up leg before dropping the jeans into the wash. She knew Finn
was plenty old enough to do his own laundry. But he would be leaving home for
college at the end of the year, and it felt like she wouldn't need to miss him
so much if she could take care of things for him for a little bit longer.
That... and Finn would have worn those jeans until they began to stink before
he did his own laundry. Carole chuckled to herself as she sorted out a white
undershirt for the next load and dropped a bright T-shirt into the current one.
When she heard the click of the utility room door, Carole turned away from the
used clothes to find Kurt watching her. She smiled and waved for him to come
over. If he'd meant to do laundry, he would have brought his hamper, but his
hands were empty. Only his eyes were full; Carole could spot questions from a
mile away. She smiled warmly for him. Kurt would ask his question when he was
ready, and until he was, Carole would continue with Finn's laundry. She'd have
offered to do Kurt's too, but he liked to do his own. Too much control had been
taken from him, and Kurt liked to reclaim what he could, even in little ways.
"How did you do it?" Kurt began, and Carole turned her attention to him once
more. "When I was gone, I know it had to be you who held them together. But
how?"
It wasn't what she had expected. "I just made sure I was always there for
them."
"Did you tell them it would be okay?" Kurt rubbed at his wrists.
"No," she said. The whole family knew better than that; they had all lost
people before. "I told them we would get through it."
Kurt nodded, and Carole could see that he understood the difference.
"I may have... motivated your father on occasion by implying you were going to
come home eventually though." Sometimes Carole had lain awake at night worrying
about too much false hope, but hope was the only thing that kept Burt going
sometimes. Regardless, he was no child. He always knew there was a chance Kurt
was gone for good no matter what Carole helped him believe. "Not with Finn
though. He would have believed me."
Kurt nodded again. He understood that too.
"It wasn't just while you were gone." Carole hoped Kurt was ready to hear this,
and she knew he was when she saw that the sadness in his eyes was not surprise.
"It's hard for them because they know they can't always be there for you, not
in the way you may need in that moment."
"They're there enough," Kurt whispered, and Carole heard the guilt in his
voice.
"I know, honey." She set a hand on his upper arm, careful to keep the touch
gentle. "That's what I've been telling them." Sometimes Carole worried that she
wasn't there for Kurt enough, but she had learned a long time ago where she was
needed and where she wasn't. There was only so much she could do for Kurt, and
that little bit was also covered by the others. While she had tried to always
make it clear Kurt could come to her for anything, Carole let herself focus on
her husband and her son and on taking care of the herd of teenagers so
desperate to help Kurt that they sometimes forgot to help themselves.
"You're there enough too," Kurt said, placing his hand briefly over hers before
pulling away.
He was a smart young man, and maybe too perceptive sometimes. "Thank you,"
Carole said, unexpectedly moved by his words. He saw and understood so much and
worked so much harder than he should have needed to, especially given
everything he had already been through. Carole knew better than to tell him to
hold back though. Kurt was the kind of boy who wouldn't want to, even if he
knew how. At times she thought he might have learned it from the monster that
took him, that maybe he could leave everyone to mold and rot, but caring enough
to help was part of what made Kurt feel better about himself. If that hadn't
been obvious before, it was once everyone realized how much his friend Puck was
hurting.
"Was it hard—being the strong one?"
Carole nodded. "But it's worth it for my family."
"But if you were so busy helping them, who was there to help you?" Kurt ran his
fingers through his hair. It was a habit he picked up after being taken; he
would never have risked messing his hair before.
"Just because I'm there for them doesn't mean they can't be there for me." She
smiled. "Though sometimes Finn's version of being there for me was overcooking
dinner."
Kurt chuckled. "I thought Finn knew how to cook."
"Oh, he does," Carole said, "He just has a short attention span."
Another small laugh escaped from Kurt before his eyes suddenly darkened and
slid down to rest on his feet instead of Carole's face.
"What is it, Kurt?" Carole asked when he didn't say what troubled him. Instead
of answering, he shook his head. "It might help to say it."
"It's just..." Kurt licked his lips and bit at one for a moment before
continuing. "What would you do if he was gone too?"
"I don't know," she admitted. Carole didn't want to risk hurting Kurt by lying
to him. "But I did have him, and I still do."
"But what if..." He fidgeted with his sleeves and looked at the door. "When
Robin found me, he said he'd expected to wait until glee practice." He
scratched at his jaw, but it looked like another nervous tic more than an itch.
"Everyone would have been there. He couldn't have just walked me out harmlessly
if I wasn't alone."
"Kidnappers usually take people when they're alone, Kurt, I doubt—"
"But he said it, and he wasn't just a kidnapper. He was a psychopath. He
thought killing people was fun, and if he liked taking them one at a time, then
a whole roomful would have been... Christmas." Kurt's hands trembled at his
sides, where he had finally set them into clenched fists.
Carole didn't know how to respond to that. Of course the man was a psychopath,
but she heard enough about mass killings to know the shooter rarely escaped.
Maybe a hostage would have helped, but then the police would have been on his
trail. "He wanted to get you away without anyone suspecting, right? That's why
he made you lie to Will Schuester."
"Well, yeah, I guess he could have just killed him." Kurt chewed at his lip
again. "But maybe his plan changed when I got there early."
"You weren't early." Carol returned her hand to Kurt's arm, hoping the gesture
would calm him somewhat. "Your father had been getting calls all week about you
skipping class to hide in the choir room. It was a..." She hesitated. "A
pattern. It was predictable."
"You mean he planned on finding me before school let out?" Kurt frowned, but he
let Carole's hand stay on his arm this time.
"All the news reports said Banks stalked his victims before taking them so he
knew the best time to—He... he would have known." Carole found her voice
shaking. She tried not to think about Banks too much if she could help it.
Instead, she focused on her family, on what she could do for them. But now she
thought this was what she could do for Kurt.
"He would have been caught," Kurt's voice was low, like he meant the words for
himself. "If he tried to shoot a bunch of kids, someone would have called the
cops. Even if he could get out, they'd be after him even harder and faster than
when he robbed a bank because he'd have... a kid with him."
Carole nodded. "He wasn't going to hurt Finn. Or the others."
Kurt leapt forward and threw his arms around Carole. He buried his face against
the fabric of her sweater and cried. As his small body shook against her,
Carole wrapped her arms around the boy and rubbed his back the way she used to
for Finn when he was small... and when he wasn't so small too.
"You'll get through this, Kurt," She said because he was strong and she knew he
would. Then, because she thought maybe she could believe that too, she added,
"You'll be okay."
Kurt cried even harder at that, but it didn't sound as sad as before.
Chapter End Notes
     The Rob part of this conversation came about because when Nicole/
     nikkithedead/carlathezombie read Kurt's thoughts about Rob wanting to
     kill everyone in glee club, she thought him reliable enough a
     viewpoint character to question Me/Rob on strategy rather than Kurt
     on irrational fears. I thought maybe I should find a way to make it
     clear that while Robin was stupid sometimes, he wasn't quite THAT
     stupid. And if she thought it, then other people would have too.
     After this it's just the last chapter proper and an epilogue. O.O
***** Kurt: One Step at a Time *****
Chapter Notes
     Songs: "So Far Away" by Staind and "Tomorrow" by Avril Lavigne.
     This is it. The next chapter is an epilogue, so this is the last
     chapter. I don't know if it's right; I don't even know how to tell. I
     rarely make it to writing the ending when I start a project. I'm open
     to suggestions, but in a way I'm also really happy with this how it
     is.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"No 'but's," Kurt said with a shake of his finger, wondering when exactly he
had become the one convincing people to take part in social activities. When
Burt shut his mouth and gave Kurt an expectant stare, Kurt continued, "We were
apart last year. We're together now. Sounds like something to eat dinner and
talk about being thankful over."
"Kurt, we all know you're more comfortable with fewer people around, and
something like this puts a lot of pressure on you." Burt held his hands in
front of him like he thought the gesture would somehow make Kurt understand.
"I've been planning this for over a week, and I've had your okay on it since
Sunday." Kurt crossed his arms. "I've missed out on enough already." Burt
winced at that, but Kurt kept going. "And I am not missing out on Thanksgiving
dinner with all the people who are important to me."
"I know, son, I know. I just... why couldn't we have had it here where we
already know you're comfortable." Burt motioned to the Hummel-Hudson dining
room.
Kurt sighed. "It's too small." They could sit a mess of teenagers haphazardly
through the living room with no problem, but the dining room was standard size,
with a standard size table and a standard number of chairs. They could have
invited one family of friends over, but not all of them. "Quinn's house is the
only one with a dining room meant for entertaining large groups."
"Only because her parents are loaded," Burt scoffed.
"Dad." Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Her parents are A) separated, so we're actually
just talking about her mom, and B) willing to have us all over for dinner
tonight." He jabbed a finger into the air in front of his father for emphasis.
"Ms. Fabray is actually a sweet, wonderful woman with a great eye for color,
and we are going to her house tonight because I want my Thanksgiving dinner."
"It's not a dinner with that many people, Kurt. It's a party."
"Then I want my Thanksgiving party. It's for me, you know. I thought you'd be
happy given how disappointed you were when I refused to have a birthday party."
Kurt still didn't understand why anyone had been surprised that he wanted to
treat his birthday that year just like any other day. He had barely noticed its
passing except that people kept trying to pester him about it.
"I just want to be sure you're ready."
Kurt nodded. "I know, Dad. And you'll be right there to take me away and bring
me home if it turns out I'm not, but I'm sure I'll be fine."
Burt thought on it a moment longer, and then nodded his head with finality.
"I'll tell Finn to put on his good shoes. I think I saw him wandering around
here in sneakers." He left the dining room without a backward look. As he
passed, Kurt caught Carole watching them from the hall, and she gave him a
wink. Kurt smiled at her, trying to calm his nerves. Regardless of what he told
his father, Kurt was nervous, but this was something he wanted to go through
with, something he had planned in part to prove he could.
Kurt and Carole had already spent most of the day at the Fabrays', helping
prepare for the party. Carole and Ms. Fabray helped with and oversaw the food
and drinks while Kurt and Quinn took lead with decorating. The last time Kurt
had a chance like this had been designing his own bedroom, and, to be honest,
this was more exciting and fabulous. Strangely, the bedroom had been more
stressful—or maybe not so strangely given Kurt's mental state at the time.
With a shake of his head, Kurt cleared his thoughts and headed out to the car.
He didn't want to be late to his own party. Even though Burt kept sending him
worried looks, everyone chatted amiably in the car ride over. Kurt wanted so
badly for it to be just a party. If it became a disaster, a state-of-the-crazy
meeting, or even a test, that would have meant he failed. If it turned out a
failure, Kurt knew he had only to try again later, but he wanted it to be okay
now. Kurt told Finn not to scuff his dress shoes and tried not to think about
his last Thanksgiving.
Burt pulled the car into the street in front of the Fabrays' house and turned
in his seat, obviously ready to address the family. Kurt opened his door and
hopped out of the car before his dad could say anything. By the time he reached
the front door, Quinn and Rachel were already waiting for him. Rachel gave him
a hug and wished him a happy Thanksgiving before rushing off to meet Finn on
his way up to the house. Quinn greeted Kurt with a smile, but they still
weren't close enough that either of them wanted anything like a hug.
"You look nervous," Quinn said as she led Kurt to the refreshments.
"That's because I am," he admitted. "But not panicking yet." He tried for a
smile but wound up with something too wavering.
"Drop the 'yet,' Kurt. You've handled worse." With a wave of her hand, Quinn
left to greet someone else at the door—Santana by the sound of it. Thanksgiving
a year ago had fallen a few days after Robin began training Kurt but long
before Kurt realized it had been training. That had definitely been worse. He
shuddered at the memory and set his drink back on the table untouched.
Kurt wandered farther away from the sound of their voices to find Puck. He had
noticed the Puckerman family's car outside and hoped to spend some time with
Puck before the night got going. Finding him wasn't actually that hard; Kurt
just strolled to the location he and Quinn had chosen for the hors d'oeuvres.
Sure enough, he found Puck sucking the pimento out of an olive before tossing
the olive itself into his mouth.
"Don't eat them all, Puck. I'm pretty sure Brittany asked for them specifically
because she likes to eat them exactly the way you just did." Kurt playfully
swatted Puck's hand away from the olive tray as he spoke.
"Dude, finally." Puck groaned. "I have been waiting for you forever. People
keep asking me what I'm thankful for and then giving me this weird 'I know
you're lying' look when I say some shit like I'm thankful we're all together so
we can have this soiree or whatever."
"Soiree?"
"I heard it in a movie once. Did I use it right?" When Kurt nodded, Puck waved
his hand, dismissing the topic. "Anyway, it's like they expect me to say
something..."
"Something that makes it sound like you won't hurt yourself anymore?" Kurt
suggested when Puck hesitated.
"Yeah." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "But I don't think they'd like
hearing, 'I'm thankful I nearly killed myself when I should have been there for
my best friend because it's been easier to resist cutting since then,' either."
"Have you cut since then?" He reached a hand out to hold Puck's, letting him
know Kurt was there for him whatever his answer.
Puck nodded. "But... less." He squeezed Kurt's hand.
"Come on," Kurt pulled Puck away from the food by his hands. "I wanted to talk
to you."
"This, what we're doing now, isn't talking?"
"Shut up. You know what I mean." He tugged harder at Puck's hand until he
followed Kurt to the empty guest bedroom. He took a seat on the loveseat by the
window and pulled Puck down beside him. Even though he'd been planning out this
conversation all day, Kurt didn't know where to start. All the carefully
selected words had fallen from his head somewhere between the olives and the
loveseat. Finally he opened his mouth and just hoped for the best. "I don't
think I'm a monster," he said.
"Took you long enough." Puck rolled his eyes.
"This is serious." Kurt punched Puck's arm lightly. "People have been telling
me I deserve to be forgiven for things that weren't my fault for so long I let
myself believe that if they were my fault, then I didn't deserve forgiveness at
all."
"I still don't think it was your fault," Puck whispered, staring at his hands.
"Doesn't matter." Kurt took in a deep breath and let it out. "It doesn't matter
whose fault it was. It happened, but... it's okay if I move on."
Puck leaned forward to wrap his arms around Kurt's shoulders. "The nightmares?"
"Still there. Just because I know I won't become like Robin doesn't mean I'm
instantly cured of the fear." He shrugged. "I think I'll be okay though.
Eventually."
Puck grinned. "You'll be better than okay, Kurt."
Kurt held up a hand as if telling Puck to slow down. "One step at a time."
"Fine, fine."
"Puck," Kurt said, voice more hesitant than before. "You'll be okay too."
"Thanks, Kurt." He pulled Kurt in for another, longer hug. "How long do you
think it takes?" he asked after a long pause, voice soft and thin.
"Probably too long, but I promise I'll be there with you, okay." He hugged Puck
back tightly. "Come on, we should get back to the party."
"I like soiree better. Sounds fancy." Puck grinned and stood from the loveseat.
"That's because it's French," Kurt said, raising an eyebrow. "French is always
'fancy.'"
They headed back to the foyer to find almost everyone had arrived. Kurt had
known how many people would be here based on how many friends he had and how
many members were in each of their families, but seeing all those people was
different from imagining them. Numbers were vague and abstract things, but
people filled space, closing in on him. Kurt reminded himself he faced way more
people at school every day, and that these people were on his side. It helped a
little. It helped more when Puck took his hand again.
People mingled, chatted, snacked and drank, though Puck complained that the
punch wasn't even spiked and started planning to correct the oversight until
Kurt pointed out that Puck's younger sister was drinking that punch. Too many
guests, both those who should know better and those who shouldn't, asked Kurt
and Puck what they were thankful for until Kurt began giving them wide eyes and
toothy grins and replying, "That the scars don't cover my face too much."
Apparently the news circulated around the room and the questions stopped. Puck
broke out laughing every time someone gave Kurt a strange look though. Kurt
thought he'd laughed himself into a seizure when Burt and Finn rushed over to
see if Kurt was okay.
Eventually everyone quieted at the chiming of metal against glass accented by
hushes from those closer to the glass for those farther away. Kurt groaned when
he realized it was his father standing beside Ms. Fabray and her chiming wine
glass.
Burt Hummel cleared his throat and smiled at the crowd. "I promise this won't
be long," he began, "We've got turkey to eat." The crowd chuckled indulgently
while Kurt rolled his eyes. "In my family we have a tradition of going around
the table saying what we're each thankful for. Maybe that's not exactly
practical with this many people," Another round of light laughter followed as
if on queue. "But I just wanted to say how incredibly thankful I am for my son
Kurt. There was a time when I thought... well, I thought I'd lost him, and
having him here with me again is like a gift straight from God." He smiled at
Kurt while the evening's guests clapped. Kurt thought he heard a, "Praise,"
come from Mercedes' direction.
Ms. Fabray and Quinn started showing people to their tables. Not everyone could
sit together, but Kurt, Quinn, and Mercedes had spent hours trying to find the
best way to separate everyone. On top of that, they had to make sure the glee
club members had easy access to and from the stage even though they each had to
sit with their respective families. It wouldn't be a party with New Directions
unless they performed though. As soon as Kurt suggested his plan, every single
member had insisted on it. Kurt eventually gave in and asked his dad about the
prices of raised platforms that could fit into the Fabrays' large entertaining
hall.
Kurt took his own seat between Finn and Puck at the table with each of their
families. Given how much time their children interacted, Kurt thought it a
little strange that their families hardly knew each other. Apparently Burt did
too, by the way he instantly started up conversation with Puck's mother. Puck
rolled his eyes and made faces at his sister while everyone found their seats.
Dinner was fantastic, but Kurt hadn't expected anything less with Carole on the
job. Rachel, of course, had a stunning solo that would have left Kurt in tears
if he weren't so busy trying to stifle his laughter at the way Puck teared up
listening to her. Smaller groups took turns singing so everyone had plenty of
time to eat. Kurt and Puck had agreed on a duet, or a mash-up since they
couldn't agree on a single song. The two songs together, Kurt thought,
expressed their feelings well though. They could have been one or the other,
but both together fit best.
Kurt wondered if Puck was nervous. Watching him, he found Puck kept scratching
at his forearms and messing with his mohawk. He was definitely nervous. Kurt
took Puck's hand in his and squeezed, hoping to reassure his friend. It was
almost time. Kurt had finished eating a while ago and focused now on making
sure nothing was going to clog his throat while he sang. Rachel had almost
refused to eat at all just to keep her throat in shape for singing, but Kurt
just made sure her solo was the first. He told Quinn he didn't care though, so
he and Puck were last.
It was time. He tapped Puck's elbow to let him know and waved to the rest of
his table as he headed away to the stage. He and Puck had practiced in secret,
so only Quinn knew what they were doing because they needed her to start the
music for them. The first notes played, and Puck took Kurt's hand as they faced
their friends and families.
(This is my life)
And I wanna believe you
When you tell me that it'll be ok
(It's not what it was before)
(All these feelings I've shared)
Ya I try to believe you
But I don't
The two songs merged and overlapped in places, weaving Puck and Kurt's voices
together. In some ways, he felt that their songs should have been reversed,
Puck taking "Tomorrow" and Kurt "So Far Away," but they didn't have to be. Both
songs applied to both singers to different degrees. That was why they sang
together. Kurt hoped someday soon they could move past both songs. For a long
time now, his entire life had been his past, but now he was finally ready to
live in the present and look to his future.
(These are my words)
When you say that it's gonna be,
It always turns out to be a different way
(I think I'm doing okay)
I try to believe you
Not today, today, today, today, today...
(I must be sleeping)
From the small stage, Kurt could see that not everyone understood, but not
everyone had to. The ones who mattered most, the people closest to him and to
Puck, smiled in a way that told Kurt they understood what he was trying to say,
that maybe not everything was perfect, but that it could get better. That he
believed it could get better.
I don't know how I'll feel
(All the mistakes one life can take)
(They all finally start to go away)
Tomorrow, tomorrow
(Now that we're here, it's so far away)
I don't know what to say
(I feel like I can face the day)
Tomorrow, tomorrow
Is a different day
Kurt squeezed Puck's hand and felt an answering pressure on his own hand. They
had decided to do without choreography. It didn't feel right to dance for this
performance. Facing the audience and staring out at them seemed the best way to
approach it because that was how they both hoped they could approach the
future, someday if not today.
Gimme a little time,
Leave me alone a little while,
Maybe it's not too late,
(I can forgive, and I'm not ashamed)
Not today, today, today, today, today...
(To be the person that I am today)
Today, today, today, today, today
They left the stage together. Puck stopped Kurt before they reached their table
to dab at his cheek with the handkerchief he'd used for his own tears while
Rachel sang.
"Now who's crying?" he teased as Kurt snatched the handkerchief to clean his
face himself. Kurt hadn't noticed the tears until Puck started wiping them
away.
"Ugh I bet my face is all red and splotchy now too," he complained. "I wonder
if I can hide in the bathroom until it passes..."
"Dude, you look fine." Puck rolled his eyes and pulled Kurt toward their table.
"Come enjoy your party. Quinn just opened up the mic for karaoke, and I'm
pretty sure I convinced Sam's dad to sing 'Bootylicious' while we were snacking
on those olives."
"...I doubt that," Kurt said just as the music for "Bootylicious" started up.
"Oh God." He turned to find, sure enough, Sam's father on stage. Beside him
stood Burt and Carole. "Oh, God, no, make it stop." Puck only laughed as the
adults began to sing. "I am scarred for life, Puck. Scarred. For life."
"Nah, you just weren't ready for that jelly." Puck winked and nudged Kurt with
his elbow.
"That really doesn't help." He laughed though, and Puck laughed with him. It
felt normal. It felt like a memory he'd lost for a while to finally regain. It
felt... good.
Kurt grabbed Puck's arm and dove back into the party—his party—or Puck's
soiree. He wasn't worried anymore about either of them freaking out and having
to run away from tonight. They would be okay.
"It's you, by the way," he said as Puck changed their direction to veer for the
drink table.
"What is? Were we talking? Did I miss something important?" Despite his words,
he didn't sound worried and went ahead with pouring himself some more punch.
"What I'm thankful for, you dolt." He emphasized the words with a light play-
slap to Puck's shoulder.
Puck grinned. "You too, Kurt."
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Come on. They've got most of the tables out of the way."
He pulled Puck to what was now a quickly-filling dance floor. Kurt hadn't
danced for fun since he came home, but tonight he would dance with his friends,
his family, and a few strangers who he only knew previously as names on his
friends' RSVPs. To be honest, it was very much like having fun, and Kurt
thought he might try having more of it again someday soon.
Chapter End Notes
     ...You don't want to know how many times I changed the song for this
     chapter. I'm not even sure I remember, to be honest.
     My biggest worry with this as an ending is Puck. I know he's not come
     as far yet as Kurt, but at the same time, it's Kurt's story before
     it's Puck's.
***** Epilogue: Kurt: Happy *****
Chapter Notes
     This is it. Oh my god I'm freaking out. I don't want to post it
     anymore; I'm not ready to be done. Go away. Shoo. I'm keeping it.
     It's mine. XP
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Somehow New York City was more massive than Kurt remembered. He had been so
lost in his own mind when he came here last that maybe he literally hadn't seen
most of the city. Now countless buildings towered over him, covered in lights
and surrounded by people. So many people. They scurried through the city like
ants over a piece of dropped fruit at a picnic. Kurt thought of ants over the
corpse of a half-eaten bird too but decided the fruit was more comfortable.
"People will think we're tourists with you gawking like that," Meg said as she
elbowed Kurt's side. "I won't let you stay with me if you make me look like I'm
from small-town whoknowsville."
"That doesn't make any sense." Kurt rolled his eyes. He had expected Meg to
turn him away when he called asking if she still had a room he could stay in,
but she had seemed excited to have a roommate again. Judging by the stories she
told of people she'd housed over the years since Kurt stayed with her as Alex
Hood, she was probably just grateful to have someone who had already dedicated
some time to dealing with his issues. Then again, she loved bringing home what
she called lost puppies, so maybe Kurt wasn't her ideal roommate anymore.
"I always make perfect sense. Not my fault you don't understand." She shook her
head and gave her best obviously fake sigh. "Whatever, I'll meet you back at
my—our place later, okay. Don't want to intrude on your first big city lunch
date, which, by the way, is right over there." She motioned at a cafe across
the street that she had recommended to Kurt as she turned to walk back the way
they had come.
Kurt rolled his eyes at her back and called, "It's not a date." He could have
found the cafe on his own; his phone had GPS even if his own sense of direction
had failed him. A man in a business suit shouldered Kurt aside with a shout to
watch where he was going even though Kurt had been standing still. Kurt's hand
stayed well away from the new knife in his pocket, but he had to resist
punching the guy. Instead he just shouted back something about having wanted to
tap that ass until he realized how loose it was. If nothing else, he got a good
laugh out of the guy's face when he heard that.
Once he was fairly certain no one was staring at him anymore, Kurt made his way
to the crosswalk. Lima had smaller streets and less traffic, as well as lower
gas prices, so Kurt still wasn't quite used to walking down city blocks or
waiting at crossing lights. Still, he hadn't been here long yet, and he
remembered adjusting quickly before. When the light changed, Kurt moved with
the mass of strangers across the street. He might have caught one woman staring
at his scars, but he tried to ignore it and refused to pull his sleeves down
over his forearms. It was hot. He needed to dress for the weather. Still,
Kurt's wrists itched in the way they always did when he imagined someone
staring at them.
He entered the cafe and paused for a moment, giving his eyes time to adjust to
the dim interior. As soon as he could see, he knew his table was the one by the
window with the metal grating and a hanging basket of flowers over it instead
of a lamp. He started walking over with a greeting on his lips before he
stopped short.
"Oh my God," he sputtered when nothing more meaningful came to mind. "Your
hair!"
"More like lack-of," Puck said with a grin, rubbing his hand over the smooth
scalp where he'd had a mohawk only days before when they spoke over Skype. He
pulled Kurt into a hug before retaking his seat with a grin. As they separated,
Kurt chanced a look at Puck's forearms out of habit. He hadn't seen a new mark
there for a long time, but he still checked when he could.
"I can't believe Christine let you shave it. I'm pretty sure she was as
interesting in dating your hair as the rest of you." Kurt made himself grin. He
always made himself be happy for Puck when he got a new girlfriend. It wasn't
all that hard, he told himself. Not like Puck was dating a guy this time;
something about Puck having a boyfriend only reminded Kurt of how much he could
have been Puck's boyfriend if he stopped pushing his friend away.
"We, uh, broke up." Puck winced and grinned sheepishly at Kurt.
"It wasn't the hair, was it?" Even though Kurt knew it wasn't, he thought it
better to joke than to... well, to ask Puck if he had dumped another perfectly
good person just because they couldn't be Kurt.
"No," Puck answered with a chuckle. "We just weren't right for each other." His
eyes drifted to the window, but he didn't seem to focus on anything outside it.
Kurt was saved from thinking of something else to say when Puck left the table
to pick up drinks he must have ordered before Kurt arrived. He set a non-fat
mocha in front of Kurt and kept something horribly sweet and disgustingly
fattening for himself. Kurt made Puck share some of it and almost gagged before
returning gratefully to his mocha.
"I was thinking of moving," Puck said after they had quietly sipped their
drinks for a few moments.
"Where to?" It never surprised Kurt anymore when Puck said he wanted a change
of scenery. As soon as his and Kurt's therapists both started mentioning the
word "codependency," he had run away to California intent on expanding his
pool-cleaning business only to keep moving around like the word chased him off
no matter where he lived. Regardless of distance, he and Kurt had always talked
over the phone or on Skype, and he flew in to visit regularly, especially
during the winter when no one was using their pools and he couldn't find a job.
Puck fidgeted, poking and scratching at his forearms. Kurt raised an eyebrow
because Puck moved all the time, and he had only ever been nervous telling Kurt
about it the first time.
"Spill it before you spill your drink instead, Puck."
Puck let out a low laugh, and it seemed to calm him. "New York."
"Are you sure that's..." Kurt trailed off, unsure what he thought it wasn't.
"If you don't want me here, I won't. I mean I miss seeing you as often as I
used to, in person I mean. And anytime I wanted to go home before, you were
there because you were going to school near Lima, but now you're pretty much
the opposite of near Lima, and it's not like I'm doing anything important in
Tampa anyway. I mean, to be honest, except for being close to a bunch of
amusement parks I can't afford to go to and having some awesome beaches,
Florida sucks."
"Puck, you're rambling. And possibly not breathing." Kurt paused, not sure if
he should say more. "And scratching at the scars again."
"I know. You just sort of stared at me instead of answering though, so I'm
pretending it's your fault in this case." Puck grinned and jabbed a finger in
Kurt's direction. Maybe it had been normal nervousness; he had pulled himself
together quickly.
"I... if you wouldn't mind it, then I'd like to have you nearby again." To be
honest, 'like' wasn't quite the right word. 'Fuck you for taking so damn long,'
was more along the lines of what Kurt felt. He missed Puck. They talked every
day still, but it wasn't the same with all that distance between them.
"Really?" Puck grinned widely. All signs of his earlier unease had vanished.
"Really." Kurt nodded, returning Puck's smile. He reached across the table to
take Puck's hand in his. "I've missed you."
Puck stared down at their hands, and Kurt reminded himself firmly that Puck was
not staring at his scars. His wrist itched anyway.
"Is staying with Meg again pretty cool?" Puck straightened his shoulders as he
spoke, obviously changing topic to avoid one he and Kurt had been avoiding for
years.
"If only she'd stop nagging." Kurt was practiced at letting the topic change
too. Maybe this time though... He tapped a finger against his lip, thinking. It
had been so long, and even if he and Puck had been far apart, they had still
been through so much. And they were still close. Distance couldn't change that.
"Hey, Puck," he said at last, still not sure if he should.
"Yes, that'd be me." The cocky smirk slipped a little when he realized Kurt was
about to say something serious.
"Do you still... feel the way you used to? About me, I mean." By reflex Kurt
tried to still his hands, but he realized then that they weren't trembling. He
remembered how terrified he had been in high school that he would never be able
to be with anyone without flashing straight back to being with Robin Banks.
That was why his hands used to tremble, but he wasn't afraid anymore.
Puck nodded. "I'll always feel that way about you, Kurt." He cocked his head.
"Maybe somewhat less with the adolescent confusion though because, thank God,
I'm not a teenager anymore."
A laugh slipped past Kurt's lips, catching him by surprise. "I was always so
busy telling you we weren't ready that I'm not sure I ever got around to... to
telling you I felt the same way. Feel. Do feel now the same way. God, what is
English, and how is it spoken. Please deport me before I make this worse."
Puck laughed a little too loudly for the small cafe. He squeezed Kurt's hand as
a grin split his face. "If you're saying that now, or trying to—and don't worry
I'll get you into an English Second Language program or something—does that
mean..." He paused, clearly afraid to say it. "You might be ready?" The final
part came out as barely more than a whisper.
Kurt nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. The only time Kurt had seen a man
as happy as Puck looked now was when he stood by his father as Carole walked
down the aisle to make the joining of the Hummel and Hudson families official.
"God, I love you, Kurt." Puck poured years of stifled emotion into the outburst
of words. Kurt had to wonder how many times Puck had held himself back from
saying them.
"I love you too, Puck." Kurt had been afraid to say it for so long, afraid even
to admit it to himself because he was afraid of what it meant. He had mixed
Puck in his mind with Robin, or maybe he had mixed himself with Robin and Puck
with him. Or both, or something even more confusing, if that was possible. But
right now, in this little cafe with a metal chair digging into his butt and the
sun moving into position to shine in his eye, Kurt wasn't afraid. He knew he
loved Puck a long time ago, and now he knew he was in love with Puck. For
years, Kurt had worked at learning to be okay. Now that Kurt was ready to learn
to be happy too, he wanted to walk that road with Puck beside him.
Chapter End Notes
     And we're done. I love you all. No, really, I have no idea how I
     wound up with such fantastic readers or why you put up with my
     ridiculously inconsistent posting schedule and chapter after chapter
     of nothing but conversations. I like to think I've come a long way in
     writing this fic, and you all have come along with me, and even
     pushed me there.
     So if you've reviewed every chapter or never reviewed at all, if
     you've been here from the day I posted the first chapter or if you
     stumbled in here by accident years after I finished, if you've
     enjoyed my story or just suffered through because ah crap now you
     need to know what happens, thank you.
     ...sorry for making you shippers wait until the last moment. I need
     to go back and fix the line in the first chapter saying it's not a
     Puckurt story because boy was I wrong.
     Unrelated: Robin's middle name is Oliver. His initials are ROB. His
     parents were clearly evil.
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