
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/252213.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Blaine_Anderson/Kurt_Hummel, Rachel_Berry/Finn_Hudson, Carole_Hudson/Burt
      Hummel
  Character:
      Kurt_Hummel, Burt_Hummel, Finn_Hudson, Carole_Hudson, Rachel_Berry,
      Mercedes_Jones, Blaine_Anderson, Noah_Puckerman, Brittany_S._Pierce,
      Santana_Lopez, David_Karofsky, Tina_Cohen-Chang, Mike_Chang
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-09-11 Updated: 2013-04-08 Chapters: 31/? Words: 80325
****** Unbroken ******
by dreamsofspike
Summary
     Burt and Kurt are victims of a violent home invasion that leaves them
     both devastated and struggling to recover, physically and
     emotionally, from the trauma of the attack. They'll need the support
     of their family and friends to get through this, and try to find
     something resembling normal life again -- to try to find a way to
     become unbroken.
***** Chapter 1 *****
The sound of the screen door slamming was barely audible to Kurt over the
sizzling of the chicken in the pan in front of him. He placed the lid carefully
over it and reduced the heat with a critical little frown as he called out to
the next room.
 
“Dinner in ten minutes, Dad.”
 
Burt Hummel appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing his coveralls, his face
and hands smudged with motor oil as he crossed to the stove, sniffing
experimentally. “What’re we having?”
 
“Blackened chicken.”
 
Burt gave his son a teasing smirk, quirking a single brow upward. “Didn’t we
have that once before? The first time you tried to cook, when you were about
eight?”
 
“No,” Kurt rolled his eyes with a weary sigh. “That was just plain black
chicken. This chicken is blackened with Cajun spices and the proper cooking
temperature, not with… overcooking and negligence.” Despite his feigned
irritation, a bittersweet smile played about his lips at the memory of his own
childish efforts.
 
His dad wasn’t the only one who had tried so, so hard to make things normal
again in the wake of his mother’s death.
 
Kurt was drawn out of his memories by the realization that his dad was still
standing there, a dubious, vaguely distrustful look on his face.
 
“You’ll like it,” he assured him with slight impatience. “I promise. It’s
healthy, but it’s spicy.”
 
“I’m sure I will.” Burt gave Kurt a warm grin as he headed past him toward the
stairs – but couldn’t resist ruffling a hand through his son’s shower-damp hair
first.
 
“Dad!” Kurt objected – but he left his protest at that, his pleasant – if a bit
pensive – mood undeterred.
 
He’d helped his father in the shop all afternoon, and that was something he
very much enjoyed doing, if only to spend quality time with his father doing
something they were both good at. Then about an hour earlier, he’d come home
and taken a long, hot shower in complete privacy, uninterrupted by the raucous
sounds of boys laughing and running footsteps on tile and all the other noisy
sounds he’d become accustomed to while using the semi-public showers at Dalton.
 
It was nice to be back in his own house, with his own things, wearing his own
clothes.
 
It was nice to be back with his dad.
 
Kurt was happy at Dalton; he really was. He liked being able to freely walk the
halls of his school – hand-in-hand with his new boyfriend, if he wanted to –
without fear of being mocked or harassed or worse, just for existing. He liked
the fact that his classes were challenging, and that being in the Warblers was
stretching his vocal skills, teaching him things he hadn’t realized he was
missing. He liked the fact that he could feel safe again, for the first time in
as long as he could remember.
 
Still, Kurt found himself a little homesick every now and then.
 
“It’s been a long time since it was just the two of us,” Kurt observed as they
ate the meal he’d prepared – which was completely delicious, if he said so
himself, and Burt seemed to think so too, judging by the speed with which he
devoured two platefuls. “This is nice. I mean… don’t get me wrong, I love
Carole and Finn, and… I’m really glad things are how they are now, but… but
this is nice.”
 
Carole and Finn were out of town for a funeral – some distant relative of
Finn’s father, yet close enough to their family that it was only appropriate
for them to go. Opting to avoid the potentially very uncomfortable encounters
that such a visit might have involved, Burt had chosen to stay home, and Kurt
had been glad for the excuse to come in for the weekend to keep him company.
 
He spent more weekends home than not, though it wasn’t really convenient for
him to come home every weekend – but Kurt would have, if he could.
 
Burt rose from the table, crossing to where Kurt sat to affectionately mess up
his hair again. Kurt just smiled, not even bothering to pull away, as his dad’s
hand lowered to cup his cheek with a hand that was both rough and gentle at the
same time for just a moment, before lowering that hand to his shoulder and
squeezing lightly.
 
“I miss you, too, kid,” he admitted matter-of-factly before heading off toward
the bathroom, not giving the moment time to turn from sweet to awkward. “Meet
me in the living room in a few minutes?” he offered. “We can watch a movie or
something.”
 
“Okay. Hey, Mercedes said she might drop by later, if that’s okay. Not for
another couple of hours, probably, but…”
 
“That’s fine, Kurt, she likes movies, too, right?” Burt smiled. “You know, with
you out of the house and all, I think I might miss your friends as much as you
do.”
 
“Not possible.”
 
Kurt smiled despite the melancholy ache he felt with the words, humming a
little to himself as he rose to take care of the dinner dishes. For the moment,
he was home, and he meant to enjoy it; there would be plenty of time to miss
his dad and his friends later, when he was actually away from them.
 
He had just finished placing the clean dishes in the draining rack when the
sound of the doorbell caught him by surprise. He dried his hands quickly and
headed through the living room to the front door, already speaking as he opened
it.
 
“’Cedes, you’re early…”
 
The words died on his lips as someone shoved past him into the house – someone
tall and male and definitely not Mercedes.
 
Someone who wore a black ski mask over his face.
 
Kurt’s stomach lurched with realization that his mind hadn’t quite caught up to
yet, as another stranger followed the first one, closing and locking the door
behind him. Kurt turned toward him to protest the intrusion, but the first man
grabbed his arm in a painfully tight grip and spun him around to face him.
 
The man was tall, slim but muscular, with striking, brilliantly blue eyes – the
only facial feature that was clearly distinguishable through the mask that hid
his face.
 
Kurt struggled to pull free, though it was immediately clear that the man was
too strong for him to escape. “Let me go!” he demanded anyway, the indignation
in his raised voice barely masking its tremor. “What are you…?”
 
His voice trailed off, his eyes wide with fear as they locked onto the object
in the man’s free hand – an object that was now being held dangerously close to
his face.
 
A gun.
 
“Keep your mouth shut, kid, until I tell you to open it,” the man sneered, and
Kurt looked up at him, chilled by the cruel smile visible through his mask.
“Unless you want me to kill you and anybody else in this house.”
 
Kurt’s stomach dropped at those words, and he wordlessly, pleadingly shook his
head, unable to form words even if he’d been allowed them.
 
The man’s lips curled up into a satisfied smirk as he took in Kurt’s reaction
to his threat. “You alone?” he demanded, his voice softer now, cool and
calculating.
 
Kurt hesitated, his gaze darting across the room to where the other man seemed
to be inspecting their entertainment center, a gun matching the one currently
inches from Kurt’s face, in his hand. He noted with a strange sense of surreal
detachment – as if he was watching this on some TruTV television program,
instead of experiencing it in real life – that the other man was a littler
shorter, a little portlier, than the one holding him at gunpoint.
 
Might be important to remember that later, when we turn these creeps in for
robbing us…
 
He could barely process the thought, his mouth dry, his heart pounding in his
throat, as his mind raced ahead, struggling to make sense of what was
happening.
 
Robbery… we’re being robbed. That’s what this is. They just want… want our
stuff, and then… they’ll go…
 
His captor shook him slightly, warningly, as he snarled, “Answer me, kid…” and
pressed the gun up under Kurt’s chin, pushing his head back slightly.
 
Kurt’s stomach dropped, and he closed his eyes, his breath quickening with
panic that he fought to keep at bay.
 
No, this was no cheesy, melodramatic television program.
 
This was terrifyingly real.
 
His mind raced, his lips parted but uncertain, as he struggled to focus on the
question the robber had asked him, and tried to think of what was the best way
to answer.
 
If they don’t know Dad’s here, then they can’t hurt him. Maybe they’ll be gone
before he even comes back in here. But… if he comes out and surprises them, and
he gets… no…
 
Kurt couldn’t even bring himself to think it.
 
And then… it happened.
 
Burt Hummel returned from the bathroom, changed into a comfortable t-shirt and
pair of shorts, stopping short in the living room doorway – but only for a
moment.
 
“What the hell? Hey!” he barked, heading toward the guy holding Kurt,
protective outrage in his voice. “Get your hands off my kid!”
 
Cold, ice blue eyes narrowed on Kurt, and the man abruptly let go of Kurt’s
arm. Kurt barely had time to feel a moment’s relief or confusion, however,
before the man drew back the weapon in his hand and struck hard against Kurt’s
cheek.
 
White hot pain exploded across the side of Kurt’s face, and he stumbled under
the force of the blow, nearly collapsing to the ground. He would have, in fact,
if not for the second pair of rough, grasping hands that caught him and yanked
him back up, one arm wrapping tightly around his narrow shoulders and pulling
him back against the second gunman’s stomach.
 
Kurt flinched, his heart clenching in his chest at the sudden feeling of cold
steel pressed painfully against his temple.
 
“One more step and he’ll blow your boy away.”
 
By this point it was obvious that the blue-eyed man was clearly the leader of
this operation. Kurt was struck by the soft, cold sound of his surprisingly
young voice – unsettlingly calm and controlled.
 
Burt instantly froze in his tracks with a sharp, audible intake of breath.
 
“You’re being robbed, Mr. Hummel,” the young man informed him softly. “And
unless you also want to be grieving the loss of your only child… you’ll get
down on the floor on your knees, right now.”
 
Burt’s helpless, frustrated gaze passed between the man and his son for a
moment, finally locking onto Kurt’s terrified eyes, before sinking slowly to
his knees on the floor, his hands upraised in a gesture of surrender.
 
Kurt stared at his father in almost childlike disbelief, the trusting child in
him that still believed his father could do anything desperately willing him to
do something to stop this from happening; but the part of him that was closer
to manhood – the part of him that had spent the last several months dealing
with the painful reality that the good guys didn’t always win, and sometimes
good people really were simply helpless to protect themselves and those they
loved – that part of him realized with fatalistic certainty that there was
really nothing Burt could do.
 
Kurt looked away, unable to bear the stark fear he saw written all over his
father’s face. He had never seen that kind of a look on his dad’s face before.
He could clearly read the apprehension there, the dread of what could be, and
it told him a terrible truth he’d rather have not known.
 
Oh, God. This is it. They’re not going to let us go, are they? They’re going to
kill us.
 
We’re both going to die tonight.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Burt Hummel’s heart raced with fear, and a distant part of his mind vaguely
registered that this drastic an elevation in blood pressure was probably not a
good thing, not so soon after his heart attack – but the greater part of his
thoughts was consumed with the terrifying reality of the situation in which
he’d suddenly found himself.
 
“Don’t… don’t hurt him.” He hated the tremor in his voice, struggling to keep
his words level and calm as he sank obediently to his knees, but it was
impossible to focus on his tone, or any possible means of escape, or anything
besides the gun in the stocky man’s hand – the gun that was pressed tight
against Kurt’s temple. “Please… don’t…”
 
“Don’t do anything stupid,” the leader said, blue eyes regarding Burt calmly
over the barrel of his gun, “and we won’t.”
 
He then put his gun away, and Burt found himself watching for any opportunity
that might afford – but the shorter, heavier man’s gun was still aimed at
Kurt’s head. Burt fought the urge to resist as the leader crouched behind him,
taking a roll of duct tape from his pocket. He winced as the tape was wound too
tightly around his crossed wrists, letting out an involuntary grunt of pain –
and immediately regretting it when he saw how Kurt reacted to the almost
inaudible sound.
 
“Dad!” Kurt cried out. “Stop it! You’re hurting him!”
 
“I’m okay,” Burt insisted quietly, trying to catch Kurt’s gaze again, wanting
to reassure his son before he let his emotions get him hurt. “Kurt – I’m okay.”
 
Kurt glanced uncertainly between his father and the tall, blue-eyed man who was
now striding purposefully toward him – his concern only slightly distracted by
the threat quickly closing in on him – though Burt could focus on nothing else,
his heart sinking as the distance between his son and their captor swiftly
diminished.
 
No… no, please don’t hurt him… please don’t…
 
A soft, amused smile curved the man’s lips upward as he reached to take Kurt’s
arm, pulling him away from his cohort’s grasp and leading him a few steps
toward the middle of the room, before letting go of him and taking a step
backward. Kurt watched him, not sure what he intended, his wary gaze darting
back and forth between the face of his captor and the face of his father.
 
Abruptly, the man struck out with the back of his fist, hitting Kurt hard in
the face and causing the boy to stumble backward, falling hard onto his knees
on the floor with a sharp little cry of pain that he swiftly, stubbornly bit
back.
 
“Stop it!” Burt yelled in frustration. “Leave him alone, he’s just a kid!”
 
His protest was completely ignored. Kurt struggled to steady himself,
straightening up on his knees, his lips already parted to protest, shaking his
head slightly in confused, fearful indignation at the unwarranted attack. Then,
in one swift, fluid motion, the leader took his gun from his belt and pressed
its muzzle firmly against Kurt’s forehead.
 
Burt’s stomach dropped, and Kurt froze, not even breathing for a long, taut
moment. His eyes were wide with shock and panic, though he didn’t dare look up
at the man holding the gun. Burt watched as the boy’s hands clenched and
unclenched in helpless fists at his sides. Kurt closed his eyes, a convulsive
swallow visible in his throat as the gunman pulled the hammer back with a sharp
click that sounded incredibly loud in the sudden stillness that had fallen.
 
Why? He didn’t do anything! Burt wondered frantically, too afraid to voice his
thoughts aloud – too afraid that he might further anger their captors and make
the situation worse. No, don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him, please God, don’t let
them hurt my boy…
 
Slowly, carefully, the man crouched on the floor at Kurt’s side, never moving
the weapon from its dangerous position. Kurt’s harsh, shaky breaths were
clearly audible, their pace increasing with fear at the man’s increased
nearness.
 
“I asked you if you were alone… didn’t I, Kurt?” The man’s voice was
dangerously soft, patient and leading.
 
Kurt seemed frozen with panic, blinking rapidly, his lips trembling but
seemingly unable to find words. He flinched as the man pressed the gun harder
against his head, pushing it back slightly, his voice lowered and warning.
 
“Didn’t I?”
 
“Yes,” Kurt finally managed a hoarse whisper, nodding rapidly. “Y-yes…”
 
“And you were going to lie to me, weren’t you?”
 
There was a note of cold amusement in the man’s voice, and Burt’s heart sank.
He didn’t know what the man was talking about, had no idea what had happened
between his son and the robbers before he’d entered the room; but the look of
sick terror on Kurt’s face made the answer clear enough. Kurt had obviously
tried to protect him, tried to keep the robbers from knowing that he was there
– until he’d accidentally stumbled into the scene and interrupted Kurt’s
efforts.
 
“I… I wasn’t…” Kurt stammered, his voice breathless and cracking slightly over
the words. Burt knew his son well enough to read his reaction; Kurt was clearly
too frightened to even think straight, let alone come up with a coherent
answer. “I mean… I don’t… don’t know…”
 
“You were thinking about it,” the man guessed, his tone soft and knowing.
“Weren’t you?” When Kurt remained silent, at a loss, he snapped, “Answer me!”
 
Kurt cringed, nodding hurriedly. “Yes,” he admitted in a desperate whisper. “Y-
yes…”
 
“Thought so.”
 
The man reached up with his free hand to roughly snatch a handful of Kurt’s
hair, jerking his head back hard, and Kurt didn’t quite manage to stifle the
frightened whimper of pain that rose to his lips. His captor’s voice was
unsettlingly soft, patient as if he was teaching a difficult lesson to a
particularly slow student.
 
“Let’s just establish rule number one right now, shall we, kid? The one thing
you need to remember to keep some really, really bad things from happening here
tonight. Okay? You listening?”
 
Kurt nodded hurriedly, helplessly, as best he could, his slight frame trembling
visibly, even from across the room. Burt shook with frustration, his fists
clenched behind his back, instinctively straining at his bonds, though he knew
better than to actually break them – not until he knew he could actually do
some good.
 
He wanted nothing more than to kick these sons of bitches’ asses right out of
his house, then go to his son and hold him and reassure him that he was safe
and nothing could hurt him. He knew, however, that at this moment, with that
gun still pressed against Kurt’s head, any move he made would only serve to
endanger his son’s life.
 
“Good.” The leader’s voice was soothing, gentle. “Here’s the thing: you think
about lying to me again?” His words were slow, measured, chillingly calm. “And
I will blow your fucking brains out. And then, before you’ve even drawn your
last breath…” He turned Kurt’s head roughly by the grip he had on his hair, and
Burt’s breath failed him for a moment at the panicked look on his son’s face as
their eyes met. “… then… I’ll blow his brains out. Is that what you want,
Kurt?”
 
Kurt shook his head, tears slipping from his eyes as his shoulders shook with
silent sobs. “No,” he whispered. “No, don’t… please…”
 
“Good.” The masked man soothed him, his grip on Kurt’s hair easing to a gentle
caress that Burt found even more upsetting. “Good boy. Now reach into your
pocket and take out your cell phone.”
 
Kurt obeyed immediately, holding it up in a trembling hand. The man took it and
pocketed it, handing the roll of duct tape to his partner, who set about
binding Kurt’s hands behind his back, as the leader made his way over to Burt.
 
“Yours?”
 
Burt closed his eyes for a moment, frustrated with having to give up their last
source of potential help, but aware that he had no choice. “In my shirt
pocket,” he ground out reluctantly, then added for good measure as the guy
reached to look for it, “Look… you guys can have whatever you want, all right?
Anything. Just… just don’t hurt my kid, all right?”
 
His pleading words broke off when the man’s hand suddenly stilled in his
pocket, and Burt’s heart sank with sudden realization. He felt sick as a vivid
image filled his memory, of his cell phone – right where he’d left it on his
desk in the shop.
 
“Well, apparently you don’t care too much what happens to him, do you?” the man
smirked, but there was a hard edge of anger to his voice.
 
“No… I just forgot, I left it in my office, I swear!” Burt insisted,
frustration in his voice as the man across the room took aim with his weapon at
the back of Kurt’s head. “You have to believe me, I wouldn’t lie about this!
Not with his life on the line, come on!”
 
His protest was abruptly cut off by a blinding, brutal blow across his face
with the gun in the leader’s hand. As Burt struggled just to remain conscious,
he was vaguely aware of the sound of a struggle across the room – Kurt’s
panicked, outraged voice, and a louder, angry voice yelling at him to shut up –
muffled and distant, as if he was hearing it from under water.
 
Kurt, don’t… just do as they say…
 
But the desperate words never left his own mind, as Burt collapsed onto his
side, struggling against the dark haze crowding out his vision and coherent
thought.
 
**********************************
 
Kurt was trying his best to stay calm throughout this whole ordeal; and though
he was, for the most part, failing miserably, he was at least managing to be
cooperative and go along with the robbers’ demands. Despite his instincts
screaming at him to resist, he was consciously aware that trying to fight these
guys was a very bad idea.
 
When he saw his dad go down, however, all his intentions vanished and he simply
lost it.
 
“Stop it!” he screamed, struggling to rise from his knees with his hands bound
behind his back. “Don’t touch him! He’s sick! He’s not lying to you, you
bastard, get your hands off him!”
 
The man behind him yelled at him to shut up, grabbing his shoulder and easily
forcing him back down onto his knees. Kurt struggled still, trying to shake off
the man’s grip, yelling at the one across the room to leave his dad alone. His
stomach dropped with fear when he saw that his father was not getting up, just
lying on his side on the floor, a low, weak groan of pain falling from his
lips.
 
Nothing registered but blind fury as the leader strode purposefully across the
room toward him. Kurt glared up at him in tearful defiance.
 
“You bastard!” he repeated. “Does it make you feel powerful, beating up on a
heart patient? He’d give you the phone if he had it, you ignorant…”
 
His words were cut off abruptly as the man grabbed him by the hair with one
hand and by the arm with the other, yanking him up to his feet and slamming him
against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath from his body. Searing pain
shot up Kurt’s spine as his bound hands, clenched into angry, frustrated fists,
were driven hard into his back. He gasped, struggling for air against the pain
as the man shifted in alarmingly close to him, pressing the gun in his hand
against Kurt’s cheek.
 
Kurt felt dizzy, disoriented, knew that he would have collapsed to the floor if
the larger, stronger man had not been holding him up on his feet. His head felt
muddled, hazy, from the sharp blow to the back of his skull – and then
suddenly, everything was terrifyingly, electrically clear, as his captor
slipped the barrel of his gun past Kurt’s parted lips, forcing his head back
against the wall again when the weapon hit the roof of his mouth.
 
Kurt could barely register a sense of relief at the sound of his father’s
outraged cry from across the room – could barely hear it at all over the
rushing of his own blood pounding in his ears – as the man smiled cruelly into
his eyes, pushing the gun just a fraction further toward the back of Kurt’s
throat.
 
“Stop!” Burt cried out from across the room, desperation clear in his hoarse,
ragged voice. “Don’t…!”
 
“Mr. Hummel, unless you want me to just pull the trigger right now,” Kurt’s
captor said softly without taking his eyes from Kurt’s, “you’ll remain still
and silent until you’re told otherwise. One sound, one move from you, and your
boy will die.”
 
Silence fell over the room, and Kurt wrestled with his own panic, trapped
helplessly between the unyielding wall behind him, and the devastating threat
of the weapon that pinned him to it. He closed his eyes, feeling suffocated,
claustrophobic, his lips struggling to form frantic, pleading words that came
out as nothing more than broken, pitiful choking sounds.
 
“Shhh,” the man soothed him, running his free hand through Kurt’s hair, his
touch deceptively gentle.
 
Kurt did his best to obey, struggling to swallow around the cold, hard
obstruction that made it difficult and painful – trying not to think about what
that obstruction was, and how easily it could end his life. His captor smiled
cruelly at his obvious panic, amusement in his cold blue eyes.
 
“You’re a stubborn little faggot, aren’t you, Kurt Hummel?” he observed softly.
 
Kurt’s stomach dropped at the all-too-familiar word, and the dangerous
implications it held in the mouth of someone who had him so helpless, so
utterly at his mercy. He shook his head slightly, pleadingly, closing his eyes
against the tears that flowed freely down his face.
 
“You are, aren’t you?” The humor had dropped from the man’s voice for the
moment, replaced by matter-of-fact interest, as if he was simply confirming his
assumption. “A faggot? Don’t try to lie to me, Kurt, remember what I told you…”
He paused, repeating, “Are you?” He leaned in closer, sneering softly next to
Kurt’s ear with a smirk that Kurt felt against his skin, “Are you a little
cock-sucker, Kurt?”
 
Kurt’s face was hot with shame, his heart racing. He struggled to swallow,
struggled just to breathe, feeling light-headed and dizzy from inadequate
oxygen and sheer panic. He hesitated just a moment before nodding, more afraid
of the definite consequences of an obvious lie than of the possible suffering
that would follow his admission.
 
“Thought so.” The man nodded, a satisfied smirk on his lips. “It’s not like you
hide it very well.” He let out a soft, derisive laugh, and his partner laughed
with him.
 
Kurt felt as if he was going to vomit, or pass out, or both – which might be a
quicker, less agonizing death than whatever this man had planned for him.
 
“Problem is,” the man continued, his tone falsely thoughtful, “you can’t seem
to keep that pretty, cock-sucking mouth under control. Can you? Can you?”
 
His last words were repeated in a soft, leading voice that left Kurt no
question as to what was the required response. He shook his head slowly,
obediently, his entire body trembling violently as the man’s free hand came to
rest, invasive and too intimate, at his side, toying with the hem of his shirt.
 
“So I think… maybe you need to learn a little bit of control. You think?”
 
Kurt shook his head pleadingly, not knowing what the man intended, only
desperate to appease him and be freed from the terrifying, overwhelming threat
of the weapon now jammed halfway down his throat.
 
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” the man insisted, edging in closer to him.
“So why don’t you just be nice and sweet and cooperative…” he ordered softly in
a hushed, suggestive tone that sent shivers of dread down Kurt’s spine, “… and
show me just what that pretty little mouth of yours can do?”
***** Chapter 3 *****
“Come on, Kurt,” the man with the gun sneered softly, his breath against Kurt’s
ear making his skin crawl. “Why don’t you show me what a good little cocksucker
you are?”
 
Kurt shook his head, eyes wide with panic. He didn’t know exactly what his
captor intended, but the suggestive tone of his voice, the wicked gleam in his
eyes, told Kurt that whatever it was, he was not going to like it. He was
acutely aware of the gun in his mouth, pressing against the back of his throat
so hard that he could barely draw breath past it.
 
“Aww, come on,” the man coaxed him teasingly, as if actually disappointed by
his wordless refusal. “It’s not like I’m asking you to suck my dickor anything.
Just… demonstrate how you would… if I let you… on my gun. That’s not too much
to ask, is it? I just wanna see what you’ve got, pretty boy. You’ve gotta be
pretty good at it, right? Such a pretty mouth you’ve got… it’s just madefor
sucking cock…”
 
Kurt’s face flushed with shame at the stream of degrading filth that fell from
his captor’s lips, and he shook his head again, his eyes instinctively turned
away from the place across the room where his father knelt on the floor,
helplessly hearing every word. Abruptly, the gun was pressed harder into his
mouth, and Kurt flinched uncontrollably as the hammer was pulled back, the
gunman’s eyes narrowed in sudden anger, his words cold, frighteningly measured
and calm.
 
“Okay, I’m asking nicely, and you’re being a little bitch about it. So how
about this, Kurt Hummel. How about… you suck my fucking gun right the fuck now…
and I don’t blow your brains out the back of your head? How’s that work for
you?”
 
Blind, suffocating panic took over as Kurt realized just how likely the man’s
threat was, with the weapon filling his mouth, choking him, poised to take his
life at any moment. He shook his head, his entire body trembling, tears
slipping down his face as his wide eyes locked pleadingly onto the gaze of his
tormentor.
 
Please, please don’t… God, no… please…
 
“Shhh, easy now…” the man murmured, suddenly gentle, running a hand soothingly
through Kurt’s hair – and Kurt hadn’t even realized until that moment that he’d
been struggling uselessly to voice the pleas that filled his mind. Apparently,
his captor found it immensely amusing, judging from the cool smirk on his lips,
and the laughter dancing in his eyes as he reasoned, “Come on, it’s not that
bad, is it? It’s not as if you’ve never done this before…”
 
Kurt closed his eyes, struggling to swallow against the cruel obstruction in
his throat, his face burning with humiliation.
 
“Shit,” the man whispered in genuine shock, and Kurt fearfully opened his eyes,
unsure what he was reacting to. The man was staring at him with dawning
realization, his smile widening slowly as he repeated, “You’ve never done this
before. Have you?”
 
Kurt wanted to scream with frustration and outrage, wanted to inform the guy in
scathing, sarcastic terms that even if he was quite experienced in actual oral
sex with actual people– this was nothing like that. This was a brutally
sadistic parody that might yet end in his own death; how could any countless
number of blow jobs ever prepare anyone for this?
 
But Kurt didn’t dare show his anger and resentment openly, well aware that he
was far from holding the upper hand in this situation. Hoping that it might
somehow earn him some level of mercy, Kurt shook his head to silently confess
that it was true – and then flinched when the man let out a harsh laugh of
pleased surprise.
 
“Should have guessed,” he snorted. “It’s not like you look over twelve. Oh,
well.” He glanced over his shoulder, a cruelly taunting tone to his voice as he
raised his voice slightly to address Burt. “Guess that’s goodnews, right, dad?
Your boy might be a fag, but at least he’s not a slut.” He looked back at Kurt,
his smile fading slightly, his eyes narrowing with malicious anticipation.
“Yet.”
 
Kurt couldn’t bring himself to look at his father, closing his eyes as Burt’s
hoarse, ragged voice broke the silence, pleading and submissive, clearly not
wanting to give their robbers the idea that he was challenging or defying them
in any way – not with Kurt’s life hanging in the balance.
 
“Please,” he begged in a broken, defeated voice. “Don’t do this. Please. For
God’s sake, he’s just a child…”
 
The man ignored Burt completely, focusing his unwanted attention completely on
Kurt.
 
“Well,” he mused, tilting the gun in Kurt’s mouth upward and pulling it
backward, so that Kurt was forced to move away from the wall, “considering the
fact that you’ve never given anybody head before…” He backed up a few steps,
leading Kurt with him by the gun in his mouth. “… I guess you could use the
practice. Couldn’t you, kid?”
 
Kurt felt overwhelmingly vulnerable and exposed as he was helplessly led to the
center of the room, the gun in his mouth forcing him to move wherever he was
dragged by the man who held it. With his hands bound tightly behind his back,
it was difficult to maintain his balance, and he stumbled when the man stopped
walking, gagging as the gun hit the back of his throat again. He was
immediately distracted from the unpleasant sensation, however, by the soft
words of his captor, sending a shiver of dread trickling down his spine.
 
“Get on your knees, Kurt.”
 
He hesitated just a moment before attempting to obey, but was prevented by the
upward pressure of the gun in his mouth. The man moved closer to him, and Kurt
braced himself for another blow – but instead, the man simply took his arm in a
grip that was firm, and yet strangely gentle. He moved the gun as he maneuvered
Kurt, guiding him carefully down onto the floor on his knees, while never
removing the weapon from between his trembling lips.
 
“Relax,” he advised softly, his free hand rising to cup the back of Kurt’s
head, slowly massaging through his hair. “It’s not that big a deal, really.
I’ll even tell you what to do, okay? Give you the practice you need for the
real thing, later on.”
 
The strangely patient, gentle tone of his voice set a chill deep in Kurt’s
stomach, and the light, soothing touch of the man’s hand made him feel sick.
His chest felt as if it was slowly constricting with his panic, and he wanted
nothing more than to fight, to shake off the man’s hands from his body and pull
away from the intrusive presence of the gun – but he knew better. He knew that
it would only take his captor moments to subdue him, and then… then…
 
No, he couldn’t dare to fight. There was nothing to do, no means to get out of
this, except… to go through it.
 
Just do what he says, Kurt told himself, and the voice of his thoughts sounded
strangely like his father’s voice. Just do whatever he tells you to do, and
you’ll get through this. Just don’t do anything stupid to piss him off…
 
“Close your mouth, kid,” the guy commanded with a little laugh, shaking his
head. “You’re not gonna get anywhere like that. Close your mouth around it, and
suck.”
 
Kurt struggled to obey, though the sharp metal dug into the roof of his mouth,
and he couldn’t seem to control his shaking enough to fully close his mouth
around the weapon. Finally, though, he managed to come close, swallowing hard
and weakly sucking on the dirty metal surface of the gun.
 
“Harder, baby,” the man urged him, his voice low and hushed, his hand massaging
harder against Kurt’s scalp, his lips inches from Kurt’s ear. “Come on… that’s
it… good… good job…”
 
Kurt shuddered at the words, but did his best to obey, sucking harder, his
stomach rebelling at the taste of iron and some kind of oil, whatever was used
to clean the gun. He closed his eyes, trying to shut it all out and pretend
that he was somewhere else, anywhere else, far from this place and this vile,
disgusting degradation that was being inflicted upon him.
 
“Hey, dad,” the man sneered, and Kurt opened his eyes in alarm, suddenly
feeling as if he wanted to vomit as he was reminded that his father was
watchingthis. “You might wanna take notes or something. This is educational.
This is what he’s gonna be doing for fun, first chance he gets, so you might as
well be informed, right?”
 
Kurt cringed with shame at the cruel words, unwilling to open his eyes and see
the reaction on his father’s face. Burt was dealing well so far with the fact
that Kurt was gay, but he’d made it clear that there were certain things he
wasn’t comfortable discussing yet – things like boys, and Kurt dating boys, or
kissing boys.
 
It hadn’t ever come up, but Kurt was pretty sure the specific details of what
Kurt might look like while performing oral sex was probably also on the “never
want to know” list.
 
Kurt’s father didn’t say anything, but Kurt could hear his hoarse, ragged
breathing, knew how difficult it had to be for him to simply sit there and
watch this, without being able to do anything to help his son. He couldn’t do
this, couldn’t keep up this obscene display, in full view of his father,
tormenting him with his own helplessness.
 
“Unh-uh, I didn’t say you could stop, baby,” the man warned him softly,
pressing the gun down his throat a little farther. Kurt choked on it,
struggling for breath, tears springing to his eyes, but the man didn’t ease up,
pressing harder as he added, “You just keep going until I tell you to quit, all
right? Keep sucking it like a good little whore…”
 
Kurt nodded desperately, wanting nothing more than to breatheat that moment –
and the man relented, drawing back the gun just enough to allow it. Kurt drew
in several harsh, shaky breaths before forcing himself to continue, terrified
of the consequences should he not react fast enough for the man’s liking.
 
Tears of shame filled his eyes, spilling down his face, as the man brought his
free hand down to rest at Kurt’s side, his thumb sliding under the hem of
Kurt’s shirt. His skin was warm and callused against Kurt’s stomach, and made
it turn with sick fear and violation. He wanted to pull away, but he didn’t
dare.
 
“That’s good, baby,” the man encouraged him softly, his invasive fingers
sliding down to toy at the low waist of Kurt’s jeans. “That’s really good…
yeah… just like that… that’s perfect… you’re a natural little cocksucker, Kurt…
so good at this…”
 
To Kurt’s utter horror, the man’s voice became breathless and shaky, as if he
was actually deriving some kind of twisted sexual pleasure from what Kurt was
doing. Kurt opened his eyes, staring at the man in shock and terror, and the
man smirked at him, intensifying his dramatic effects, his voice rising in
speed and pitch as he began to rock the gun slightly back and forth in Kurt’s
mouth, his finger tightening dangerously on the trigger.
 
“Yeah… yeah, so good… that’s it… harder, baby…”
 
Kurt’s stomach clenched as the man edged in closer to him, up on his own knees,
his hand rising to clutch at the back of Kurt’s head again, holding him firmly
in place.
 
“… yeah… oooh… I think… almost there… almost there, baby…”
 
Kurt’s entire body was shaking violently with the sudden certainty of where
this was heading. He couldn’t take his eyes off the twitching finger locked
around the trigger of the weapon, as his tormentor’s voice rose, edging toward
a feigned climax – and suddenly, Kurt was absolutely, dreadfully certain of
what would happen when he reached it.
 
No… no, please, no…
 
“H-here it comes… I-I’m gonna… I think I’m gonna…”
 
The man let out an obscene cry of pleasure, and Kurt flinched violently as the
sound of a bullet muffled by a silencer filled the space around him – only
realizing several moments later that he hadn’t been shot, that the sound had
come from beside him and not inside his own head – that in the moment before
he’d pulled the trigger, the man had abruptly jerked the gun out of his mouth
and aimed it at the wall behind him.
 
Mingled relief and delayed terror overwhelmed him, and suddenly Kurt found it
more difficult to breathe than it had been when the gun was in his mouth. His
chest ached, his entire body shook so hard that it hurt, and deep, wracking
sobs tore from his abused throat, hoarse and broken, as tears streamed from his
eyes.
 
His captor seemed to find his utter collapse hilarious, laughing cruelly. “That
was awesome,” he crowed, turning toward his partner. “He actually thought he
was dead for a second there, didn’t he?”
 
Kurt vaguely registered through his own panicked breakdown that there was no
response to the man’s exultant words – but he didn’t even have time to regain
his composure before the man was crouched down beside him again. One strong
hand painfully gripped his arm, shaking him slightly, as the gun was pressed
hard under his chin, forcing his head back and forcing him to meet the cool,
controlled smile on his captor’s face.
 
“You’re going to listen to me from now on, aren’t you, Kurt?” He spoke softly
in a leading tone, and Kurt gave a frantic, shaky little nod, gasping in a
soft, shuddering breath. “Gonna do as you’re told?” He nodded again, letting
out a soft, broken sob, his eyes closed and his head bowed as the man moved the
gun away. “Good…” That gently invasive hand played through Kurt’s hair again in
a mockery of affection. “That’s a good boy…”
 
Kurt flinched when he felt the man’s fingers firmly grasp his chin, tilting his
head up again. With dread, he looked up into the man’s face, unsettled by the
strange gentleness of the touch, and the softness in his voice as he smiled
down at him.
 
“Who knows?” he speculated in a quiet, thoughtful tone, a cruel gleam in his
eyes. “Before we’re done here, I might just have to let you practice on the
real thing after all.”
 
Something cold and sick settled in the pit of Kurt’s stomach, and his mind
tried to shut out the meaning of those words, tried to deny the clear threat in
them – but it was unmistakable. He stumbled on leaden legs as the man took his
arms and pulled him to his feet, then led him across the room to where Burt was
still kneeling, his head bowed and turned away, his shoulders shaking slightly
with silent tears.
 
Kurt couldn’t look at him, his face flaming with humiliation and guilt as he
was shoved onto his knees beside his father.
 
“Now you two be quiet and good while I check out this nice place you’ve got
here,” the man advised with a smirk, turning to his partner to order calmly,
“Either of them tries anything… shoot the other one.”
 
Kurt felt a slight sense of relief as the man who’d so viciously tortured him
left the room, but it was far outweighed by the sickening feeling of utter
violation that overwhelmed him. He couldn’t look at his father, couldn’t say a
word, even when Burt quietly, urgently spoke his name, and edged nearer to him
on his knees.
 
“Kurt,” he repeated, softly insistent. “Son, look at me.”
 
Kurt forced himself to raise his stricken gaze to meet his father’s eyes, his
vision obscured by the tears still flowing freely. Burt leaned in close, his
gaze intent and almost stern, his voice low and somehow gentle and severe at
the same time.
 
“Kurt, you listen to me. Are you hearing me?”
 
Kurt nodded, biting down on his lower lip, struggling to stifle the choked sobs
that rose in his throat, forcing himself to focus on his father’s words.
 
“Kurt, you didn’t do anything wrong. Okay? You didn’t. All you did just now was
what you had to… to survive. All right? That’s all either of us can do right
now – whatever we have to. And…” Burt struggled over the next words, his voice
choked and breaking, but Kurt still knew he meant them completely. “… and I am
so proud of you, son… for keeping your head together enough to do that. To do
what you had to, to get through this. All right? I need you to know that.”
 
Kurt stared at him in disbelief – but something within him broke with the
words, a certain tight, dreadful feeling in his chest that was released with
the knowledge that his father could actually look at him without revulsion,
talk to him without disgust, after what he’d just witnessed. Kurt broke down
again, leaning forward to rest his head against his father’s shoulder, crying
softly with relief.
 
“I wish I could put my arms around you right now, son…” Burt’s voice was hoarse
and thick with emotion, a frustrated tremor in his voice as he rested his head
against Kurt’s in the only display of physical affection that was left to him
in his bound state. “I would if I could… but since I can’t, I just need you to
know that I’m so proud of you, Kurt… and I love you… and we’re gonna be all
right, okay? We’ve just gotta keep on keeping our heads, and… and everything
will be all right.”
 
Kurt just pressed himself as close to his father as he could, trying to take
comfort from the same warm, solid strength that had been his support and
shelter all his life, and wishing desperately that he could find the will to
believe his father’s words.
 
He thought it might have been easier if Burt had sounded as if he believed them
himself.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Burt strained uselessly against the tape that bound his arms behind his back,
everything within him crying out with the need just to get his arms around his
son and hold him. He could feel Kurt’s slender frame trembling as he pressed
against his father’s side, his face buried against Burt’s shoulder. The slight
weight only served to remind Burt of how terribly fragile and vulnerable his
son really was, in comparison with the sheer sadistic brutality they were
facing.
 
“It’s going to be all right,” he whispered, turning his tear-dampened face to
press a kiss against Kurt’s temple, offering the only physical comfort that he
could at the moment. “Kurt, we’re going to be okay… we’ve gotta just keep it
together, kiddo, all right?”
 
Kurt nodded without a word, but the shallow, shuddering little gasp that
accompanied the gesture betrayed his panic. His shoulders were shaking with
silent sobs, and Burt could feel the moisture of Kurt’s tears soaking through
the soft cotton of his shirt.
 
His jaw clenched with frustrated rage at the monster that had reduced his
brave, defiant son to this, and he glared across the room toward the hallway
down which the man had disappeared. His partner, who seemed to be quite a bit
less dangerous than the one who was clearly running the show, was nevertheless
still holding a gun, and leaning up against the wall across the room, watching
them closely and glancing occasionally, impatiently, down the hall.
 
“We just have to keep our heads, and do what they say…”
 
“Dad…” Kurt whimpered, his voice a stricken whisper, muffled against Burt’s
shoulder as he pressed in closer, clearly as desperate as Burt was for the
embrace that was currently denied them. “I’m so scared. H-he said… he said he
m-might…”
 
Burt suppressed a shudder. Kurt couldn’t bring himself to finish the statement
– but he didn’t have to. The quiet, chilling threat their captor had made still
echoed in his mind, gently vicious words accompanied by a deceptively soft
touch. The memory of it filled Burt’s thoughts, making him feel sick with
revulsion and protective rage.
 
Maybe I’ll have to let you practice on the real thing…
 
“That’s not going to happen, Kurt,” Burt insisted firmly, his voice hoarse and
emphatic, hoping desperately that he was telling the truth. “We’re going to be
all right. We just have to stay calm, and I promise you, son, we’ll get through
this…”
 
Kurt nodded automatically against his father’s shoulder, and Burt closed his
eyes, taking some limited comfort from the gesture, though his son was still
trembling violently, his breath still rapid and uneven with his terror.
 
“And… we have to get through it,” he continued, lowering his voice so that only
Kurt could hear him, a hard edge creeping into his voice, trembling slightly
with quiet rage, “because once we do… we’re going to make these bastards pay
for this.”
 
Burt felt Kurt’s body go suddenly still against him, his quiet, shallow breaths
the only sound to break the silence. Slowly Kurt raised his head again,
studying his father’s face, his eyes huge and solemn in his pale, tear-streaked
face. Burt noted with relief that he seemed a little calmer now.
 
“Nobody pushes the Hummels around – right?” he reminded Kurt softly, nodding
slightly.
 
Kurt slowly shook his head, letting out a shaky breath and swallowing hard.
“No,” he whispered. “N-nobody.”
 
The panic was still there, unmistakable in Kurt’s eyes – but beneath it, Burt
could see something else stirring – a faint flicker of courage and defiance –
that familiar, unshakable confidence that had always gotten Kurt through the
hardships they’d faced in the past – that had gotten him through the recent
ordeal with another, considerably less frightening tormentor than the one they
were facing now.
 
“We’ll get through this,” Kurt whispered, and though his voice was trembling,
there was a note of defiant pride in it as he continued. “And then… we’ll make
them wish they’d picked some other home to invade – because picking ours was
the biggest mistake of their lives.”
 
That’s it… there’s my boy…
 
Burt nodded slowly, his encouraging smile not entirely forced. “That’s right.
We’re gonna be just fine, Kurt. Just a little bit longer…”
 
His words broke off abruptly, at the sound of footsteps, and Burt’s heart ached
at the sight of Kurt’s flinch when he heard them as well. Burt looked over his
son’s shoulder to see the masked man appear in the doorway next to his partner,
his arms laden with as much of the Hummels’ valuables as he could carry. He
grinned at the other man, speaking in a voice that was low, but not so quiet as
to hide his words from their captives.
 
“There’s some nice electronics in both bedrooms, and in here. I found these
banks in the bedrooms, and some cash in the dresser…”
 
Burt watched with helpless outrage as the man handed over the matching gallon
banks, the kind that counted the change for you as you put it in, that he had
bought years ago for himself and for Kurt.
 
Every day when Burt came in from work, he emptied his pockets of whatever loose
change he’d accumulated during the day, and felt a sense of satisfaction in
watching the number on the top of the bank steadily grow. Kurt used his to save
up money for the expensive clothes that he liked, and Burt knew that he often
opened the bank up and stuffed bills inside, too impatient to wait for the
change to become enough.
 
And now, some stranger with a gun was headed outside with the money that had
taken them months to save.
 
“When you come back, there’s some jewelry in the bottom dresser drawer in the
master bedroom. Not sure if it’s worth much, but might as well take that, too,”
the leader suggested to his cohort.
 
Kurt let out a muffled little sound of protest, biting it back at Burt’s sharp,
warning look; but Burt couldn’t help but feel the same outrage at the thought
of his late wife’s prized jewelry being hocked by these lowlifes at some seedy
pawn shop for a few bucks. It meant so much more than that to him and to Kurt,
and yet once it left this house, Burt knew that there was little chance that
they’d ever see it again.
 
Still, for all their value, the precious mementos of his late wife weren’t
worth their lives – so Burt kept quiet.
 
“Get started on all of that,” the one who was clearly the leader directed his
partner, “while I figure out what else we might have, here.”
 
Burt tensed, his body instinctively preparing for a fight that he couldn’t
follow through with, when he saw the man stride purposefully toward them, his
gun in his right hand. Kurt turned toward him at the sound of his footsteps,
eyes widening with fear, letting out a startled yelp as the man grabbed his arm
and yanked him effortlessly to his feet.
 
“Get off me!” Kurt demanded, his voice high and shrill with alarm. “Let go…!”
 
“Kurt!”
 
Burt wasn’t even sure himself, as his son’s name left his lips, whether or not
he was protesting Kurt’s being taken away from him, or warning his son to
silence – or maybe a bit of both. His hands clenched into helpless fists, his
muscles twitching in instinctive response, desperate to fight to protect his
child. He froze, however, his stomach lurching with dread, when the man held
his gun in Kurt’s face, shaking him slightly.
 
“Shhh,” he ordered in a hushed, soothing whisper, a cold, soft smile on his
face, his eyes narrowed speculatively as he took in Kurt’s reaction.
 
Kurt was staring at the gun held inches from his head, his lips parted and
trembling, his breath rapid and shallow as he visibly struggled for control of
his own fear. He didn’t say anything else, and he didn’t resist any further –
but after a moment, he closed his mouth with an effort, swallowing hard as he
deliberately raised his eyes to meet the gaze of his captor. Burt felt an
overpowering sensation of fierce pride in his son, when he saw the spark of
quiet defiance in his all-too-expressive eyes – and then a sick feeling of
fear, when he saw their captor see it, as well.
 
He raised a single eyebrow, a slight smirk of surprised amusement on his lips
as he let one hand slide slowly down Kurt’s arm. Kurt flinched, drawing in a
shaky, frightened breath as the man’s hand crept from its place low on his arm,
to his hip, and the man’s smirk widened into a nasty smile as Kurt’s gaze
faltered, drifting back toward the gun in his hand. His voice was deceptively
soft, sending a shiver of apprehension down Burt’s spine, as he remarked
casually,
 
“Well… looks like I’m not quite done with you yet, am I, Kurt Hummel?”
 
“You’re taking everything we’ve got,” Burt spoke up, struggling to keep the
tremor from his voice, to keep it level and calm, as he tried to distract the
man’s attention from his terrified son. “What else do you want from us?”
 
“That’s a good question, Mr. Hummel.” Burt’s uneasiness intensified when the
man didn’t take his eyes off Kurt, smiling slyly as he replied. “A very
interesting question… and I’m not quite sure I know the answer just yet.”
 
Kurt bit back a soft, broken cry, closing his eyes and shuddering as the man
slid his hand around, gentle and invasive, to rest beneath the boy’s bound,
white-knuckled fists. He pressed his palm flat against the taut denim that
covered Kurt’s buttocks, stroking slightly as he pulled Kurt in closer to him
with his other hand, visibly relishing the panicked, strangled whimper that the
boy struggled to keep back.
 
Still without averting his unsettlingly intent gaze from Kurt, the man abruptly
shifted the topic of conversation, addressing Burt with a quiet, calm question.
 
“Do you have any other jewelry or cash in the house, besides what you heard me
tell my friend?” He didn’t wait for a response before adding a soft warning.
“I’ll find it if it’s there, and if you lie to me… I’ll make you watch while I
make your boy beg me to kill him.”
 
The casual, matter-of-fact tone of the man’s voice made it chillingly clear how
easy it would be for him to carry out his brutal threats. Burt had no doubt
that he could and would do as he said, and take great pleasure in doing it. His
mouth was dry, his heart pounding in his throat, as he quickly and truthfully
replied.
 
“You’ve found all the jewelry in the house. It was my wife’s. We don’t own any,
besides hers. There’s some cash hidden in a cut-out spot in the boxspring of
the bed in the master bedroom.”
 
“Very good.” The man was clearly pleased with Burt’s obedience, offering him a
bright smile, raising his hand to rest at Kurt’s side instead. “One more thing:
where’s your safe?”
 
Burt’s stomach dropped at the question, because he knew that the man wasn’t
going to like the answer.
 
“Mister, I don’t know where you got your information,” he replied, his voice
slow and cautious, pleading, “but I don’t have a safe. We don’t have that kind
of money. I don’t know why you even chose us. We’re not a rich family. We’ve
only got just a little bit saved up, and that’s all we’ve got…”
 
The man’s smile faded instantly, his expression cold and calculating as he used
his grip on Kurt’s arm to turn him around so that his back was to his captor,
then wrapped the arm that held the gun around his shoulders tightly, holding
Kurt back against his chest – leaving his other hand free to roam over the
front of the boy’s body, and Burt forced to watch his son’s humiliated,
terrified face as it happened.
 
“Somehow, Mr. Hummel…” The man lowered his hand to viciously grope the front of
Kurt’s pants, and Kurt struggled uselessly against his firm grip, letting out a
desperate little sob of protest, and turning his flushed face away from his
father in shame. “… I find that very difficult to believe.”
 
“I’m telling you the truth!” Burt insisted, his voice trembling with
frustration, on the verge of tears. “Please, stop it! Leave him alone, I’m not
lying to you, please…”
 
“One more chance, Mr. Hummel,” the man insisted softly, ignoring Burt’s pleas,
as his hand moved to unfasten the button of Kurt’s jeans, then edged the zipper
down an inch or two. Kurt shook his head pleadingly, his shoulders shaking with
silent sobs, but his captor was unmoved as he asked Burt in a slow, measured
voice, “Where do you keep the rest of your money?”
 
“In the fucking bank, like everyone else!” Burt snapped, hot tears of helpless
frustration stinging his eyes. “I don’t have a safe, I’m telling you, we don’t
have very much at all! You’ve got almost all of it, and what little more we’ve
got is in my savings account! Please, just stop! Just… leave him alone! You’re
doing this all for nothing!”
 
The man laughed, maneuvering the gun in his hand so that he could press it
against Kurt’s cheek, pushing his head back onto his shoulder. He leaned in
close, his free hand cupping the front of Kurt’s jeans and squeezing slowly,
smirking when the boy let out a pitiful little cry of pain and pleading, tears
flowing freely from his eyes.
 
“Nothing? Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he sneered softly.
 
Then, abruptly, he let go of Kurt, pushing him forward onto his knees on the
floor. Kurt’s quiet, breathless sobs tore at Burt’s heart, and he wished that
his son was within his reach, wished that he was free to comfort him and
protect him like he wanted to. But a moment later, the gunman was at his side,
instead, reaching down to grasp his arm and haul him up to his feet.
 
“Well,” he stated with a cheerful smile that was chilling in its cold mirth.
“Looks like we need to make a little trip to the bank, then, don’t we?”
***** Chapter 5 *****
Kurt was shaking violently in the aftermath of the viciously gentle assault
he’d just endured. He could still feel the ghost of the man’s touch on his
skin, invasive fingers sliding under his clothes, toying at the edges of them,
tormenting him with the knowledge that he could easily go farther – could go as
far as he liked, in fact – if he chose to do so.
 
After the man finally let him go, Kurt heard him speaking to his father, but
couldn’t begin to process the words past his own overwhelming sense of panic
and violation. His blood was roaring in his ears, his heart racing so hard that
he could feel it beating against his ribcage. He felt as if he couldn’t
breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t stop shaking so hard that it hurt…
 
And then, abruptly, his focus was drawn in again when the intruder grabbed his
father and hauled him to his feet. A cold knot of dread began to form in the
pit of Kurt’s stomach as Burt was led away from him, across the room, toward
the man’s waiting partner. Panicked questions filled his thoughts, screaming in
his mind, though he couldn’t seem to draw breath to speak.
 
No.No!What are you doing? Where are you taking him? No, please, please don’t
hurt him, don’t hurt my dad, please…
 
“We’re going to make a little trip to the bank,” the robber informed his
partner with a smirk. “Mr. Hummel is going to be so considerate as to empty out
all of his accounts for us, so that we can leave here with a little something
more than his crap electronics and his kid’s piggy bank… in exchange for our
consideration in leaving him and his kid alive when we go.”
 
Kurt’s heart lurched at the thought of this sadistic monster taking his dad
away, anywhere, for any reason. He had a terrible sinking feeling, cold and
sick and roiling in the pit of his stomach, that if this man took his father
out of his sight, he would not be bringing him back.
 
“Okay,” Burt agreed readily, his voice trembling slightly as he glanced across
the room at his son. “Okay. Anything you want. Just… just leave him out of
this, okay? Just… don’t hurt him, and… I’ll give you everything I’ve got. Let’s
go, okay? Let’s get this over with…”
 
Kurt felt a pang of aching affection and gratitude for his father, as he
realized abruptly how eager his father was to get the man away from him. Burt
recognized the same thing that Kurt did – that the leader was the more
dangerous of the two men, and that whoever was left with the other man was
likely to be in the safer position.
 
And without question, Burt wanted that person to be Kurt.
 
The man nodded slowly, a cool smile on his lips as he glanced between Burt and
Kurt, still kneeling on the floor across the room. Slowly, his smile widened,
his eyes narrowing with understanding, as he began to put the pieces together
as well.
 
“Change of plans,” he announced brightly, reaching out to place a hand on his
partner’s shoulder. “You take Mr. Hummel to the bank… while I hang out here
with Kurt and make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble. How does that sound?”
 
“Wait. Why aren’t you going?”
 
Burt’s voice trembled with apprehension, his eyes filled with fear as they
locked onto Kurt’s for a long moment, and Kurt felt something within him – some
fragile piece of strength that had been clinging to the strength of his
father’s courage – shatter apart at the sight of the sheer, helpless terror on
his father’s face.
 
Oh, God. Why does he want to stay here with me? What is he going to do to me?
 
The man let out a soft, hushed little laugh, shaking his head in amusement and
moving in closer to Burt. His voice lowered to a low, menacing tone as he
replied softly, “I don’t think you’re in any position to be questioning my
decisions at the moment – are you, Mr. Hummel?”
 
“I just… I just want to know…” A swallow was visible in Burt’s throat, even
from across the room, and to his credit, he didn’t drop eye contact with his
captor as he pressed cautiously, “… what’s going to happen to my son… if you
stay, and I go with your buddy here… I just… I just wanna know… before I do
anything for you… that he’s gonna be okay when we get back.”
 
The man nodded slowly, as if in acceptance of Burt’s reasoning, and then leaned
in close to speak in a whisper next to Burt’s ear. Kurt strained forward on his
knees, not daring to get up, but desperately wishing that he could hear what
the man was saying.
 
What? Oh, God, Dad… what is going to happen to me when you go?
 
What’s going to happen tous?
 
***************************
 
Burt struggled to control the rising sense of panic he felt at the sudden
change in plans, his mind racing with dozens of horrible possibilities for why
the man might have changed his mind and decided to stay here with Kurt.
 
He probably just thought of the same thing I did, Burt told himself
desperately. That Kurt stands a better chance of getting away from his buddy
here than from him, and that I’m less likely to try something on the way to the
bank and back if I know he’s got my son waiting here, and could… doanythingto
him… God…
 
Kurt’s just a kid. He wouldn’t… wouldn’t…
 
No, he’s just playing it safe to make sure we don’t get away. That’s all it is.
 
It has to be.
 
“Just… tell me that nothing’s going to happen to my son while I’m gone,” he
insisted, studying what little he could see of the man’s face for any sign of
dishonesty.
 
All he saw was a cold, vicious smile before the man leaned in close, his strong
grip on Burt’s arm keeping him from pulling away as he spoke in a maliciously
soft voice right next to his ear.
 
“I’ll tell you what will happen to your son… if you try anything on the way to
the bank and back.” His words were slow and measured, the unmistakable
certainty in them sending a shiver down Burt’s spine. “My partner is going to
take you to the bank in your car, and he’s going to keep you blindfolded until
you’ve left the driveway, so you won’t get a look at what kind of vehicle I’m
driving. I’ll wait thirty minutes for you to get back here with all the money
from your accounts, and then, if you’re not back yet… I’ll be forced to assume
that you’ve done something terribly stupid, Mr. Hummel. And if I’m forced to
assume that… then I’m going to take your little boy over there… and throw him
in the back of my van with all the rest of the valuables you don’t care about
enough to behave yourself… and I’m going to take him somewhere far away,
somewhere where you’ll never find him.”
 
Burt felt as if he couldn’t breathe, his stomach lurching at the feel of the
man’s lips turning upward in a smirk against his cheek. He closed his eyes in a
vain attempt to shut out the horrific images conjured up by his captor’s words,
but found that that only made the nightmare scenario more vivid. He shook his
head slowly in denial of the man’s threats, his jaw clenched with helpless rage
at the very thought of what the man was suggesting.
 
“They won’t even know how to look for me. You don’t know what I look like, what
exactly I’m driving… anything. So once I’m absolutely sure that no one is
following us – and no one will be – I’ll take your baby boy home with me…”
 
The man’s voice lowered even further, taking on a lewd note of anticipation
that made Burt want to kill him – not to punch him or beat the crap out of him
but to fucking tear him apart – but he knew that would only succeed in placing
Kurt in greater danger than he was already in. He had no choice but to simply
stand there shaking, his arms bound, forced to listen helplessly as his captor
whispered in his ear.
 
“I’ll tie him down in my basement. I’ve got a special room there, you know. He
wouldn’t be the first gorgeous little plaything I’ve used up down there. And he
is gorgeous, Mr. Hummel. He’s stunning. So, yeah… I’ll take my time with him.
I’ll draw it out as long as I can… make him scream… make him cry… make him sob
for his daddy to save him… except, you won’t be able to. There won’t be
anyoneto save him.” The man’s voice hardened, becoming sharp and warning,
though still inaudible to anyone but Burt, as he went on, “And when I’m done,
and he’s so traumatized and broken that he’s catatonic and therefore boring…
I’ll take him out where I hid the others… and bury his body.” A low, evil laugh
fell from the man’s lips before he concluded in a whisper, “If he’s lucky,
he’ll already be dead when I do.”
 
Burt wanted to scream, wanted to vomit, wanted to break free from the bonds
that held him and rip this animal apart – but he didn’t dare make a move,
didn’t dare take a chance on his son’s life – not while their enemies held all
the power. It was too great a risk to take. He was shaking violently with the
effort to hold back his protective instincts, shaking his head, his lips
forming emphatic words that he couldn’t find the breath to utter.
 
No, no, no…
 
The man drew back, his ice blue eyes dancing with amusement as he sneered in a
tone that was loud enough for the others to hear again, “So we understand each
other, then, Mr. Hummel? You’re going to cooperate?”
 
Burt nodded wordlessly, feeling sick, knowing that he had no other choice but
to comply. He couldn’t take a chance on leaving his son at the mercy of this
monster – not for any longer than was absolutely necessary.
 
“Good.” The man nodded in satisfaction, clapping a hand against Burt’s shoulder
in a mockery of friendliness. “That’s what I like to hear.”
 
Burt’s heart lurched with fear as the man abruptly turned on his heel and
crossed the room to Kurt, dragging the boy to his feet and wrapping a casual
arm around his narrow, trembling shoulders. Kurt flinched as the man’s
fingertips stroked idly up and down his arm, visibly tensed and shaking, but
not daring to pull away.
 
“Be sure to hurry back,” the man instructed, his tone deceptively light and
teasing, giving Burt a sly wink. “Who knows what I might get up to if I get
bored?”
 
****************************************
 
Kurt tried desperately to control his panic at the suggestive touch of the man
holding him, not wanting to make this any harder for his father than it
obviously already was. He knew that Burt didn’t want to leave him, but also
knew as well as his father did that they simply had no choice but to go along
with whatever their captors demanded of them.
 
As the other robber wrapped a rolled up towel around his dad’s head and led him
out to the car, the leader grabbed Kurt’s arm and dragged him in close, one
hand fisting viciously in his hair as he snarled next to his ear, “If you try
anything while they’re gone… I’ll call my partner and have him shoot your
father in the head. Do you understand, Kurt?”
 
Kurt nodded hurriedly, unable to stop the tears that spilled from his eyes at
those words – then immediately shook his head, pleading in a hoarse, broken
voice, “Don’t. Please, I’ll do what you want. Please, d-don’t hurt him…”
 
“Shut up,” the man snapped, releasing him with a rough shove back down onto his
knees and walking away from him.
 
Kurt tried to shut out the terrified imaginings that filled his mind, of all
the various possibilities that could result from this turn of events. What if
his dad tried to get away, to get help – and the other robber shot him? What if
he couldn’t get back on time, and the man staying at the house with Kurt
decided they’d waited long enough, and shot him?
 
A little shudder of apprehension trickled down Kurt’s spine with the memory of
the last words the leader had spoken to his father.
 
What if he… what if he gets bored?
 
But much to Kurt’s relief, after his father left with the other robber, his
captor more or less left him alone. He stayed within sight the whole time, to
be sure that Kurt didn’t try to escape – but he didn’t touch him or speak to
him again. Still, every time the man moved, even if it was just to shift in his
place or glance at his watch, Kurt’s stomach turned with fear, his mind forming
all kinds of awful ideas as to what the man might find to pass the time.
 
Fifteen minutes had passed when the doorbell rang.
 
Kurt’s eyes darted up in surprise toward the door, then toward his captor, who
was swiftly striding toward him, a warning look on his face, his gun in his
hand. Just as he reached Kurt’s side, grabbing him and jerking him to his feet
before clamping a tight, painful hand over his mouth – Kurt remembered, and his
heart sank with fear.
 
Mercedes… she was coming over to hang out tonight… oh, God… please no, please
don’t let him hurt her…
***** Chapter 6 *****
Kurt struggled to maintain his balance as the gunman wrapped one arm around his
shoulders from behind and dragged him down the hallway, away from the front
door and out of sight from any of the front windows. The hand clamped over his
mouth, harsh fingers digging painfully into his jaw, silenced any attempts he
might have made to draw the attention of the person at the door – not that Kurt
had any desire to do so. 

Mercedes… no, please not Mercedes… please don’t hurt her...

"So, you expecting company, Kurt?” the man hissed in his ear, his voice terse
and accusing. “Do you know who’s at the door?” 
 
Kurt’s mind was too consumed with panic to process what might be the right or
wrong answers to the man’s questions. He was desperate to somehow protect
Mercedes from whatever this man might do to her  – but he had no idea how to do
that. He just froze, not sure how to respond.
 
His captor was less than pleased.
 
Kurt’s stomach dropped when he felt the muzzle of the gun pressed up hard under
his chin, forcing his head back. A moment later he felt the hot, damp breath of
the man holding it, against his ear as he whispered coldly.
 
“You’d better answer me right the fuck now, Kurt, or I’m going to kill you –
and then I’ll kill whoever’s at the door, too. Do you want that?”
 
Kurt shook his head frantically, tears falling from his eyes at the very
thought of the threat.
 
“Now I’m going to uncover your mouth,” the man informed him in an unsettlingly
quiet, calm tone. “And you’re going to answer my questions… and if you scream,
or yell, or try anything stupid… I’m going to kill your friend at the door… and
then I’m going to call my partner and make sure he knows not to bother keeping
your daddy alive once he’s got what we want. Do you want that, Kurt?”
 
As he spoke, the man cautiously lifted his hand from Kurt’s mouth, and Kurt
drew in a soft, shuddering breath, shaking his head pleadingly.
 
“No,” he whispered tearfully. “Please don’t… please don’t do that…”
 
“Who’s at the door?”
 
The man’s voice was hard, demanding, as he spun Kurt around by the shoulder and
pushed him up against the wall, pressing in too close to allow him the chance
to escape and warn the unanticipated visitor at the door. His eyes were
narrowed and cold, and the gun remained pressed up hard against his throat,
just enough to slightly obstruct his breath.
 
“M-my friend,” Kurt answered without hesitation, in a hoarse voice that was
barely more than a whisper. “She was c-coming over to hang out for a while.
She’ll go away. Please, let’s just n-not answer it, and she’ll go away in a
minute. Please don’t hurt her, please…”
 
“Shhh,” the man soothed him, running his free hand through Kurt’s hair in a
twisted parody of affection. “That’s a good boy. See? That wasn’t so hard, was
it?”
 
Kurt shook his head automatically, closing his eyes and swallowing back the sob
of relief that rose in his throat as the man removed the gun from his throat –
just as the doorbell rang again, and Mercedes’ voice was heard, muffled but
clearly audible through the door.
 
“Kurt? Come on, it’s freezing out here!”
 
A couple more rings of the bell punctuated her words.
 
“You know,” the man observed. “That sweet ride of yours is still parked in the
driveway, isn’t it? She knows you’re here. She knows you’re expecting her.” He
paused before concluding ominously, “I don’t think she’s going anywhere.”
 
Kurt’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he shook his head desperately. “Yes,
she will,” he insisted in a whisper. “Please, she will, you d-don’t have to
hurt her, please…”
 
“Unfortunately I don’t think that’s the case,” the man sighed. “Because I know
better than to think you can hold it together long enough to talk her into
leaving without giving me away.”
 
Kurt started to object, but before he could make a sound, the man had raised
the gun from his throat to brush it lightly against his cheek, and Kurt
flinched instinctively, his breath quickening with panic. The man let out a
patronizing sigh, shaking his head in an exaggerated display of false sympathy.
 
“No,” he decided. “I don’t think you can handle it. You could say all the right
things, but with that open-book face of yours, she’d still be calling the cops
on the way to her car. No, I guess I have no choice…”
 
“My phone!” Kurt blurted out desperately.
 
The man frowned. “What?”
 
“If you… if you just let me use my phone for a second, I can… I can send her a
text message. I can tell her that my dad changed his mind and wants us to spend
the evening together without any company. I can tell her anything you want,
just please… please, you don’t have to hurt her. I can make her go away,
please…”
 
The man’s frown of confusion slowly faded into a surprised smile. “I was told
you were a smart kid, Kurt – and you haven’t disappointed me,” he observed.

By who? Whotold you that?

The unanswered questions filled Kurt’s mind, but he knew better than to ask
them.
 
“Good plan.” The man nodded, as the doorbell rang again, several times in
succession. “Except for one detail: I won’t be letting you use the phone.”
 
Kurt looked up at the man with a slight frown of confusion.
 
“What, you think I’m stupid?” he sneered with a knowing little smirk. “It’d
take you all of two seconds to call 9-1-1, and it’d all be over. No, you just
tell me who to text and what to say, and I’ll send the message for you.”
 
As he spoke, he took Kurt’s confiscated cell phone from his pocket with one
hand, the gun still held in the other – no longer pointed directly at Kurt, but
still ready at a moment’s notice.
 
“What’s your friend’s name?”
 
“M-Mercedes Jones,” Kurt whispered, his heart sinking, as he tried not to think
about what dangers he might be exposing his friend to by giving her name and
phone number to this monster. “Just say that… I’m sorry I forgot to call and
tell her, but… my dad decided it was a good night for a family night, and… and
I’ll have to get with her tomorrow. I’ll call her tomorrow. Yeah, that… that
sounds good…”
 
The man nodded his approval of the message as he deftly typed it onto the
screen and hit send. Very faintly, Kurt could hear the faint sound of his
personal tone on Mercedes’ phone outside the door. A few moments later, his own
phone buzzed quietly in the man’s hand, and he opened it again to read the
message. Kurt’s heart sank with disappointment, even as it flooded with relief
at the distant sound of Mercedes’ car door opening and closing again, followed
by the sound of a car engine roaring to life and then driving away.
 
“Good boy.” The man smiled in satisfaction. “You wanna know what she said?”
 
Kurt didn’t respond, still trying to get his breathing to return to normal in
the wake of the tense encounter. His captor read from the screen anyway.
 
 
“Nice of you to tell me before I got to your driveway. Oh, well, that’s all
right. Call me tomorrow. I have lots of stories to tell you. Glee club’s just
not the same without you.”
 
The man put the phone away, turning his full attention back toward Kurt with a
malicious smile of amusement. “Awww, you two are in glee club together? That’s
so sweet…”
 
“We… we were,” Kurt corrected softly, looking away, not sure why he was
bothering. “I go to a… a different school now, so…”
 
“Glee club, huh?” The man persisted, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive
tone that made Kurt suddenly want to vomit. His eyes darted up toward his
captor’s face with alarm as the man closed in on him again, the close quarters
of the hallway making it easy to keep him cornered against the wall.
 
Kurt let out a choked little whimper of protest when the man’s large hand found
his hip, caressing lightly. Kurt struggled to pull away, but the man’s touch
abruptly turned hard as he gripped Kurt and slammed him back against the wall
again, moving in even closer. He put the gun away in the pocket of his jeans,
freeing his other hand to grasp Kurt’s hair and jerk his head back slightly.
Kurt’s breath quickened and he closed his eyes, shaking his head quickly in
panicked, pleading denial as his captor’s fingertips slid teasingly inward from
his hip, brushing across the front of his pants.
 
“You’re a singer, Kurt?” the man observed pensively, waiting until Kurt looked
up at him fearfully to give him a chilling smirk, his hushed, suggestive tone
adding to the hot rush of humiliation that flooded Kurt’s face at the gentle
invasion of his touch.
 
“Then why don’t you sing for me?”
 
*************************************************
 
Burt Hummel sat rigidly in the passenger seat of his truck, his fingers
drumming a rapid, impatient rhythm against his leg, his eyes darting every few
seconds to the digital clock on the dashboard. Only five minutes remained of
the thirty they’d been given in which to return, and they had to get all the
way across Lima in that time.

We're not going to get there in time...

Burt’s stomach lurched at the unwelcome thought, his mouth dry with fear as he
thought of his son, helpless and utterly vulnerable at the hands of the other
robber, waiting for him to return and save his life.
 
Except… he wasn’t entirely sure that the other robber would be inclined to
spare Kurt, even if by some miracle they did manage to get back to the house on
time.
 
Burt had failed to meet the demands of their attackers.
 
“It’ll be fine.”
 
But the voice of the man driving Burt’s truck was terse and quiet, his grip on
the wheel a little too tight, his speed a little too fast for Lima’s
residential streets at this hour of the evening. Burt found it unsettling that
this man seemed far more worried about facing the wrath of his partner than he
was about the chance of getting pulled over by the police, in a hijacked
vehicle with a bound hostage at his side.
 
“Fucking ATMs,” the man at his side muttered resentfully. “Why’d you have to
use the most fucking worthless bank in this worthless little town, anyway? Two
ATMs in the whole town? Your bank sucks, man.”
 
Burt wanted to point out that the withdrawal limits on ATM machines were
designed for just this sort of situation, but he didn’t think that further
agitating his already edgy captor would serve his best interests – or Kurt’s,
for that matter.
 
Each of his bank’s two Lima ATM locations had only allowed him to withdraw
$1,000. He was returning to the man holding Kurt with far less than he’d
expected as it was. The last thing Burt wanted was to give either man any more
reason to hurt them than they already had.
 
 
Surely he wouldn’t, though… wouldn’t punish us for something that we couldn’t
help. Surely he wouldn’t do something to Kurt to get back at me for not doing
what he asked, when he asked for something that turned out to be impossible…
that wouldn’t be fair…
 
Burt’s stomach lurched as he thought of the other gunman, the one who seemed to
be in charge, and the cruel pleasure he’d taken in terrorizing Kurt earlier –
the sadistic gleam in the man’s eyes as Burt had begged for his son’s life.
 
 
Who are you kidding? These guys don’t care about fair. These guys are probably
planning to shoot both of you in the head before leaving, just to make sure
there aren’t any witnesses…
 
 
Burt felt sick as he glanced again at the clock, and saw that they were already
two minutes late, and they were still a good five minutes away from the house.
 
“Please,” he ground out the words, struggling to hold back the desperation he
felt building in his chest. “Please, just call him. Tell him we’re almost
there.”
 
The driver just shook his head, his mouth in a grim, taut line. “No,” he
replied quietly. “It’s better if I tell him this in person. Don’t worry, we’ll
make it.”
 
But Burt remembered the gun being pressed to Kurt’s head, forced into his
mouth, and a shudder passed through him. He knew that the man at the house with
Kurt would not hesitate to hurt him, out of nothing more than vindictive
retaliation for not getting what he wanted, when he wanted it.
 
 
God, I left that sick psycho alone with my boy… Burt felt sick, his brow
breaking out in a cold sweat, as they turned onto his street. Please… please
let Kurt be okay. Please don’t let him have hurt my son…
 
 
“Don’t say anything when we go in,” the driver advised sharply as they pulled
into the Hummels’ driveway. “Just keep your mouth shut and let me tell him.
He’ll take it better from me.”
 
Burt nodded shortly, not really caring about anything at that moment except
getting to his son and making sure that he was all right.
 
He nearly collapsed from sheer relief when he walked through his front door and
saw Kurt sitting on the floor against the living room wall. His knees were
drawn up in front of him, his face buried against them, and even from the
doorway Burt could tell that he was shaking – but he was alive.
 
As the two robbers began to talk in quiet, tense tones, Burt crossed the room
to Kurt’s side and knelt beside him.
 
“Kurt.”
 
When the boy looked up at him through tearful, red-rimmed eyes, his lips
trembling, his shoulders shaking with barely repressed sobs, Burt desperately
wished that his arms were free so that he could wrap them around his son and
hold him close against his chest, make him feel protected and safe like he’d
done so many times when he was a little boy.
 
But he’s not safe… and you can’t protect him. Not now, no matter how much you
want to…
 
“Dad,” Kurt whispered tearfully, resting his face against Burt’s shoulder,
leaning into him in a way that only intensified Burt’s aching need to hold him.
“Dad… you’re okay.”
 
“Yeah,” Burt replied, his voice low and hoarse with emotion that he struggled
to hold back, because it wouldn’t do either of them any good right now. “Yeah,
kid. I’m okay. Easy… it’s all right… shh, calm down, son…”
 
With a visible effort, Kurt managed to slow the panicked, hitching breaths that
shook him, finally raising his head and swallowing hard, blinking back tears in
a valiant effort to bring his own emotions under control.
 
As Burt took in Kurt’s disheveled, shaken appearance, an uneasy feeling began
to form in the pit of his stomach.
 
“Kurt,” he whispered with quiet urgency, trying to catch his son’s eye. “Son…
are you okay? He didn’t… did he hurt you? While we were gone?”
 
Kurt bit his lower lip, blinking rapidly, but he shook his head. “No,” he
replied. “No, I’m fine.”
 
“Something happened,” Burt realized, studying his son more closely. “Kurt… what
is it? What’d he do?”
 
“Nothing,” Kurt insisted, looking up to meet Burt’s eyes at last – but what
Burt saw there was far from reassuring. “It’s just… Mercedes came by. I forgot
she was coming, but… she did, and… and I thought he was going to shoot her,
and… I’m just a little freaked out, that’s all…”
 
“But he didn’t,” Burt surmised. “Right? She left?”
 
Kurt nodded, looking away again.
 
Burt frowned, troubled by his son’s abruptly evasive behavior.
 
“Kurt…?”
 
“Yeah, your boy handled his challenge really well.”
 
Burt looked up to see the leader of the two robbers approaching, a smirk of
cruel amusement on his lips. Apparently, he’d overheard at least the last part
of their conversation. Once again, Burt wanted to strike out at him, to make
him hurt the way his son was hurting – but there was nothing he could do, and
certainly nothing that would help the situation they were in.
 
 
But… just for a little longer… maybe now that I’ve given them all I can…
 
“You, on the other hand…” The man’s smile faded, his eyes narrowing in anger,
and Burt felt his stomach drop as the gun in the man’s hand rose to his eye
level, inches from his face. “You’re a big fucking failure, Mr. Hummel. Didn’t
have what I wanted here. Couldn’t get it when I sent you after it. What do you
think I ought to do about that?”
 
“I tried,” Burt insisted, desperate frustration in the words he ground out in
response. “I don’t keep money around the house, except what you’ve found. And I
took everything out of my accounts that the bank would let me. The banks are
closed. What do you expect me to do?”
 
The man was quiet for a moment before replying, his voice dangerously soft and
warning. “Well, I expect you to speak to me with a little more respect, for
one.”
 
He pressed the gun against Burt’s temple, and Burt couldn’t help tensing,
closing his eyes and bracing himself for the worst. But a moment later, the
pressure of the gun was removed from his head – and Burt realized that he
hadn’t been ready for the worst, at all.
 
Kurt let out a choked, frightened little sound that tore at Burt’s heart as the
man grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him several feet away from
Burt and dragging him into a kneeling position on the floor. Kurt flinched hard
as the man pressed the gun to the back of his neck, pressing down hard enough
that Kurt was nearly doubled over.
 
His breath came in sharp, shallow little gasps, his hands clenching and
unclenching helplessly behind his back, his slight frame shaking violently with
terror.
 
“No!” Burt cried out. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, just don’t hurt him! For God’s
sake, he has nothing to do with this! Please, do whatever you want to me, just
leave him alone!”
 
“See, that’s just it,” the man mused, his mild, thoughtful tone incongruous
with the violence of his actions. “I still feel like you owe me a lot more than
what I’m leaving with, if I leave right now. I don’t think I’ve gotten what I
came for, and… I feel like it’s only fair that I get a little something extra
thrown into the deal. For my time, you know? But… I don’t really want to do
anything to you. Him, on the other hand…”
 
Burt tensed, instinctively straining against his bonds as the man crouched
beside Kurt, running his free hand slowly down the boy’s trembling back until
it reached his bound wrists. He leaned in close to Kurt’s face with a sadistic
grin, his voice hushed but still clearly audible to Burt.
 
 
“I can think of a lot of things I’d like to do with him.”
***** Chapter 7 *****
Kurt felt the cold, unyielding metal of the gun against the back of his neck,
felt the gentle slide of the man’s hand down his spine, and his insides seemed
to seize up in cold, mind-numbing terror.
 
This is it… it’s over.
 
He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the truth, his heart racing with
overwhelming panic. His trembling hands struggled uselessly against the bonds
that held them behind his back, and he fought back the urge to let out the
pleading stream of babble just behind his lips.
 
He knew better than to think it would do any good.
 
They have all they’re going to get from us now – all the money Dad can give
them. So – this is it. He’s going to kill us both. He might… might do more than
that to me, first, but…
 
A shudder passed through Kurt’s body at the thought, and he tried to shut it
out – though the alternative wasn’t any more hopeful.
 
Either way… we’re about to die.
 
“Yeah,” the man sneered softly, sliding his hand down between Kurt’s back and
his arm to gently stroke up his side, laughing at the involuntary tremor that
went through him. “How could I pass up a sweet little piece like this? I think
this consolation prize might just make up for the fact that I’m not leaving
here much richer than when I came.”
 
“So that’s the kind of man you are, huh?” Burt spoke up at last, his tone
taunting and disgusted – though Kurt could hear the underlying note of
desperation in his dad’s strained, choked words, knew that his dad was trying
anything he could at this point to keep this from happening to him. “Some sick
fucking pedophile?”
 
“Hey, he’s no little kid,” the man pointed out with a sneer on his lips,
sliding his hand down from Kurt’s side to caress over the curve of his hip –
but Kurt could hear the edge of defensive irritation in his voice, knew that
for whatever good or harm it might do them, his father’s words were hitting
their mark. “It’s not like we’re talking about a six-year-old or something…”
 
“Sure. Cause he looks anywhere close to his age – let alone like an adult,”
Burt argued, his tone openly derisive now. “You like fucking babies, you sick
pervert? You baby-raping faggot? Couldn’t handle a real man if you tried, could
you?”
 
Kurt’s eyes darted up, a pained gasp caught in his throat at the sound of the
one word he’d never thought he’d ever hear from his father’s lips. His eyes
locked with Burt’s, and in an instant, mingled with the guilt and regret, he
read the reason for the hateful epithet. Whether he had to shame the man out of
what he was about to do, or just anger him enough to distract him from his
intended course of action, Burt Hummel was determined to do whatever it took to
protect his son. Kurt understood that, certainly for the one and only time in
his life, that hateful word was being used as an act of love.
 
That understanding still didn’t keep the pain of hearing it from clenching
tight in his chest.
 
It worked, though.
 
Kurt’s captor released him abruptly, but the momentary sense of relief he felt
was short-lived, almost immediately overwhelmed by fear as the man crossed the
room in a few short strides to tower over Kurt’s kneeling father, drawing back
his heavy booted foot and slamming it hard into Burt’s ribcage.
 
“Stop!” Kurt cried out as his father doubled over with a stifled groan of pain.
“Don’t! Leave him alone!”
 
But the man ignored his cries, lashing out with the gun in his hand, smashing
it across Burt’s face, following the brutal blow with a second kick, this time
to his stomach. Kurt saw blood trickling from the corner of his father’s mouth,
and struggled to get to his feet, his heart racing with panic.
 
“Stop it!” he demanded, rushing unsteadily toward the man, though he knew there
was little he could do with his hands bound behind his back. “Get off of him!”
 
Kurt’s slight frame slammed into the man with all the strength he had, but he
only managed to knock him slightly off balance. The man turned on Kurt
abruptly, grabbing his arms in a bruising grip to hold him still.
 
“Knock it off, you stupid little shit!” he snarled. “What’re you trying to
prove?”
 
Despite the menacing tone and the cruel fingers biting into his arms, Kurt was
still more concerned with his father’s well-being than with whatever
consequences he might have just brought upon himself. His gaze drifted to where
his father was doubled over on his knees on the floor, coughing and choking,
blood flowing from a nasty cut on his forehead. Burt shook his head as if to
clear it, but even that simple motion threw him off balance, and he collapsed
forward onto his face with a low moan, clearly disoriented and dazed from the
attack.
 
“Please,” Kurt begged, meeting the man’s eyes through the mask he wore,
desperate and earnest. “I’ll do whatever you want. Please.” He hesitated a
moment before adding, his voice breaking slightly over the words, “H-his heart
can’t take it. Please. Just… don’t hurt him anymore.”
 
The man looked back and forth between Kurt and his father for a moment, before
a slow smile spread across his face. “You two are pathetic,” he remarked with a
sneer of disgust. “All this self-sacrificing true love bull shit.” He turned
toward Burt, his voice softening as he mused with a nasty smirk, “I think you
just got there first, and don’t feel like sharing. Is that it? Well, too bad.”
 
“You sick son of a bitch…” Burt’s voice was breathless and weary with pain, but
still held a tremor of rage, as he struggled to regain his balance and get back
up onto his knees.
 
The man ignored him as he dragged Kurt a few yards away, well out of Burt’s
reach, and shoved him down onto his knees on the floor, one hand tangling in
his hair to hold him in place. Kurt bit back a cry of pain as his head was
jerked backward, his heart racing as he tried not to think about what was
surely going to happen next.
 
“Toss me the tape,” the man ordered his partner, holding out his free hand to
catch it.
 
From where he knelt on the living room floor, Kurt couldn’t see the other man’s
face, but he could hear the apprehension in his voice as he replied. “Come on,
man. Let’s just get out of here.”
 
But even as he protested, he handed over the tape.
 
His leader leaned down close to Kurt’s face, his voice dangerously soft as he
ordered, “Don’t move, Kurt. I’m just gonna tie your dad up so he can’t make any
trouble. Don’t make me do anything worse to him. Okay?”
 
Kurt shook his head pleadingly, unable to find words through the rising panic
that choked him.
 
The man left him there, crossing the room to Burt again and shoving him face
down against the floor again before swiftly binding his ankles together with
the tape. Burt let out a low groan, weakly attempting to pull away, but without
success, as the man took an additional piece of tape from the roll and pressed
it down firmly over Burt’s mouth. Then, the man turned him over onto his side,
reaching to unfasten Burt’s belt and remove it.
 
Kurt’s stomach lurched with horror – but the man just used the belt to fasten
Burt’s bound wrists around the leg of the sofa, buckling it tightly closed. As
he headed back toward Kurt with a satisfied grin on his face, Kurt realized why
he’d done it.
 
Because for him to be able to do what he’s going to do to me… there has to be
something to hold my dad back…
 
“You’re really worried about your daddy’s heart, aren’t you, Kurt?” the man
observed softly, crouching down beside him, holding him still with one hand and
running the other slowly, suggestively down his chest. His cold eyes were
filled with cruel mirth as he held Kurt’s gaze and went on, his voice dropping
to a low, deceptively gentle tone. “What do you think? Think his heart can take
watching me fuck you across the arm of this sofa? Right here in front of him?”
 
Kurt shuddered, turning his face away and shaking his head, though he wouldn’t
allow himself to voice the plea just behind his lips.
 
“I don’t know, Kurt,” the man mused in a tone of feigned uncertainty. “It’ll
drive him out of his mind… not being able to get to you… to save you…”
 
Kurt swallowed back the sob that rose in his throat, blinking back tears.
“Please,” he whispered. “Just… just let us go. Please. We won’t say anything,
just… don’t…”
 
“Dude.” The other man’s voice was trembling, uneven, as if he was on the verge
of panic himself. He sounded as if he was standing nearer than before. “This is
fucked up. You’re not really gonna do this, are you?”
 
Without even looking at him, the man holding Kurt took his gun from his
waistband and took aim at his partner. The other man didn’t have time to move,
or protest, or even utter a sound before he’d pulled the trigger. The gunshot
didn’t sound like Kurt would have expected – just a quiet ping, followed by an
awful thudding sound as the murdered man’s body hit the floor – followed by
nothing but silence.
 
Kurt barely had time to process what he’d just witnessed, before the man stood
up in front of him, and he felt the cold metal against his temple. He flinched
violently, drawing in a sharp, shuddering gasp, but could not pull away due to
the vicious grip of the man’s hand in his hair.
 
“Shhh,” the man murmured soothingly. “Easy… it's all right. That was part of
the plan all along. But I'm not gonna kill you. You’ve still got work to do,
don’t you, sweetheart?”
 
Kurt let out a shaky breath as the gun was removed from his head and the man
moved around to stand in front of him – but then, the sound of a zipper being
pulled down, followed by the sight of his captor’s red, half-hard cock in his
hand, replaced his relief with an overwhelming wave of revulsion. He could hear
his father’s attempts to protest what was happening, could hear his useless
struggles from across the room, but all he could focus on was the erection
directly in front of his face – the first he’d ever seen in real life that was
not his own.
 
“Come on,” he urged softly, tugging Kurt’s head forward by the grip he held on
his hair. “Just like we practiced. Show me what a quick learner you are.”
 
Knowing better than to fight when his father’s life was on the line, Kurt
hesitantly, obediently opened his mouth. Despite his promises of cooperation,
however, sheer instinct made him try to pull away as the man shoved into his
mouth, pulling him forward by the hair until his eyes watered and he couldn’t
breathe, choking. Panicked, Kurt gagged, trying to expel the intrusion from his
throat, the edges of his vision going grey from lack of oxygen.
 
Abruptly, the man pulled back, leaning down into Kurt’s face and shaking him,
snarling in his face. “That better not have been your teeth I just felt, you
stupid little whore. You even think of biting me and I will make you watch
while I break every bone in his body and then blow his fucking head off, do you
understand me?”
 
“Please!” Kurt sobbed out, gasping for breath, frantic at the horrific mental
images evoked by the threat. “Please, I d-didn’t mean to! I’m s-sorry… I don’t
know h-how… I’ve never…”
 
“Never done this before?” The man finished for him, nodding, a mockery of
patience in his slow, patronizing words. Kurt nodded pathetically in response,
just desperate to appease him before he did anything else to hurt his dad. “I
know. You’ve never done much of anything before, have you, Kurt?”
 
Kurt’s stomach dropped as the man dragged him up to his feet, one hand reaching
around behind him to grope at his ass and jerk him in close against his
captor’s body. He leaned in to speak softly against Kurt’s ear, and the words
sent a shiver of dread down his spine.
 
“But we’re about to change all that… aren’t we?”
 
He moved around behind Kurt so that his view of his father was no longer
obstructed, one arm sliding firmly around his waist to hold him still as the
other reached around in front to shamelessly grope the boy’s soft cock through
the coarse fabric of his jeans. Kurt winced, his face flushing hot with
humiliation, closing his eyes rather than meeting his father’s anguished gaze.
 
“Let’s see…” The man speculated, glancing around the room as he idly stroked
his captive’s body, a chillingly gentle violation. “I could bend you over the
coffee table so that he gets the side view. Make sure Daddy gets to watch every
single little detail. Or over the other end of the couch, so he gets to look
into your eyes the whole time…”
 
Kurt couldn’t hold back a choked, pleading whimper at that suggestion, shaking
his head slowly, despairingly.
 
The man let out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, I agree. That’s definitely better.”
 
“Please, don’t,” Kurt whispered, his face streaked with tears as the man pushed
him toward the sofa. “Please…”
 
He’d said he’d do anything to spare his dad more pain, and he’d meant it – but
this was more than he could even imagine. Sheer terror overwhelmed him, and he
couldn’t help the pitiful pleading words that filled him with such shame.
 
Unmoved by his pleas, the man shoved him down over the arm of the sofa,
reaching around him to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his pants, then jerking
them down around his thighs, leaving him humiliatingly exposed.
 
“Nice,” he observed in a sickeningly soft voice, rough fingertips trailing
slowly down the cleft of Kurt’s ass in a way that made him shiver, his stomach
twisting painfully. “I might not have gotten as much money as I expected… but
this is definitely gonna be worth the trip.”
 
Kurt braced himself for the worst, biting down on his lower lip and steeling
himself not to cry out, not to give the bastard the satisfaction – but
abruptly, the man grabbed him and lifted him off the arm of the sofa, pushing
him down instead on the floor beside it – almost within his father’s reach, had
Burt’s hands not been securely bound to the leg of the sofa.
 
“Forgot something,” he explained with a casual shrug, heading off toward the
kitchen. “Be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
 
Kurt’s eyes met his father’s for a moment, and he had to look away at the
helpless anguish he saw there, the futile desperation. Burt struggled to break
the bonds that held him, but was making no progress.
 
“Don’t,” Kurt whispered, his gaze averted and staring at the floor. His voice
shook dangerously as he tried to reassure his father with words that he didn’t
even slightly believe. “It… it’ll be all right. Just… don’t piss him off, okay?
I’ll just… do what he wants, and then… and then he’ll let us go, and we’ll be
okay. I just… I have to do this so he doesn’t… so he doesn’t hurt you, and… and
then he’ll let us go. He has to. Just… don’t do anything, okay?”
 
Though he tried desperately to keep his tone steady and calm, he could hear the
panic in his own trembling, rambling words as they rose in pitch with every
syllable. He flinched back against the sofa as their captor returned to the
living room, a bottle of cooking oil in his hand. He grabbed Kurt by the arm
and hauled him up before slinging him roughly over the arm of the sofa again.
 
“Ready?” he asked brightly.  Then, without waiting for a response. “All right,
then. Let’s get this party started.”
***** Chapter 8 *****
Cruel hands shoved Kurt down over the arm of the sofa, and suddenly he couldn’t
breathe, his terror chasing the air from his lungs as surely as the impact of
his stomach against the sofa beneath him.
 
The new position only served to emphasize Kurt’s feeling of total exposure and
vulnerability, with his jeans and underwear pooled around his ankles, his hands
still helplessly bound behind him, and his ass humiliatingly raised, alarmingly
accessible to his captor.
 
His eyes met his father’s for just a moment, where he was bound on the floor
just a few short yards away, and Kurt felt another little piece of his dignity
shatter at the realization of just exactly what his father was seeing – what he
was going to see in the next few minutes.
 
Kurt turned his face away from his father, closing his eyes against the hot
tears of humiliation that burned behind them.
 
A rough, callused hand ran slowly over his exposed hip, and Kurt flinched away
from the gently invasive touch, though he was powerless to escape it. A low,
dark chuckle behind him made his face flush with shame, as he felt a single
finger trail teasingly down the cleft of his ass.
 
“So fucking pretty,” the man observed softly. “And I bet you’re tight. No one
else has ever touched you, have they, Kurt?”
 
Kurt’s heart clenched at those words, and an overwhelming, sinking feeling of
sorrow and regret filled him as he shook his head automatically in response,
unable to find words. The tears escaped his eyes as the image of his
boyfriend’s bright, innocent smile filled his mind.

Blaine... you were supposed to be my first... but now...

Will you ever want me now?
 
“Yeah… didn’t think to bring any lube,” the man explained, bringing Kurt’s
thoughts back to the present as he backed off a little, holding Kurt down with
one hand on his bound wrists. A moment later, Kurt heard the sound of the cap
popping off of the bottle of oil in the man’s free hand. “And I’d just take you
dry, but I think that’d hurt me as much as you.” He laughed. “Well, not quite.
Anyway, this should make it a little easier for both of us.”
 
There was nothing Kurt could imagine that could have made this easy in any way.
 
He bit back a startled cry of fear at the sensation of blunt, unyielding
pressure, barely eased by the slick moisture of the cooking oil – and then
couldn’t hold back a choked whimper at the searing pain that followed. He
gasped for breath as his body automatically fought to reject the intrusion, but
the man just pressed harder, laughing coldly at the shudder that passed through
Kurt’s unwilling body.
 
“Oh, you think that hurts, sweetheart? We’re just getting started. Wait ‘til I
get my cock in you, kiddo.” He laughed again, and the note of pleased
satisfaction in his voice made Kurt feel sick. “I knew you’d be tight, but I
had no idea…”
 
It was only his finger, Kurt realized, his heart sinking with dread. That
sharp, painful stab was nothing more than the man’s finger.
 
Kurt closed his eyes, struggling to shut out the reality of what was happening
to him and focus on something, anything else – but the wet, sloshing sound of
the oil as the man slathered his erection with it; the cold, wet sensation as
some more of it was poured over his ass as well; the sound of his father’s
wordless, helpless protest from across the room – all served so increase his
fear and humiliation, and kept him viciously, mercilessly fastened to the
moment.
 
“Now, here’s how this is going to work.” His captor’s voice was light, almost
amused, as he raised his voice slightly to address them both. “I want eye
contact, boys. The whole time. I want you looking at each other’s faces as if
the second you take your eyes off that face, it’s gonna get blown off…” He
leaned in close to Kurt’s face, his voice lowered with menace, and Kurt
flinched, swallowing back a shuddering sob as he felt the cold steel of the gun
against his cheek again. “Because it is.”
 
He rose up again, putting his gun away as he turned his attention toward Burt
again. “Got that, boys?”
 
Kurt’s eyes locked onto his father’s for a moment – and his heart sank with a
deep, inexplicable sense of disappointment at what he read there. Until that
moment, he realized, though it was utterly foolish – a little part of him had
still believed that this wasn’t actually going to happen.
 
No, before it could, his father would manage to break the bonds that held him,
and then he would close the distance between himself and the villain
threatening his son and disarm the man in another instant’s time, unleashing
his fury on the menace to his family’s safety and sanctity and leaving the man
a whimpering, begging wreck, crumpled on the floor.
 
“I’d never let anything happen to you, kid,” Burt would reassure him.
 
“I know,” he’d respond without hesitation, looking into his father’s eyes with
full confidence that it would always be true.
 
But all Kurt saw in his father’s eyes in that moment was helpless fear and a
desperate rage that was as impotent as his efforts to break through the tape
and leather that bound him. Burt looked up at the man behind Kurt, his eyes
blazing with such a breathtaking hate that Kurt had to look away – because as
powerful as that hatred was, he knew that it couldn’t save him.
 
His father couldn’t save him – now, when he needed it most – and that sudden,
painful certainty was just a violation of a different sort.
 
Don’t… don’t think about it. Just… justsurvive. Just… do whatever you have to
do to get through this, and… and we’ll be okay… we’ll bealive.
 
We have to be…
 
“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, I… I get it.”
 
He blinked back the tears that filled his eyes, forcing himself to look into
his father’s eyes, his chest shuddering with the humiliation that burned though
him. But in that moment, when their eyes met, Kurt’s breath caught in his
throat – the hate was gone from his father’s eyes, replaced instead with an
overwhelming love, reaching out to him across the distance – and suddenly, Kurt
couldn’t look away.
 
His father’s gaze had become his lifeline.
 
Rough hands gripped his hips, and Kurt jumped, his gaze instinctively darting
backward before he forced his eyes to his father’s again, hoping his attacker
hadn't noticed the momentary lapse.  His body was rigid as he struggled to
remain quiet and still, to not give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him
cry.
 
When it actually happened, Kurt screamed.
 
He couldn’t help it. The pain was worse than he could have imagined –
overwhelming, consuming, until there was nothing but the sheer agony that
coursed through him in fresh waves with every brutal thrust. Hot tears sprang
to his eyes, blurring his vision before they spilled down his cheeks – but he
didn’t take his gaze from his father’s face.
 
Burt’s bound arms were taut with useless effort as he struggled against his
bonds, with no success – but he never looked away, his tearful eyes blazing
with mingled love and rage. Burt tried to speak through the tape that covered
his mouth, but could only manage a hoarse, wordless sound of protest.
 
Kurt nearly sobbed with relief at the brief respite as the man abruptly stopped
moving behind him for a moment. But then, Kurt’s stomach lurched with fear as
the man’s words slowly filtered through the haze of his pain to register in his
mind.
 
“You know, Dad, you’re kinda killing my hard on, you know that? If you don’t
shut the fuck up, I can always just leave you here and take this party
elsewhere. Hit the road with your kid and finish up in a nameless road-side
motel a few hundred miles from here. Would you rather I do that instead?”
 
Kurt’s heart raced with panic, his eyes still locked onto his father’s. The
flash of fear in Burt Hummel’s eyes was obvious, and he immediately went still
and silent, shaking his head slowly.
 
“Good. That’s better.” The smirk on the man’s face was audible in his voice as
he delivered a pointed, deliberately vicious thrust into Kurt’s already
agonized body. “Yeah,” he groaned in pleasure, his breathless words punctuated
by each brutal thrust that followed. “You’re so tight, baby… I’m telling you…
worth this whole… damn wasted trip…”
 
Kurt’s face flushed with shame, and he fought back the urge to vomit, wanting
nothing more than just to die so that the utter humiliation would be over – but
he didn’t look away.
 
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the cruel fingers that clutched at
his bruised hips tightened, and the man let out a choked cry of pleasure. Kurt
felt a rush of wet heat inside him, and his stomach turned with disgust as he
realized what it was – but the feeling was quickly replaced with relief as the
man pulled out and released him, taking a step backward and allowing him to
slide down the side of the couch to collapse on the floor.
 
Kurt let out a whimper of pain as his battered body hit the floor, the soft
carpet doing nothing to ease the impact. As it faded, however, he became aware
of another sensation: a slow ooze of disgusting wetness, sliding out of him
onto the carpet, and he fought back a sob, his face burning with shame.
 
There’s going to be a stain there… a permanent reminder… I’ll never be able to
walk through this room again… never be able to use cooking oil in a bottle just
like that… God, never be able tolook in my father’s eyes again…without…
 
The cold steel of the gun, abruptly against his temple – the ominous click,
loud in the silence – scattered Kurt’s thoughts like dust on the breeze, and
his stomach dropped as the man pressed hard, pushing the side of his face back
against the arm of the sofa. He knew, in that moment, that this was it. There
was no chance – never had been any chance – that this man was going to leave
them alive when he left their house. Kurt’s breath caught in his throat as he
waited for the blast, for the pain – for the sweet, merciful nothingness that
would follow.
 
Instead, the man crouched down beside him, a cold smile of false sympathy on
his lips as he met Kurt’s eyes.
 
“Here’s what you’re gonna do, Kurt,” he stated softly, but with an edge of
steel to his words that left no room for argument. “You’re gonna stay right
here, on the floor in this room, for one hour before attempting to get any kind
of help. If you don’t wait – I’ll come back for you. Do you understand?”
 
Kurt didn’t understand, couldn’t quite comprehend what the man was saying. He
couldn’t quite believe that he actually meant to let them live – but he nodded
anyway in automatic obedience, his breath ragged and shallow as he struggled to
keep his shock and panic under some semblance of control – and failed
pathetically.
 
“I’ll come back, Kurt,” the man repeated softly, his free hand reaching out to
lightly caress up the inside of Kurt’s bare, trembling thigh. “I’ll come back…
and I’ll do this all again… and when I leave that time, there won’t be any
question: you and your dad will both be dead.” He paused a moment, studying
Kurt’s face with a cold scrutiny that made him quake inside, desperate to pull
away, and yet not daring to resist the deceptively gentle contact. “Do you
believe me, Kurt?” he asked in a soft, leading whisper.
 
Kurt did – completely.
 
He nodded shakily, swallowing back a sob and turning his face further into the
arm of the sofa in a vain attempt to hide.
 
“Good,” the man murmured, sliding his hand around to Kurt’s ass in a gesture of
twisted affection, before removing the gun and rising to his feet. “Good boy.”
 
Kurt raised his eyes uncertainly at the sound of the man’s retreating
footsteps, watching in numb disbelief as the man stepped carelessly over the
still form of his murdered partner and out into the darkness, but only after
locking and closing the door firmly behind him.
 
He’s gone… and we’re alive… and he’s gone, he left, and…
 
Kurt’s eyes burned with despairing tears as he tried to think of what happened
next – of going on after this, of what he’d see on his father’s face every
single time he looked at him from now on, of trying to get back to anything
remotely resembling normal, when everything he’d ever been had been ruthlessly
shattered in a few minutes’ time.
 
He couldn’t. It wasn’t possible.
 
God.
 
Why didn’t he just kill me?
 
****************************************************
 
Burt stared blankly at the front door for a long moment, unable to believe that
he was still alive – that the man had simply walked out without a second
glance. He found himself watching the door for a few moments, just waiting for
the man to come back in, laughing at the false hope he’d given them before
taking aim with his weapon and ending their lives.
 
But – he didn’t.

He's really gone. We made it. We're going to be okay...

Then, the quiet sound of Kurt’s soft, heartrending cries reached him from the
other side of the sofa, and Burt’s stomach dropped as he reconsidered his
assessment of their situation.
 
Kurt… my boy, my baby… what thatmonsterdid to him…
 
The aching, agonizing sound of Kurt’s despair tore at Burt’s heart, and all he
wanted in that moment was just to be with Kurt and hold him, to reassure him
that everything was going to be all right. He tried to speak through the tape
over his mouth, tried to get Kurt’s attention.

If he’d just come over here and untie me...
But the only response to Burt’s wordless attempts was the barely audible sound
of Kurt’s breathless sobs.
 
Burt struggled to work the tape off of his lips, pushing at it with his tongue,
rubbing it as hard as he could against the side of the couch next to him in an
attempt to pull it free. Frustration filled him as he found himself unable to
move the tape more than a millimeter at a time, and he thought again of how
easily Kurt could get him loose, if he’d just come out from his pitiful hiding
place on the other side of the sofa and help him.
 
All Burt wanted in that moment was just to get to his child, to make him know
that he was safe, that no one was going to hurt him any more; but the only
thing keeping Burt from his son at this point was his son – and that was the
most frustrating thing of all.
 
Burt gave up on the gag, and instead started pulling his wrists back and forth,
wearing the tape against the belt the man had used to bind his wrists to the
leg of the sofa. His jaw set with determination as he was rewarded at last with
a tiny tear in the tape – which was all he needed. He jerked on it again,
focusing on the weakness he’d created in the tape – and then again, and again,
and finally – the tape gave, and Burt’s hands were free.
 
He ignored the tingling burn in them as the blood rushed back into his fingers,
tearing the remnants of the tape off before reaching up to pull the tape off of
his mouth. It stung, but Burt barely noticed as he crawled awkwardly but
hurriedly on his hands and knees, closing the distance that separated him from
Kurt. His voice was hoarse and aching as he rounded the end of the sofa and his
son came into his view.
 
“Kurt…”
 
Kurt was huddled against the wall next to the sofa, his knees drawn up under
him, his wrists still bound behind his back, his entire body trembling
violently. At the sound of his father’s voice, he flinched, turning his face
away, his eyes tightly closed. Burt’s eyes were unwillingly drawn to the dark,
wet stain on the floor, half-under his son’s battered, exposed body. He
shuddered, looking away and trying not to focus on the vivid memory of what had
caused it.
 
“Kurt,” he tried again, his voice a little stronger this time. “Son, come here…
it’s all right, we’re safe now…”
 
Burt’s approach was cautious as he shuffled nearer to Kurt, reaching out a
slow, careful hand toward him. Kurt’s shoulder jerked under his hand, and Burt
almost withdrew, as tears sprang to his eyes. Instead, he laid his hand against
Kurt’s shoulder again, steadying and shushing him gently as he reached with his
other hand for the tape that bound Kurt’s wrists.
 
As the tape fell away, Kurt’s arms fell limply at his sides, and he stared down
at them blankly, as if not understanding why they were there, before looking up
at his dad through wide, stricken eyes. His lips parted, trembling, as he drew
in a deep, shuddering breath.
 
“Kurt,” Burt whispered again, edging in nearer. “Son… it’s all right now…”
 
Kurt blinked a few times, still visibly in shock, before slowly focusing on his
dad’s face – and immediately breaking down, his shoulders quaking with sobs as
he raised clumsy, numb hands in a pitiful attempt to hide his face. Burt moved
forward then, wrapping his arms around his son and pulling him cautiously
close. He was relieved when Kurt leaned into him, burying his face against his
father’s chest.
 
“I’m sorry,” he cried brokenly. “Dad, I’m so sorry!”
 
“Shh, no, Kurt,” Burt whispered, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t do anything
wrong. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault, son…”
 
“I sh-should’ve… h-helped you,” Kurt choked out. “I’m s-sorry…”
 
“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. All right? We’re…” Burt struggled over the words,
trying to put a conviction into them that he didn’t quite feel. “We’re both
going to be fine…” He was quiet for a moment before drawing back a little,
trying to meet Kurt’s eyes, though Kurt kept his head bowed, unwilling to lift
his gaze from the floor between them. “You’re in shock, Kurt. You’re hurt. We
need to get help…”
 
“No!” Kurt cried out, his wide, panicked eyes shooting up instantly to meet
Burt’s pleadingly. “No, we can’t, he’ll come back!”
 
Burt’s heart ached at the sheer terror on his son’s face, as he realized that
what to him had been a clear ploy to buy some getaway time, had to Kurt been a
deadly certain promise. The monster who’d terrorized them, who’d so brutally
violated his child, had Kurt convinced even after he’d left that he still held
all the power.
 
“No, he won’t, Kurt,” Burt assured him gently. “He’s long gone, I promise. It’s
all right.”
 
“Please,” Kurt sobbed, lowering his head again. “Please, don’t, he’ll come
back, he’ll do it again, don’t…”
 
“Son… it’s going to be all right, okay?” Burt insisted firmly, taking Kurt’s
shoulders in his hands and trying to meet his eyes. “You have to trust me… all
right?”
 
Kurt nodded, but he was crying so hard that Burt wasn’t sure he’d heard him at
all.
 
“Okay. Now, I’m pretty sure he took your phone with him when he left, and
mine’s over in the shop. I’m gonna just walk over there real quick and come
right back…”
 
Kurt’s shaking hands suddenly clutched at Burt’s shirt, clinging to him
desperately, as he turned panicked eyes up to meet his father’s again. His
voice came out as a strangled, frantic plea, almost animalistic in its terror
and desperation.
 
“No, Daddy, please! Please don’t leave me!”
 
Burt felt his careful resolve to keep control of his own emotions quaking at
those words, and he nearly lost it – but he fought back the tears that sprang
to his eyes, swallowing back a sob as he wrapped his arms around his boy and
held him close, his voice low and gentle as he did his best to reassure him.
 
“I won’t, I won’t. I’m not going anywhere, all right? I’m not going anywhere
without you, baby… I promise…”
 
As the violent tremors that shook Kurt’s battered, exposed body began to
subside back to what was beginning to seem like a normal level, Burt carefully
loosed his grip on the boy and rose to his feet, whispering reassurance in
response to Kurt’s fearful whimper of protest.
 
“Not going anywhere, Kurt, I promise… just getting a blanket for you… just a
second…”
 
Burt took the soft, fleecy throw blanket from the back of the sofa and wrapped
it carefully around Kurt’s shoulders, an immense feeling of relief flowing
through him at finally covering him. Then, he reached down to remove the
soiled, damp underwear and jeans that were still pooled around Kurt’s ankles,
setting them aside.

Evidence… we’ll need those later.

Carefully, so gently, aware that the slightest wrong touch might cause him more
pain, Burt slid his arm down the length of the blanket over Kurt’s back, and
then smoothed it down under his legs, leaving his arm under the bend of Kurt’s
knees for a moment, allowing him to get used to the contact.
 
“Okay,” he whispered at last. “Okay, Kurt… I want you to put your arms around
my neck, all right? I’m gonna get you up. Just hold onto me, baby, all right?”
 
Kurt nodded against his shoulder, and obediently raised shaking arms to wrap
around his father’s neck, clinging to him like a small child as Burt braced his
elbow against the sofa, one arm around Kurt’s back and the other under his
knees as he awkwardly, painfully struggled to his feet. Once he had regained
his balance, he started toward the door. He managed to get it unlocked and turn
the handle with one hand, and then they were outside, in the cool, night that
seemed so eerily untouched by the personal tragedy that had just befallen them.
 
The first thing Burt noticed was his truck, still parked right in front of the
house – and with the keys still in the ignition.

Thank God.

Burt opened the passenger side door and gently set Kurt inside, feeling a sharp
pang of guilt as Kurt winced at the contact, letting out a pained little
whimper.
 
“Shh, it’s gonna be all right,” Burt assured him, running one hand tenderly
through his messy, sweat-matted hair, his heart aching when Kurt’s face turned
into his touch. “You’re gonna be okay… I promise…”
 
Burt buckled the seat belt around Kurt before going around to the driver’s side
and getting in, then starting the engine. As he headed down the driveway and
then made the turn toward downtown Lima and the single hospital the town had,
Burt Hummel watched his suffering son out of the corner of his eye, and
silently prayed that he would be able to keep his promise.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Burt’s truck had barely come to a stop in the ambulance bay directly in front
of the Emergency Room entrance before he was opening the door and getting out,
rushing around to the passenger side to unfasten Kurt’s seat belt and lift the
semi-conscious boy into his arms.
 
Kurt let out a pitiful little sound that was something between a sob and a
whimper of pain at being moved. His arm around Burt’s shoulders was alarmingly
slack, but the trembling fingers of his free hand tangled in the front of his
father’s shirt, clinging to him desperately. Kurt hid his face against the
soft, worn flannel of his father’s shirt, mouthing weak words that Burt felt
more than heard.
 
“Daddy, please… please…”
 
The words tore at Burt’s heart, though he couldn’t know what it was exactly
that his child was asking for.
 
Anything… I’ll give you anything… oh God, my baby…
 
“It’s all right,” Burt whispered, brushing his lips against Kurt’s damp,
disheveled hairline as he steadied his son’s weight in his arms. “It’s all
right, Kurt, we’re here… everything’s gonna be okay, son…”
 
Burt’s eyes were drawn unbidden toward the dark, wet stain that soiled the seat
where Kurt had rested, but he forced himself to look away from it and focus
instead on the task at hand: getting help for his injured, traumatized son as
quickly as possible. Judging by his past experience with Lima General’s
Emergency Room, Burt already had rather dubious expectations.
 
He was surprised and relieved when, even before he’d reached the check-in
window, the young woman behind the counter had picked up her telephone and
punched in a couple of numbers.
 
“Yes, I’m going to need a bed out here immediately. Thank you.” She rose to her
feet behind the counter, leaning forward to get a better look at Kurt before
meeting Burt’s eyes sharply. “What happened?”
 
Burt was startled by the suspicion in her tone, but he supposed it was a rather
normal reaction. His gaze fell once more onto his son, cradled close in his
arms, but trembling violently, whimpering with what might have been pain, or
might have been fearful pleading. Kurt’s face was badly bruised, as if he’d
been severely beaten – and that wasn’t all that far from the truth.
 
This woman had simply pinpointed the wrong man as his abuser.
 
Burt knew that he’d done nothing wrong – Done nothing, all right… nothing to
help him while that animal tore into him and… andviolatedhim – but still, he
found himself stumbling over his words, his face flushing self-consciously as
he tried to explain.
 
“He was… attacked.”
 
“Attacked?” The woman’s tone remained dubious, as was her single raised
eyebrow. “Attacked by whom?”
 
“Not by me!” Burt snapped. “Can we do the third degree later, please? He needs
help!”
 
As if on cue, two orderlies arrived just then with a wheeled hospital bed
between them. Burt hesitated as they moved to take Kurt from his arms,
reluctant to relinquish his hold on his son to these strangers – even if the
care they offered was the very reason he’d come here in the first place. The
men were gentle and cautious as they tried to unwrap Kurt’s arm from around his
father and take his weight onto themselves, but Kurt just clung tighter to
Burt, letting out a soft whine of protest.
 
“No,” he whimpered. “Please, don’t… please, don’t…”
 
“Shhh,” Burt soothed him, leaning down over the bed to lay Kurt down himself,
assisted by one of the orderlies at either end. “It’s all right, son. You’re
safe…”
 
“D-don’t… don’t leave me…” Kurt’s whispered words were breathless and frantic,
his hands clenched in Burt’s shirt as he tried to draw back. “Please…”
 
“I’m not going anywhere, Kurt.” Burt kept his words steady and calm, struggling
to keep his own tears from his voice as he gently stroked Kurt’s hair back from
his face with one hand, the other reaching down to catch Kurt’s and gently
disentangle it from his shirt. “I’m right here, son. We just need to get you
taken care of, all right? I’ll be right here with you, the whole time. Not
going anywhere…”
 
“What happened?” The woman behind the counter had come around it now and was
standing beside the bed, but her tone had softened, and when Burt looked up, he
saw that she was taking in the scene with sorrowful, compassionate eyes, her
suspicions apparently allayed by the interaction she’d witnessed. “Sir, I’m
sorry, but I really need you to be more specific. What do you mean by
attacked?”
 
“These… these two men…” Burt swallowed hard, his throat suddenly feeling tight
and obstructed, barely able to force the words out. “They… they broke into our
house, and… and they…” He hesitated, unable to look at her, or at Kurt, as he
tried to go on. “They hurt him real bad. They – He –assaulted him.” Burt closed
his eyes for a moment, forcing out the final, crucial word in a voice that was
barely over a whisper. “Sexually.”
 
“Okay, we’re going to get him through triage and back into a private room as
quickly as possible, all right?” The young woman’s voice did not betray any
shock she might have felt as she reached over the counter and took some papers
attached to a clipboard from her desk. “We need to make sure that he’s stable
and not in any immediate, life-threatening danger before we do anything else.
Have you called the police, Mr….?”
 
“Hummel,” Burt supplied numbly, automatically. “And… n-no…” he stammered,
momentarily confused, unable to remember why he hadn’t yet done something so
obviously necessary. “My… my phone. I didn’t have my phone, and… and he took
Kurt’s, and…” He looked up at the woman suddenly, taking his keys from his
pocket and holding them out to her. “My car is parked in the ambulance bay.
There’s… evidence… on the seat. I think. I mean… he didn’t use…”
 
Burt suddenly felt sick, and couldn’t bring himself to go any further. He
raised the back of his free hand to his mouth, closing his eyes and shaking his
head as he tried to shut out the brutally vivid images that assailed his mind.
 
“Mr. Hummel. Mr. Hummel.”
 
The young woman’s firm but gentle voice drew his attention from his thoughts,
and Burt blinked at her distractedly. All traces of suspicion had long since
been lost in compassion in her eyes, and she spoke in a slow, clear tone,
compensating for his obvious shock and trauma-induced confusion.
 
“I’ll have someone move it for you, if that’s okay, so you don’t have to leave
your son. We’ll call the police as well, and when they arrive, you can let them
know about the… possible evidence, in the car. All right?”
 
Burt nodded, his shoulders falling in grateful relief, his eyes burning with
tears that he wouldn’t let fall – couldn’t, not as long as Kurt still needed
him to be strong, to reassure him, to protect him…
 
But you couldn’t… and you didn’t… and now there’s nothing you can do to fix
this…
 
He’s broken.
 
You let that monster break your son.
 
“Mr. Hummel,” the woman persisted.
 
“Y-yes?”
 
“Sir, are you all right?” she asked, frowning as she looked him over with
assessing eyes. “You’ve been bleeding, I can see. Were you hit in the head?”
 
Burt shook his head, waving a trembling, dismissive hand. “I’m fine. Just take
care of Kurt.”
 
“We should have you looked at, too…”
 
“Later,” Burt insisted, his voice a bit harsher than he intended. “I’m not
leaving him.”
 
“All right.” Her voice was calm and placating now. “You don’t appear to be at
any serious risk, so that’s fine. We can check you out once we’ve made sure
that Kurt is stable and taken care of. Now, I’m also going to need you to fill
out these forms…” She held up the clipboard, making sure he was watching as she
tucked it into a clear plastic pocket at the foot of the bed. “… but that can
wait. Our first priority is making sure that Kurt is all right. I’ll send these
with you, and once he’s resting, please fill them out as soon as you can.”
 
“Fine.”
 
But Burt was already looking away and focusing his full attention back on his
son. The orderly at the head of the bed gave him a questioning look, and Burt
nodded, gently squeezing Kurt’s hand in reassurance. The orderlies began to
move the bed toward a set of double doors leading out of the main ER waiting
room, and the boy opened his eyes in alarm at the unexpected movement,
momentarily panicked until he sought out his father’s face.
 
“Dad! Daddy, don’t… don’t leave…”
 
“Shhh,” Burt soothed him, his voice choked with unshed tears. “Now, come on,
buddy, I already told you… I’m not going anywhere, all right? I’m right here.”
 
“Wh-where are they… where are they taking me?” Kurt asked, and Burt was alarmed
by the slight slurring of the fearful question.
 
“Just gonna get you checked out, make sure you’re okay,” he assured Kurt
gently. “And wherever they take you, I’m coming too. Okay? I’m not leaving you,
not for a second.”
 
“O-okay,” Kurt whispered, his voice weak and breathless as he closed his eyes
again, his grip on his father’s hand almost painful, his knuckles white and
trembling around his father’s hand. “Okay…”
 
They stopped just inside a small, brightly lit room off to the side of the
waiting room, where a tall woman in a white lab coat introduced herself as
Tammy with a pleasant smile; and Burt followed in kind, though he couldn’t
quite manage to return it. She gently but efficiently checked Kurt’s vital
signs, her smile fading into a grim, taut line as she noted his pulse and
shined a small light into his eyes.
 
“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked, her words a little clearer, a little
more carefully precise than they would have been in ordinary conversation.
 
Burt frowned. He knew that she wasn’t asking because she didn’t already know.
 
Kurt frowned, his eyes squinted shut against the bright light, as he whispered,
“K-Kurt Hummel.”
 
Tammy nodded slowly. “Good. Can you tell me what year it is, Kurt?”
 
There was a tense, fearful moment when Kurt just frowned, shaking his head
slightly in confusion – but then he answered correctly, his whispered response
weak and uncertain.
 
“Very good.” Tammy’s tone was gentle and reassuring, but her expression was
serious as she directed her attention toward Burt. “It looks like he took a
couple of blows to the head during the attack. Is that right?”
 
Burt’s stomach lurched as the vivid memory of the pistol slamming down across
his son’s face suddenly filled his mind. He swallowed back the urge to vomit,
nodding slowly in response.
 
Tammy actually seemed relieved by that information, her shoulders falling
slightly as she let out a breath. “Then, that probably accounts for some of his
confusion. We’ll know more once he’s seen a doctor. He seems to be more or less
stable, but his pulse is a little weak. It’s probably due to blood loss, but we
won’t know for sure until he’s examined more thoroughly. At that point, the
doctor may decide he needs a transfusion, and we’ll need to run a blood test to
verify his blood type before doing that. At this point, though, I’m just going
to get a standard IV started to replace some of the fluids he’s lost and make
sure he’s hydrated. Then we’ll get the two of you into a private room, and go
from there. All right?”
 
Burt nodded, staring down at Kurt, who was shifting restlessly on the bed,
biting down on his lower lip, his face pale and contorted with pain.
 
“Just hurry,” Burt said softly. “He’s really hurting.”
 
“Of course,” Tammy agreed before turning back toward Kurt, making sure she had
his full attention before asking, “Are you right or left handed, sweetie?”.
 
“R-right,” Kurt murmured, and once again Burt was alarmed by the slowness and
slurring of his response.
 
“Okay, then I’m going to use your left hand for the IV, all right?” Tammy
explained softly. “Trust me, you’ll appreciate that when you’re feeling a
little better. And that means… I’m gonna need your hand, sweetie…”
 
Kurt let out a choked little whimper of protest as she tried to take his hand
from Burt’s, turning toward his father. “Dad,” he cried softly. “Dad, I n-
need…”
 
“Shh, I know, it’s all right,” Burt assured him, moving around the table and
crouching down beside it to wrap one arm around his son’s shoulders, holding
him close, while he took Kurt’s right hand in his. “It’s okay… I’m not going
anywhere. We just need to let her do what she has to do, okay? We have to let
her put the IV in. I’m right here, son, I’m right here…”
 
Kurt nodded, sniffling, tears streaking his face as he turned into his father’s
arm around him, burying his face in his father’s shirt and crying softly. He
jerked slightly with a little gasp as the needle went in, but didn’t otherwise
resist Tammy’s efforts – not until she finished with the IV and started to wrap
a soft strip of cloth around Kurt’s wrist, securing a narrow metal splint to
his arm.
 
Kurt tried to pull away then, drawing in a sharp, shuddering breath – but Burt
quickly reached across the bed and caught his arm, just above his wrist, gently
but firmly pinning it down to the mattress before he could dislodge the needle
and do further damage to himself.
 
“No, kiddo, you can’t do that, okay? You’re gonna hurt yourself…”
 
“W-why… why are they… why do I have to be…?” Kurt was breathless and panicked,
wide, wild eyes darting between Burt and Tammy in fearful confusion. “Why are
you… t-tying my hand down? Please…”
 
“No, no, sweetie,” Tammy assured him, her expression falling with dismay as she
realized what he’d thought. “No, Kurt, I’m not tying your hand down, honey.
You’ll be able to move your hand when I’m done, I promise, okay? Your arm will
be free to move as you want. I just can’t let the needle move, you see? I’m
just tying this splint onto your arm to make sure that it stays straight, and
the needle stays where it needs to be. Okay?”
 
Kurt blinked at her, still clearly not quite comprehending – but he didn’t try
to pull away again.
 
“I promise, Kurt, I’m not tying you up,” Tammy repeated, and Burt looked up in
surprise at the thick, hoarse sound of her voice, startled and touched to see
her eyes shining with tears. “We just need to make sure this needle doesn’t
come out, because that would really hurt. Okay?”
 
Kurt looked to his father, his gaze wary and uncertain.
 
Burt nodded encouragingly, forcing a smile to his lips. “It’s okay,” he
whispered. “Really, Kurt, it’s all right.” He paused, swallowing back the hard
knot that had formed in his throat as he added in a hoarse whisper, “I promise
– I’m not gonna let anybody hurt you again. All right?”
 
Kurt bit his lower lip, which was trembling dangerously, before finally nodding
and hiding his face against his dad’s shoulder again. He didn’t try to pull
away as Tammy cautiously resumed splinting his arm, carefully describing
everything she was doing as she did it so as not to further alarm him.
 
Once she was done, the orderlies returned and accompanied them to the promised
private room where they would wait for the doctor. And for the first time since
their dinner earlier that evening – an event which seemed now to have taken
place lifetimes ago – Burt and Kurt were alone.
 
But Burt was well aware that it wouldn’t last long.
 
There was a heaviness in the pit of his stomach that came with the knowledge
that Kurt’s ordeal had not yet ended for the night.
 
Burt pulled the chair beside Kurt’s bed as close as he could possibly get it –
a feat which wasn’t exactly easy considering that he had the use of only one
hand to do it – and then sat down beside his son, running the fingers of his
free hand through Kurt’s hair in a slow, soothing motion.
 
“It’s going to be okay, kiddo,” he whispered, though Kurt seemed to have
drifted off into sleep or unconsciousness, either of which might have been a
blessing at this point. “It’s gonna be okay.” More for his own benefit than for
Kurt’s, Burt echoed the promise he’d made minutes earlier, blinking back the
tears that stung his eyes. “I’m not gonna let anybody hurt you… not ever
again.”
***** Chapter 10 *****
Kurt was only asleep for a few minutes before he abruptly startled awake with a
hoarse, panicked little cry that made Burt feel shattered, helpless against the
nightmare memories that filled his son’s sleep – that would likely haunt him
for the rest of his life.
 
You let him down once… right when it mattered the most. And now, neither one of
you will ever be able to forget it…
 
Burt carefully sat down on the edge of the bed, as close beside Kurt as he
could get, cradling his head close to his chest, stroking his fingers through
his son’s hair and whispering meaningless reassurances, words he couldn’t
remember speaking the moment after they left his lips.
 
The quiet privacy of the room where the orderlies had left them was far more
soothing than the chaos of the ER waiting room, and much to his father’s
relief, Kurt quickly began to calm once he realized where he was, and that Burt
was there, and that he was safe.
 
Kurt’s sobs gradually subsided, but the trembling of his form – so small and
fragile in Burt’s arms – didn’t. Finally, Burt’s words fell away as well,
leaving the two of them alone with nothing but the silence of the room and the
cacophony of their own thoughts.
 
“Wh-what… what now?” Kurt whispered at last, the hoarse rasp of his voice
sounding harsh and somehow too loud in the silence. “What… what happens next?”
 
The edge of panic in his voice, silently, desperately pleading to be spared any
further suffering, tore at Burt’s heart – because he wasn’t sure he could spare
Kurt the pain and humiliation of what was to come.
 
“Well,” he began cautiously, his voice low and gentle, his arms around his son
instinctively, protectively tightening. “They’re going to need to… to do an
exam, kiddo. To… to make sure you don’t need… surgery or anything, you know?
They’ll have to check you out in order to know how to… to treat you.”
 
Kurt turned his face into his father’s shirt once more, shaking his head and
crying softly. “No,” he whimpered. “Please, Daddy, I don’t want them to t-touch
me, please… please d-don’t let them…”
 
“Kurt…” Burt’s heart sank, his voice breaking over his son’s name – because he
didn’t think he could grant Kurt the mercy he was pleading for. “Son, I think…
I think they haveto…”
 
“No,” Kurt cried. “I can’t… I can’t…”
 
“It’s going to be all right, buddy,” Burt whispered, holding Kurt’s head close
to his chest and brushing a kiss across the top of his head. “I promise, Kurt,
it’s going to be all right. They just want to make sure you’re all right… we
have to know that you’re all right, you know?”
 
Before Kurt could offer any response, a quick, sharp knock sounded on the door,
and Kurt flinched violently against Burt, who held him closer in response, even
as his gaze turned warily toward the door. The person who had knocked did not
wait for a response; instead, they pushed the door open and peered around it
for a moment before speaking.
 
“Hi. I’m Rodney, your night nurse. Okay if I come on in?”
 
“Yeah,” Burt replied, nodding a little distractedly, a disapproving frown
creasing his brow.
 
You’re already in, anyway, pal… what’s the use of asking now?
 
“How are we feeling?” Rodney asked, pushing a medical supply cart into the room
ahead of him and positioning it beside Kurt’s bed.
 
The vaguely impatient note in his voice suggested that he really wasn’t all
that concerned with the answer to his question – not that he was going to get
an answer, anyway. Kurt did not seem inclined to acknowledge the newcomer in
the slightest, his trembling hands just clinging to the soft flannel of Burt’s
shirt for dear life.
 
Rodney crossed around to the other side of the bed, checking the IV bags on the
stand next to it before taking the file from the chart at the end of the bed
and opening it. He frowned, annoyance clear in his pursed lips and furrowed
brow, and Burt felt an irrational sense of embarrassment as he realized that it
was probably because the thing was next to empty, due to his lack of having
filled out any paperwork of any kind thus far.
 
That’s not important right now. What’s important is that Kurt needs you close…
 
The disapproving look on Rodney’s face as he glanced at them suggested
otherwise, but the way Kurt was currently hanging on to Burt’s shirt so
tightly, his face so buried against Burt’s chest that it was as if he was
trying to literally burrow inside of him to hide – suddenly, there was no doubt
in Burt’s mind whatsoever that his priorities were exactly as they should be.
 
“So, I’m going to go ahead and attach this little device here to his finger,”
Rodney explained, holding up a tiny little clip that was vaguely familiar to
Burt from his own time spent in Lima Memorial. “It’ll measure his blood oxygen
level and alert us early if there’s any major problems with his breathing,
etcetera.”
 
Burt frowned as the young man moved around the bed again, moving closer to
Kurt. Something about Rodney’s manner troubled Burt, though he couldn’t quite
put his finger on it. Then Rodney reached out, without any further warning, to
take Kurt’s arm – and Kurt flinched, a choked, pleading whimper leaving his
lips as he jerked his arm away.
 
“No, no, don’t touch me, please don’t touch me,” he cried, his words coming out
in a shaky, breathless rush. “Daddy, d-don’t let him… don’t…”
 
“He’s not gonna hurt you, Kurt,” Burt whispered, his arm around Kurt squeezing
gently as his free hand cradled Kurt’s head, trembling fingers running
soothingly through his hair. “Come on, kiddo, he just wants to help…”
 
Rodney took a step back, letting out a barely audible little huff of impatient
breath, the arm that had reached out toward Kurt now crossed over his chest as
he surveyed the situation with barely disguised frustration.
 
“Okay, so… this is nothing,” he pointed out. “This little clip thing. It
doesn’t hurt. It just goes on his finger.” He hesitated, an apologetic grimace
on his lips as he concluded, “If we can’t even get that far – the exam I’m here
to perform is… considerably more invasive, so… we’re going to have to figure
something out here.”
 
“Could you just be a little bit patient?” Burt snapped, his arms instinctively
tightening, protective and sheltering around his son’s trembling body. “He’s
been through a lot tonight…”
 
“I know, and I’d really like to make sure there’s no life-threatening damage
from what he’s been through,” Rodney countered, his tone a little too slow and
his smile a little too condescending to be genuinely concerned. “So if you
wouldn’t mind helping me out with that…”
 
“No,” Kurt whispered, and Burt felt the vibration of the word against his chest
more than he actually heard it. “Please, Dad, please don’t let him…”
 
“It’s okay,” Burt assured him, his voice hushed and private before he looked up
to address Rodney again. “Look, he really doesn’t want to do this. I know
you’re telling me it’s what has to be done, but… after what’s h-happened…” Burt
hated the catch in his voice over the words, but swallowed hard, forcing
himself to go on. “… I… I can’t just… just take this choice away from him…”
 
“How old is he?” Rodney asked, a single brow raised speculatively.
 
Burt frowned. “Sixteen. Why?”
 
Rodney looked up to meet Burt’s eyes, hesitating just a moment before
explaining, “Then… it’s not his choice to begin with. It’s yours.”
 
Burt’s heart lurched at those words, and he stared down at his son’s damaged,
violated body on the bed in front of him, felt Kurt’s head shaking back and
forth against his chest. A quiet horror trickled through his veins at the very
thought of forcing Kurt to submit to another stranger touching him – cold,
clinical hands exploring his body against his will. Tears prickled at the backs
of his eyes as Kurt’s hands in his shirt tightened, and he whimpered
pleadingly, his desperate words barely audible.
 
“Please, Daddy, don’t… please don’t make me… please…”
 
And all at once, Burt realized what it was that had so bothered him about
Rodney from the moment he’d walked through the door.
 
For all he’d said, not once had Rodney had the grace or compassion to actually
speak to Kurt.
 
“My choice,” Burt echoed, nodding slowly, as if considering. He felt Kurt
flinch against him, and instinctively ran a soothing hand slowly up and down
his back in silent reassurance. “Fine, then.” He looked up at Rodney, his tone
hardening as he concluded, “My choice is to see someone else.”
 
“Excuse me?” Rodney raised a single eyebrow, offended.
 
“You heard me. I’d like for Kurt to see another nurse.” He considered for a
moment before adding, “Preferably a woman.”
 
“This is my wing tonight,” Rodney objected. “And I never said you had to make
the choice one way or the other…”
 
“Well, I just did.” Burt cut him off sharply. “Now get the hell out.”
 
Sputtering indignantly under his breath, Rodney stalked out of the room,
leaving the medical table behind. Burt felt a fresh surge of anger as the door
closed much harder than was necessary behind him, and Kurt’s body jerked
against him with alarm.
 
“Shhh,” he whispered, pulling Kurt closer against him. “Shhh, it’s all right.
I’d never do that to you, son,” he promised softly, reaching one hand down to
tilt Kurt’s tear-stained face up to meet his eyes. “Whatever happens,” he
continued, taking a deep breath and momentarily hesitating over the words.
“Whatever happens… it’s going to be your choice, yeah? Nothing you don’t want.”
 
Kurt nodded tearfully, his lower lip trembling pitifully as he tried to hide
his face again – but Burt couldn’t let him, not yet. He gently but firmly held
Kurt up by the shoulders as he continued with carefully measured words.
 
“Now – we’re here so the doctors and nurses and all can take care of you.
That’s why we camehere, Kurt. And I want you to get taken care of. Don’t make
any mistake about that. But… but it has to be your choice, kiddo. I can’t –
can’t force you to…” His voice broke off, and he shook his head, looking away
and fighting back tears.
 
… can’t force you to do anything, to – to go through anything else. Not now,
not anymore.
 
And maybe that makes me a bad father, but… so help me, I just can’t.
 
A few minutes after Rodney left, there was a second knock on the door. Burt
automatically tensed, bracing himself for another intrusion – but no one
entered until he warily called out.
 
“Come in.”
The woman who entered looked to be about his age, with shoulder-length blonde
hair streaked with silver and warm, dark eyes over a sad, sympathetic smile of
greeting.
 
“Hi.” She offered her hand to Burt, and he tentatively raised one hand from
Kurt’s back to take it. “I’m Mary. I heard you prefer to see a female nurse
tonight?”
 
“That’s right,” Burt confirmed with a nod. “I’m Burt Hummel. And this is my
son, Kurt.”
 
Mary’s expression softened visibly as her gaze lowered to take in the pitiful
sight that Kurt made at the moment, huddled on his side on the hospital bed,
tiny and trembling and apparently trying to crawl inside his father and hide.
She made no effort to get between the two of them or to get Burt to back off as
she crouched at the side of the bed, bringing herself to eye level with Kurt –
if he’d been looking up, anyway.
 
“Hey,” she said softly, not reaching out to touch him in any way, and the
hushed, gentle tone of her voice reminded Burt of someone trying not to startle
a skittish, wounded animal. “Kurt, I’m Mary.” She paused for a moment, choosing
her words carefully as she continued, “I know you really don’t want to be here.
I know you’ve had a terrible night – and a terrible thing has happened to you.
But – my job is to help you feel better, sweetie. And that’s all I want to do.”
 
Kurt did not reply, but Burt noticed with guarded optimism that he’d gone still
against him, not trembling so much, his muffled cries dying away as he,
hopefully, listened to what she was saying.
 
“I’m not going to touch you unless you tell me I can, okay, Kurt?” Mary
continued. “I just want to talk to you for a minute. Would that be okay? Will
you look up for a minute and talk to me?”
 
Kurt didn’t move or make a sound for a long tense moment, and Burt could feel
the thick, heavy weight of his fear and indecision as his fingers worked
nervously in the fabric of Burt’s shirt, twisting it and pressing it between
them. Finally, with nerve-wracking caution, Kurt raised his head, not letting
go of his father as he turned his face toward Mary. His red-rimmed eyes were
still focused on the bed rather than on her, and his hair was a mess, falling
into his eyes and damp with sweat and tears – but at least he wasn’t trying to
hide anymore.
 
He nodded slowly, biting his lower lip. “O-okay,” he whispered, his voice a
hoarse, hesitant whisper. “I th-think that’d be… that’d be all right.”
***** Chapter 11 *****
“So – about the worst thing I could ask right now is how
you’re feeling,” Mary observed, her tone mild and disarming. “But if I can do
anything to make you feel even a little better, Kurt – that’s my job. That’s
what I’m here for. So – what I’d like you to tell me right now is – what I can
do for you. What you need from me, right now. Can you do that?”
 
 
 
Kurt stared down at the thin, coarse blanket that covered
his legs, the fingers of one hand working nervously against the fabric, his
other hand still clenched painfully tight in the much softer flannel of his
father’s shirt. Burt’s arm around him, the warm, soft pressure of his body
beside Kurt on the bed, made him feel a little safer, a little more secure –
but his body was still in agony, his mind still tormented by vivid images that
were barely old enough to be memories – and in spite of her kindness, he didn’t
know how to answer her question, what Mary or anyone else could do to help him
at this point.
 
 
 
“I just want to go h-home,” he blurted out at last – but his
voice broke on the last word, and suddenly he was crying again, overwhelmed by
the horrifying reality of how drastically his entire world had changed in the
past few hours.
 
 
 

Home is where it happened – where he was, and
where he – where he did…
 
 
 
“Shhh, baby… you’re safe now, son… it’s all right…”
 
 
 
His father’s voice was low and gruff and so, so familiar and
comforting, and Kurt buried his face against his shirt again, his shoulders
shaking with fresh sobs. No one said anything for a couple of minutes, and Kurt
struggled to pull himself together, painfully aware that he was not the only
one who’d suffered a traumatic ordeal this night, and that he was only making
this so much harder on his father by falling apart like a child every other
minute or so. His breath caught in his throat as he struggled to return it to a
normal pace, letting it out in a shuddering sob.
 
 
 
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I – I’m n-not trying
to…”
 
 
 
“It’s all right,” Mary assured him, her voice reflecting
surprise at his apology – and somehow, that surprise was more reassuring than
sympathy would have been. “Honey, you have nothing to be sorry for. It’s my job
to be here and take care of you, and to be honest, I’d be more worried if you
weren’t
a little bit of a mess right now, you know?”
 
 
 
Kurt nodded, biting his lower lip. “O-okay…”
 
 
 
“Now… I know you want to get home, sweetie, and I’m gonna do
everything I can to make sure that happens as soon as possible,” Mary continued
gently. “But I’m going to need you to help me with that, all right?”
 
 
 
Kurt nodded again, reluctantly turning his head to face her
again, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her eyes just yet.
 
 
 
“Now, I know you’ve already been through a lot tonight, and
you probably just want to be left alone, but – you know I can’t really do that,
right?” Her tone was sympathetic, apologetic, but her words made Kurt’s heart
clench, and his stomach lurched with fear.
 
 
 
“I d-don’t want anybody else to touch me,” he whispered,
hating himself for the weak, tremulous sound of his own voice. “Please…
please don’t touch me…”
 
 
 
“Well, ultimately, that’s up to you, sweetheart,” Mary
assured him, and just those words alone were a tremendous comfort. “It’s your
decision – and I’m not going to do anything to you unless you say it’s okay.”
She was quiet for a moment before continuing, her words cautious and measured,
“But… it’s also part of my job to make sure that you understand the risks of
either decision. All right?”
 
 
 
Kurt nodded, accepting her words – because as long as she
was still talking, at least she wasn’t touching him, wasn’t putting her hands
where his hands had been, looking at the torn wreckage of his body that he
had left behind.
 
 
 
“You could go home right now, and your dad could try his
best to take care of your injuries on his own there, but – and this is assuming
you don’t need stitches, which we honestly don’t know for sure yet – that would
involve cleaning the injured area, applying medications, dressings… and I don’t
think that you really want him trying to do all that, do you?”
 
 
 
Kurt felt his face flush with shame at the very idea of his
father looking at him there, touching him, awkwardly trying to apply
medications and bandages and all the while trying not to think about what had
caused those injuries – the agonizing creation of them that he’d witnessed.
 
 
 

God… he’s never going to forget… I’m never going
to forget…
 
 
 
“And then,” Mary continued softly, “there’s the fact that a
home environment is never as sterile as the environment we can create here.
Your dad seems like a wonderful person, and I know he’d do his best to take
care of you – but the fact is he’s not a professional, and one little mistake –
one time that he forgets to sterilize anything could end up with you
back here, not just for tonight but for a couple of weeks, with a very
unpleasant infection.”
 
 
 
Kurt swallowed hard, a knot beginning to form in his stomach
as he considered the implications of her words.
 
 
 
“This is an awful thing to have to ask you, Kurt,” Mary went
on, her voice low and gentle, “but did the man who did this wear a condom?”
 
 
 
Kurt’s heart lurched, and he flinched against his father’s
chest, shaking his head. “I-I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t – don’t think
so… I’m not sure…”
 
 
 
“No.” Burt’s voice was hoarse and painfully broken above his
head, and Kurt felt fresh tears rising in his eyes at the sound of it. “He
didn’t.”
 
 
 
“Okay.” Mary’s voice was level and measured. “Then we need
to check whatever – evidence was left behind in the attack to make sure that he
doesn’t have any STIs that he might have passed on to you. We’re going to give
you some retrovirals while you’re here, and some to take home, to make sure
that any chance of HIV infection is eliminated or at least reduced… but we need
the sample to make sure you’re not going to get sick…” She paused, and when she
went on there was a sharp, subtly angry note to her voice. “… not to mention
submitting it to the police to see if they can match it, and try to put the
bastard away for this.”
 
 
 

STIs? HIV? What did hedoto me?

God… no wonder I feel so disgusting and dirty…
 
 
“Or you know… you could choose to stay for just a little
while longer. Let me perform the exam. I can’t promise you that it won’t hurt a
little, and I can’t promise you that it’ll be easy – but I can promise you that
I’ll make it go as quickly as possible, and I’ll do my best not to cause you
any more pain than you’re already in. And if you don’t want me to do it, then I
can always get you someone else. However you’re most comfortable.”
 
 
 
Kurt was quiet, just struggling to take it all in. It was
overwhelming, too much information, and far too personal a discussion to be
having with a total stranger – and yet he knew that she was right. The risks of
simply going home and trying to forget this had ever happened were just too
great.
 
 
 
He shook his head, swallowing hard to dampen his dry, aching
throat. “I w-want – I want you to do it,” he whispered, hiding his face again.
 
 
 
“Yeah.” Burt’s voice was heavy with relief, and Kurt felt a
fresh wave of guilt as he realized how much he’d been worrying his father with
his stubborn refusal of the exam thus far. “Yeah, you’re – you’re the only
person in this damn hospital so far who’s treated him like a person.”
 
 
 
Mary reached out carefully across the mattress, bringing her
hand to within his line of vision, then waiting. Kurt looked up at last to meet
her eyes and saw the cautious question there. He nodded slowly, and Mary
completed the motion, reaching out to rest her hand over his. It was warm and
soft and motherly, and made Kurt’s heart ache with a completely different sense
of loss.
 
 
 
“I’m so sorry about that,” she replied, with unmistakable
sincerity in her voice. “But if that’s how you both feel, then I promise you –
I’ll be the one to do the exam. I’ll talk you through it, make sure you know
what’s going on the whole time, and assuming that there’s no surgery or
stitches necessary – no one else will touch you tonight. All right? Would that
make you feel a little bit safer?”
 
 
 
Kurt nodded, feeling a strange mixture of fear and relief –
because he knew that with that simple gesture, he was agreeing to allow this
further invasion, this gentle, necessary violation. Mary was kind and gentle,
and far more reassuring than anyone else he’d encountered in this hospital thus
far – but he still didn’t want to be touched, not by anyone. At the moment, he
couldn’t stand the thought of any hands on him that were not his father’s.
 
 
 

And it doesn’t matter how nice she tries to be… Kurt
realized, his heart sinking with despair. Here, at home, anywhere – I’m
never going to feel safe again…
 

 
 
*****************************************************
 
 
 
Kurt was strangely quiet throughout the examination. He
didn’t cry, and he barely made a sound, even when Burt knew that, despite
Mary’s best efforts, she was hurting him – but his entire body was rigid the
entire time, his face never lifting from its hiding place against Burt’s chest.
His hands were trembling, white-knuckled, tangled in the soft fabric, and Burt
could feel the flushed heat of his face even through his shirt.
 
 
 
Mary warned him before she touched him, every single time,
telling him in detail exactly what she was doing and why; and it did
seem to help a little. Kurt would nod or whisper a timid, “okay”, but he didn’t
cry out, and every flinch, every shuddered, sharp intake of breath, was only a
fresh reminder of the torment that Kurt had gone through, and the fact that it
was far from over.
 
 
 
He knew that for his son, this was just another piece of a
horrific night filled with humiliation – and that knowledge broke his heart.
 
 
 
Kurt’s eyes might have been dry throughout the entire exam,
but Burt could not claim the same strength. Every time he felt Kurt’s slender
frame jerk against him, every time he heard a barely audible, muffled whimper
against his chest, Burt felt as if he was being stabbed through the heart. He
just held his boy in his arms helplessly, wishing there was something he could
offer besides meaningless, soothing words and the reassurance of his embrace,
to ease Kurt’s pain and undo the damage that had been done.
 
 
 
But there was nothing he could do. He was
helpless in the face of this – and it was more than he could stand.
 
 
 
When Mary was finished with the examination – to Burt’s
relief, a mere thirty minutes later – she administered a strong dose of
painkillers to ease Kurt’s suffering and help him sleep. Mercifully, the drugs
knocked him out within minutes – and Burt was left alone with the heavy
silence, too empty and open to the dark onslaught of his thoughts.
 
 
 
He took up the paperwork from the folder he’d been given at
the front desk and dutifully filled it out, then stepped out into the hall and
handed it off to an orderly on her way back to the lobby.
 
 
 
A few minutes later, the police showed up. Apparently,
they’d been in the lobby since a few minutes after Burt and Kurt had arrived,
but had been told that Kurt was being examined and they would have to wait
until the examination was over. They seemed disappointed to find their key
witness unconscious, but Burt quickly filled them in on the events of the night
– using as little detail as possible for the worst parts of it, though every
fractional perception of every moment was seared vividly into his mind.
 
 
 
The police were particularly interested in the body that
Burt told them they would find on the floor of his living room. One of the
officers kept talking to Burt, asking him questions about the robbery and how
the murder had happened, while the other immediately stepped out of the room,
talking into his handheld radio.
 
 

Great… we’re gonna come home to a house that’s nothing more than a taped
off crime scene…
 
 
“If there’s someplace else you can stay tonight – maybe a
hotel,” one of the officers suggested apologetically, “If money’s an issue, the
department can put you up for the night…”
 
 
 
“I – I don’t plan to go anywhere,” Burt assured them,
turning his gaze toward his, at last, peacefully sleeping son. “I’ll be here as
long as he is.”
 
 
 
“Good.” The officer nodded. “It’ll take the crime scene crew
until tomorrow to go through the place and collect evidence, but you should be
okay to stay at home again by tomorrow night.”
 
 
 
“Thank you.” Burt’s reply was automatic, emotionless.
 
 
 
“We’re obviously going to need to speak with your son as
well,” the officer added hesitantly, his tone regretful and sympathetic. “That
can wait until he’s feeling a little better – but I’m afraid we can’t wait
long, Mr. Hummel. If he’s released from the hospital tomorrow, we’d really
appreciate your bringing him by on the way home, before you settle in…”
 
 
 
A shudder of apprehension went through Burt, as he suddenly
wondered whether or not it would be possible to “settle in” at all, to the
house where Kurt had been brutally raped and violated.
 
 
 
Burt told the officers where to find Kurt’s clothes inside,
and they finally left a little past midnight. Burt settled down on the sofa on
the other side of the room, resigned to the fact that he would be spending at
least one night there, and possibly more.
 
 
 
It was nearly three in the morning before he finally dozed
off to a fitful, restless sleep.
 
 
 
*******************************************
 
 
 
“Burt? Burt, honey, wake up!”
 
 
 
The warm, familiar voice drew Burt out of his blessedly
dreamless sleep, and he sat up on the sofa, blinking around for a moment,
disoriented. At last his vision came into focus on Carole’s worried face inches
from his own.
 
 
 
“Burt?” she repeated, her eyes wide and fearful as a gentle
hand rose to cup his cheek. “Why is Kurt here, honey? What happened to you
two?”
 
 
 
As awareness slowly drifted back to Burt’s mind, it hit him
with the force of a freight train that in all the chaos, in all the panicked
urgency to get his son to help as quickly as possible, and then to make sure
that he was all right – Burt had completely, entirely forgotten Carole.
 
 
 
The woman he’d married, her son that was becoming like his
own, had completely slipped his mind, and he’d gone back to the way he’d been
so used to seeing the world before he’d met Carole – him and Kurt, the center
of each other’s universe – the only thing that mattered in the world.
 
 
 
“Neither of you were answering your phones,” Carole
explained, sinking down on the couch beside him and reaching out to clasp his
hand. “So Finn and I – we were… worried.”
 
 
 
Burt’s guilt intensified with the certain knowledge of what
she didn’t have to say – that the reason they’d been worried was his heart.
 
 
 

She spent that four-hour drive scared to death that I was
dead or dying – and I didn’t so much as remember she existed…
 
 
 
“So we decided to come on home, and – and when we got to the
house, the police were there.” The fear of that moment was still lingering in
Carole’s eyes, and Burt instinctively, reassuringly squeezed her hand. “They
told us that Kurt had been admitted to the hospital, but – but they
wouldn’t tell us anything else.”
 
 
 
“I’m sorry, I just – it all happened so fast, and… and I
didn’t… didn’t think…”
 
 
 
Carole’s gaze drifted toward the bed, and Burt’s followed
hers, surprised – though he supposed in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t
have been – to see Finn sitting in the chair he’d vacated beside Kurt’s bed. He
was staring down at the smaller boy – his little brother – with wide eyes and a
worried, fearful frown. As Burt watched, Finn reached out toward Kurt’s still,
pale arm – and before he knew it, without any conscious thought or intent, Burt
was up and across the room, catching Finn’s hand and pulling it away before he
could make contact.
 
 
 
“Don’t touch him!” he barked.
 
 
 
Finn flinched, pulling his hand away and staring at Burt
through wide eyes – and Burt flinched too when he felt Carole’s hand on his
arm.
 
 
 
“I – I wasn’t going to – to hurthim or anything…”
Finn insisted, his expression defensive and bewildered, and a little wounded.
 
 
 
“Burt? Honey, what – what is it?”
 
 
 
“He just – I’m sorry, he just…” Burt felt the pressure of
the entire night building up inside him, and suddenly he was in tears, and not
the silent ones he’d shed during Kurt’s exam – the kind that shook his body
with sobs and made him feel as if he was shattering apart inside. “He doesn’t
want… doesn’t want anyone to touch him…”
 
 
 
He sank down into the chair from which Finn had just risen,
covering his face with his hands – and Carole moved Finn away, crouching down
in front of him and taking one of his hands in both of hers. Her voice was
hushed with a quiet sense of rising horrified realization as she spoke to him
with gentle caution, as if afraid to spook him.
 
 
 
“Burt – Burt, honey,” she whispered, searching his face with
wide, worried eyes, touched with the beginnings of unwelcome understanding.
“Tell me what happened to Kurt.”
***** Chapter 12 *****
He couldn’t see.
Nothing but darkness surrounded him, black and empty – and he couldn’t seem to
open his eyes, couldn’t tell where he was or how much time had passed or
whether any had passed at all.
 
Indeed, it seemed that no time had passed, after all – because although he
couldn’t see, Kurt could definitely feel.
 
Cruel, grasping hands biting into his hips, sharp nails digging into his skin
and holding him in place, preventing his weak, futile attempts at escape – the
hot, damp rush of breath in his ear as a harsh, gloating voice whispered
vicious words against the back of his neck, threats and degradations, but worst
of all were the softly sneered pseudo-compliments, a mockery of praise that
made Kurt feel hot with shame, sick with humiliation.
 
So pretty… such a good, pretty little slut… 
You can’t be a virgin… must have lied… too good a fuck for that, aren’t you?
 
Daddy must beso proud…
 
“No!” Kurt sobbed out, though he barely recognized the hoarse, weak rasp that
left his dry, burning lips. “No, stop… stop… please… please… please d-don’t let
him…”
 
He flinched away from the soft warmth of hands coming to rest on his arm and on
his face, brushing back the hair across his forehead. He frowned, distressed,
struggling to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt too heavy to allow it.
 
But after a moment, he realized that the touch was gentle and cautious, and
nothing even close to resembling the harsh, violent hands that filled his
nightmares. However, the hand caressing, feather-light and so gentle against
his face, was definitely not his father’s hand, either.
 
Soft and warm and feminine, like the soothing, hushed voice that spoke to him
from somewhere close, but not tooclose, not right up in his face like the
vicious whisper that filled his dreams. Reassuring and familiar, like something
that had once been so ordinary, a part of his every day, but now… now…
 
It can’t be… it’s not… not possible… 
… but… this is a dream, right? This can’t be real... because then,all of it
wouldbe real, and... and it can't be… so... then... maybe she’s… maybe she can
be here…
 
His heart aching with desperate longing, Kurt turned unconsciously into the
cool, gentle fingers that brushed against his brow, a hesitant, hoarse whisper
falling from his lips.
 
“M-Mama?”
 
****************************************
********
 
Carole froze, something clenching tight in her chest at the single,
heartbreakingly hopeful word that Kurt had just whispered. She felt an
inexplicable sense of guilt, and a deep ache of regret that she wasn’t,
couldn’t be who Kurt, in his drugged, disoriented state, had mistaken her to
be.
 
Who he needed her to be.
 
“No,” she murmured, her eyes burning with the tears that slipped down her
cheeks as she took his hand in hers. “No, sweetheart… it’s Carole. But… I’m
here, Kurt, and… and you’re safe, and everything’s going to be all right…”
 
Kurt’s frown deepened for a moment, as if he was struggling to comprehend the
meaning of her words, before he blinked a couple of times, his eyes squinting
shut against the muted sunlight that was filtered through the half-drawn
blinds. His small, slender hand tightened around hers for a moment as he
shifted restlessly on the bed, then finally opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused
and a little lost until it finally settled on her. He swallowed, wincing as if
it was difficult or painful, before speaking again, though this time his voice
was a little more steady, more present.
 
“Dad?”
 
The word was a question, not a soft, hopeful plea like the other word – the
word that still rang like an accusation in Carole’s mind – had been.
 
“I finally talked him into going to get something to eat and take a little nap,
after – after the doctor said they’d rather you stayed another night.”
 
She grimaced, immediately regretting her words as Kurt’s eyes widened slightly,
and his lips parted in automatic protest as he started to shake his head. There
had to have been a better way to break that news to him, but it was too late
now.
 
“Sweetie, they just want to wait for all of the test results to come back first
– make sure you don’t have any internal injuries that might show up later, or
need any more treatment.” Carole gently squeezed his hand, encouraged by the
fact that he didn’t take advantage of her pause to voice his protest. “It’s
just one more night, Kurt. And your dad will be here with you tonight. That’s
the only reason he agreed to go home for a little while now.”
 
Kurt wouldn’t look at her – hadn’t looked at her once since he’d awakened –
just stared down at the blanket that covered him, his lips parted but silent,
as if he still didn’t want to accept the idea, but knew that he had no valid
argument to offer. Finally, his shoulders fell in defeat, and he nodded,
closing his eyes.
 
“Okay,” he whispered. “I just – I’m glad he’s getting some rest, you know? I
mean – he was there, too. It’s not like it’s just – all about me, I get that,
and – and he’s going to hurt his heart if he doesn’t get some rest and eat
right and – and-” Kurt abruptly looked up, his eyes wide and panicked with
sudden realization. “Oh my God, Carole – they checked him out, right? They made
sure he’s okay? I mean – that guy hit him a lot, and – and he was so upset, and
– they examined him, right? Right?”
 
“Yes, of course they did, sweetie,” Carole hurried to reassure him, dismayed at
his panicked reaction. “He’s fine. He’s – a little bruised up, but he’s all
right. His heart is all right, Kurt, I promise.”
 
Even as the words left her lips, Carole cringed inwardly, hoping that Kurt
wouldn’t notice her unfortunate choice of words – which in reality couldn’t
have been farther from the truth.
 
She’d never seen Burt Hummel so shattered as he’d been early that morning, when
she’d held him in her arms and he’d poured out the horrific story of what he
and Kurt had been through the previous night.
 
“Would you like to sit up, Kurt?” Carole offered, reaching for the button on
the side of the bed, but not pushing it yet.
 
Kurt bit his lower lip, hesitant, and Carole felt sick at the reminder of the
physical damage that had been done to him – but after a moment, Kurt nodded
uncertainly. “Just – just a little, please.”
 
Carole carefully raised the bed a little, watching Kurt’s expression for any
sign of pain, and stopping, relieved when he held up his free hand slightly.
The drugs he had been given were almost certainly muting any pain he might have
felt, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still feel it later if he pushed himself
too far now.
 
Kurt was silent for a long moment, just looking around the room and gaining his
bearings for a few moments, and Carole was suddenly, deeply aware of her own
inadequacy. Despite all the effort she’d had to go to, to convince Burt to
leave even for a little while, she found herself suddenly, selfishly wishing
that he’d stayed.
 
“He doesn’t need to be dealing with this,” Kurt continued, and Carole looked
up, startled. It was almost as if he’d been reading her thoughts. But he wasn’t
even looking at her, his gaze was distant and worried as he stared off toward
the closed door to his hospital room. “This is too much. The stress – it’s too
much stress on his heart. If I’d just – I mean, I wish I could have…”
 
“Kurt.” Carole’s voice was gentle but firm as she reached out to touch his face
and focus his attention back toward her. She dropped her hand with an
apologetic wince when the boy flinched away from the unexpected touch. Still,
she thought it better to let it pass and to go on with what she’d intended to
say. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to worry about taking care of your dad. It’s –
it’s our job to take care of you, okay?”
 
“But – but he doesn’t take care of himself, and – and he’s not really well yet,
and this is going to be so hard for him…” Kurt’s lower lip was trembling
dangerously, his words growing faster and tumbling over each other, his eyes
welling with tears. “If he just hadn’t been home, or – or hadn’t had to – to
see…”
 
“Kurt – Kurt, no!”
 
As much as she hated the thought of the man she loved going through the
nightmare of the previous night, Carole was horrified by the very thought of
how much worse things might have ended had Burt not been at home when the
robbery took place. Burt had told her about the rapist’s threat to take Kurt
with him, and she shuddered to think that, had Kurt been alone, he might have
been taken away, and they might never have seen him again.
 
But her mind was quickly drawn from that disturbing line of thought – because
Kurt’s trembling, halting words had trailed off, and he was quietly breaking
down. His shoulders shook with sobs, and he raised his free hand to cover his
eyes, shaking his head.
 
“I-I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m sorry, I – I sh-shouldn’t… shouldn’t be…”
 
Forgetting her previous hesitance, Carole followed sheer instinct as she rose
from her chair beside Kurt’s bed and sat down on the edge of the bed instead,
reaching out to pull him gently into her arms. She was relieved when instead of
pulling away or stiffening in her embrace, Kurt fairly melted into it, lowering
his face against her shoulder and crying softly. The single arm he wrapped
around her felt so small, so thin and weak, and Carole suddenly felt a
tremendous desire to protect and shelter this broken, devastated child that was
not her own, but might as well have been at this point.
 
“You shouldn’t be sorry for anything,” she assured him in a hushed but firm
voice, cupping the back of his head with one hand. “Kurt, none of this is your
fault. You did everything right, sweetheart…”
 
“N-no I didn’t,” Kurt whispered, raising his head just a little, but not
looking at her, his eyes red and wet with tears, yet still shining with a
bitter anger that sent a little chill down Carole’s spine – not because he was
angry, but because of where that anger seemed to be directed. “I was so stupid.
If I hadn’t acted like such a – a ridiculously pathetic baby – so s-scared and
– and helpless – then maybe Dad would have fought the other guy while they were
going to the bank. Maybe he could have called the police, and – and maybe this
wouldn’t have – none of this would have – h-happened…” Kurt’s words were
choked, breaking, and he lowered his face again. “But I was so freakin’
useless, and he had to protect me, and he couldn’t fight back because he had to
worry about me, and – and now…”
 
“Kurt – Kurt, look at me,” Carole instructed softly, waiting until he
reluctantly met her gaze to go on. “It doesn’t matter what you might have done,
anything you think you might have done to look less – less scared, or – or
anything. Your father would not have done anything differently, Kurt. You
cannot think for one second that he would ever have done anything to endanger
your life – and in this case, that meant doing exactly what he was told. And he
would have done that, no matter what you did. Okay? Your father loves you more
than anything, and he would never have done anything that might have put you at
risk.”
 
Kurt didn’t argue, but he didn’t seem all that comforted by her words, and once
again Carole found herself feeling intensely inadequate.
 
“All you need to worry about right now, Kurt,” she continued softly, “all you
need to think about – is getting better. Okay? It’s okay, for once in your
life, to think about nothing more than what you need.”
 
A soft, broken sob escaped Kurt’s lips, and it tore at Carole’s heart. She
instinctively tightened her embrace around him, brushing a kiss against his
temple.
 
“What, sweetheart?” she murmured, her voice hushed and gentle. “What can I do?
What do you want?”
 
Kurt was trembling violently, shaking his head against her shoulder as if at a
loss, utterly helpless to find an answer – until he did.
 
“My mom…”
 
The answer was so quiet, so breathless and broken, that Carole almost didn’t
hear it – but when she realized what he’d said, her heart clenched painfully in
her chest, and she froze completely for a moment before pulling away. She
swallowed hard, not quite meeting Kurt’s eyes, as she started to get up and
return to her seat.
 
What was I thinking, anyway? So selfish, to try to just make myself feel better
by holding him, comforting him, acting as if he’s mine – but he’s not. And what
he needs right now, I can never be…
 
“No,” Kurt whimpered, reaching out abruptly and pulling her back, his hands
shaking as they grasped desperately at her waist, clinging to her to keep her
from withdrawing. “Don’t, I – I didn’t mean – d-don’t go…”
 
Carole’s heart ached with sudden, sorrowful understanding, and she put her arms
around Kurt again and held him close, murmuring soothing, shushing sounds
against his hair.
 
“You did mean it, Kurt, and that’s okay,” she assured him. “Of course you want
her – and I’m so sorry that she can’t be here with you, and so sorry that I
can’t give you what you need right now. But – I’ll be here, Kurt – right here
with you and your dad, through whatever happens now. Whatever you need,
sweetheart – I’ll do my best to see that you get it.”
***** Chapter 13 *****
Burt knocked softly on the door to Kurt’s hospital room before edging it open
just a little.
 
“Just me,” he announced, hushing his voice when he noticed that Kurt was, once
again, asleep.
 
Between the pain medication he was on, and the trauma he’d been through, Burt
was pretty sure he’d slept more in the past 48 hours than he had in the
previous week.
 
Burt’s mind went back to when Kurt was just three years old, and had burned his
hand on his grandmother’s old-fashioned iron stove. He’d cried and cried for
about five minutes in his mother’s arms, before suddenly succumbing to an
almost instantaneous sleep. Burt and Elizabeth had both been alarmed, but the
doctor at the emergency room had informed them that it was a young child’s
normal response to trauma – an attempt to just willingly relinquish
consciousness, and sleep until it went away.
 
But Burt was sick with grief at the knowledge that this wouldn’t be goingaway
any time soon.
 
Carole was sitting at Kurt’s bedside, her hand loosely clasping Kurt’s, her
thumb running slowly back and forth as she stared at him through sad, troubled
eyes. At Burt’s entrance, she looked up with a too-bright smile, a forced cheer
in her voice.
 
“Hey, honey. Did you get some rest?”
 
Burt didn’t answer her question as he approached her, and she rose to her feet,
letting go of Kurt’s hand to put her arms around him and draw him close. Burt
closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet floral fragrance of her shampoo as he
buried his face in her neck and took comfort in the soft, familiar pressure of
her body against his. She felt safe and warm and stable – like everything good
and normal in his life that had been so abruptly ripped away the previous
night.
 
And suddenly, he was so,soexhausted, and he regretted not even trying to sleep
during the past few hours he’d spent at home.
 
Couldn’t sleep… there was too much to do…
 
“Burt, you need to rest,” Carole gently admonished him, pulling back to give
him a look of concerned affection. “You should go home and sleep for a couple
of hours, honey. You’re no good to him if you’re falling asleep on your feet.”
 
“I can’t sleep anyway,” Burt muttered, maneuvering her to the side a little so
that he could look at his son. “And I’ve already been away too long.”
 
“He’s all right, sweetheart,” Carole assured him. “He’s just been sleeping,
mostly. He woke up for a little while, and we talked, but – mostly he’s just
slept. And that’s what you should have been doing. You know, last night wasn’t
exactly easyon you, either.” She was quiet for a moment, studying his face
before she admitted quietly, “I’m worried about you.”
 
“I’m sorry,” Burt offered, lowering his gaze. “I just – I can’t even begin to
think about – about sleep, or – or anything but Kurt right now…”
 
Carole reached down to take his hand in hers, squeezing it gently, and he fell
silent, looking up again to meet her eyes ruefully. She offered him a soft
smile, shaking her head slowly.
 
“Don’t ever apologize for that,” she said gently. “You need to focus on Kurt
right now. It’s instinct – deeper than instinct, really. The two of you have a
bond that – that amazes me, Burt. And seeing that – that capacity for love that
you have – that’s the biggest part of why I fell in love with you.”
 
Burt looked away again, feeling an inexplicable sense of shame at her words.
 
“You’re a good man,” Carole persisted softly. “And a good father.”
 
Burt closed his eyes, swallowing hard and fighting not to give in to the
burning ache in his chest, the hot tears forming in his eyes. He pictured his
son, his baby, on his knees on their living room floor, being violated by a
stranger’s gun and by his sadistic, threatening words, all the while
beggingwith his eyes for Burt to helphim, to make it stop – while Burt did
nothing but simply stay where he was and will his child to submit to the
violation.
 
“Burt.” Carole’s voice was firm, and when he forced himself to meet her gaze,
her expression was filled with conviction. “You are.”
 
He lowered his head onto her shoulder again, and though he didn’t feel he
deserved it, allowed himself to take comfort in the touch of her hand on his
back, running up and down in a rhythmic, soothing motion.
 
“You did everything you could,” she whispered. “You did everything that was
possible to keep the two of you alive, and you both are alive, and that’s what
matters, honey. That’s all that matters in the end.”
 
Burt wasn’t so sure that she was right – but he hugged her tighter, clearing
his throat and trying not to sound as close to tears as he felt.
 
“I love you,” he told her almost fiercely. “I don’t know what I’d do without
you, Carole…”
 
“Shhh,” she soothed him, turning her face to kiss his cheek without letting go
of him. “I love you, too, Burt Hummel. And that’s just what I’m going to keep
on doing. We’re going to get through this, honey. You just keep on taking care
of that precious boy of yours – you focus on making sure he gets through this –
and while you’re doing that, I’ll be taking care of you.” She was quiet for a
moment before adding in a whisper, “You just have to letme.”
 
Burt nodded against her shoulder, not trusting himself to speak, or even look
into her eyes, without completely betraying himself.
 
“Kurt will probably sleep most of the night, he’s so drugged up,” Carole
offered. “So why don’t you lie down on that couch right there and try to get
some sleep? I’ve got to go for a little while.”
 
“Where are you going?” Burt asked as she reluctantly withdrew from his arms.
 
She gave him a sad sort of smile as she moved toward the door. “There’s some
things I have to take care of at home.”
 
*************************************************
 
The next morning, Kurt was finally allowed to leave the hospital.
 
The drive home was unbearably awkward. The entire family had come along to see
him home, and they were all trying way too hard to make everything seem normal
and happy and cheerful. Carole was all warm smiles and constant questions about
whether or not he was warm enough or if the music was okay or if the roast in
the oven at home was okay with him for lunch.
 
Finn didn’t know anything specific about what had happened, except that there
had been a home invasion, and for whatever reason, the robbers had beaten the
hell out of Kurt. Kurt didn’t want him to know any more than that, and Burt and
Carole had respected that. During the drive, Finn kept trying to make awkward
conversation about school and New Directions and football and just anything he
could think of that wasn’t what little he knew of what had happened to his
stepfather and stepbrother.
 
Kurt just didn’t have the energy to even try.
 
When they got home, Burt helped Kurt out of the car, supporting him until he’d
regained his balance. The shift from hospital grade pain medication to the
regular prescription stuff wasn’t particularly easy, forcing him to feel pain
that had been mercifully muted during his hospital stay. He felt stiff and
sore, and a sharp pain shot up his spine every time he moved wrong. He felt
pathetically weak and silly, having to depend on his father for such a simple
thing as making it up the front walk, but it couldn’t be helped.
 
Kurt froze for a moment in the front doorway, his stomach lurching at the
mental image that filled his mind, of the last time he’d been in their living
room. 
 
God,howcanIdothis?HowcanIwalkbackinthere,howcanI live
here,after–afterwhathappened?
 
His palms were damp, his heart racing, but Kurt forced himself to move over the
threshold and into the living room, swallowing back the sick feeling in the
back of his throat. As soon as he allowed himself to take in his surroundings,
however, his eyes widened with surprise.
 
The living room had been completely rearranged in his absence.
 
The sofa on which he’d been so brutally violated had been removed entirely, and
the two armchairs had been moved to take its place, the coffee table positioned
in front of them. The lamps and potted plants and the entertainment center and
everything had been repositioned so as to provide the illusion of a completely
different room altogether.
 
“What do you think?” Carole asked, a hopeful note in her anxious voice. “I know
I don’t have your artistic flair for this sort of thing, but it looks all
right, doesn't it?”
 
Kurt barely heard her words, as he found himself staring at the armchair on the
right, seeing not the chair, but the dark stain he knew was hidden on the
carpet beneath it. His stomach roiled dangerously again, and he took a deep
breath, trying to keep his nausea at bay. When he finally managed to find his
voice, the only observation that he could seem to make was the most obvious,
inane one possible.
 
“We don’t have a couch anymore.”
 
“We’ll get a new one,” Burt replied, his voice low and gruff as he helped Kurt
to cross the room and sit down in the left armchair.
 
*************************************************
 
Burt saw where Kurt’s eyes were drawn, despite the drastic rearrangement he and
Carole and Finn had pulled off in the living room. He knew what his son had to
be envisioning, because the same hellish images wouldn’t leave his own mind,
either.
 
He had come home the previous afternoon, when he was supposed to be sleeping,
and instead had wrestled with the tainted sofa until he’d managed to get it out
of the house and into the back yard. Then, he’d taken the sledgehammer he kept
in the garage and smashed the thing to pieces. The burning barrel behind the
garage had then reduced the offending piece of furniture to charred bits of
wood and ash.
 
He remembered how he’d kept on swinging at the hateful thing until long after
the pieces were small enough for burning. He remembered the way the smoke had
stung his eyes until they watered and burned, and how they wouldn’t stop
watering for so long, even after he’d gone inside to shower off the smoke that
still seemed to choke him until he couldn’t breathe, even as the hot water
poured down over him, mingling with the tears that streaked his face.
 
The fire had consumed the physical reminder that he knew neither he or Kurt
could have lived with – but it had done nothing to erase the vivid memory.
 
As they sat down at the table to eat the lunch that Carole had carefully
prepared, Burt reached into his pocket and took out the homecoming gift he’d
bought for his son – a new cell phone, a couple of steps above the one that had
been stolen – holding it out across the table until Kurt took it, looking up at
him with mild surprise.
 
“The number’s the same,” Burt offered. “So your friends will be able to reach
you. I got most of the numbers you’ll need from Finn’s phone, and mine, and any
you don’t have, you can get later. It’s – it’s the kind you wanted, right?”
 
“Thank you.” Kurt’s voice was quiet, too calm and unsettlingly formal as he
nodded, offering a brittle, forced smile. He seemed to be going through the
motions, not really here at all – but Burt knew he would have to let Kurt
recover in his own time, in his own way. “It’s perfect.”
 
************************************************
 
After lunch, Kurt took his new phone down to his bedroom, closing the door
behind him and breathing a sigh of relief as he shut out not only his family,
but the unintentionally oppressive weight of their worry and concerned
expectations. He sat down carefully on the edge of his bed, wincing with pain
as he slowly, painstakingly managed to lie down.
 
He had eleven new voicemails, and more than twenty text messages.
 
He felt a little sick at the thought of facing his friends at all, knowing that
they didn’t have any idea what had happened. The person they would expect him
to be felt like a distant memory, and he wasn’t sure he could keep up the
façade for long enough to fool them – at least, not Mercedes. Probably not
Rachel.
 
Not Blaine.
 
Kurt shuddered a little, trying not to think about Blaine as he listened to the
voicemails. There were four from Mercedes, the first sounding mildly irritated
as she reminded him that he’d said they would hang out while he was home, but
no one had been at his house any of the several times that she’d stopped by.
The second sounded a little more upset, and the last two were openly worried.
 
There were a half dozen or so messages from Carole and Finn from the night of
the attack, asking if everything was okay, and for him to please call when he
got the message, just to let them know that he and Burt were all right, so they
could stop worrying.
 
There was one message from Blaine.
 
“ Hey,  call  me  okay? ”
 
He sounded anxious and a little uncomfortable, a forced lightness in his tone
that Kurt supposed was due to the fact that they didn’t actually do much
calling at this point. They texted a lot, and hung out constantly at Dalton,
but rarely talked on the phone. For Blaine to actually call him, Kurt figured
that he must have tried to text him multiple times beforehand.
 
“You’re not answering your texts, and I just – well, let me know if
everything’s okay, all right?”
 
There was a pause in Blaine’s words before he went on, hesitant.
 
“DidI– do something?”
 
Kurt erased the message, unable to bear to listen to the rest of it. Blaine
sounded so anxious, his voice carrying that nervous uncertainty that Kurt
usually felt with him – so characteristic of the innocent, stomach-butterflies
sort of flirtation they’d been engaging in over the past few weeks – and the
thought of how Blaine would react if he found out what had happened to Kurt
during what was supposed to nothing more than an ordinary weekend home made
Kurt feel violently ill.
 
He glanced through his texts, noting ordinary short messages from his friends,
wanting to get together while he was home – Tina, Brittany, Mercedes, Rachel.
 
And then there were the ones from Blaine.
 
U make it home all rite?
 
A couple of hours later, it was followed by another one.
 
Guess  ur  having  2  much  fun  2  worry  about  me,  huh?  ;)
 
Several hours after that one, the next message was simple.
 
Kurt? U ok?
 
There were several others after that, increasingly worried in tone, and Kurt
couldn’t really blame Blaine for worrying. After all, these days they rarely
went an hour without texting each other something, even if it was just some
random interesting thing they’d seen, or some teasing observation.
 
For Kurt to go two whole days without contacting Blaine at all had to be more
than a little unsettling.
 
Kurt set his phone down on the bedside table – but just as he did, it started
to ring.
 
Kurt looked at the screen, and his heart clenched at the familiar number
scrolling across it.
 
Blaine…
 
His heart raced as he debated whether or not to answer it, feeling sick to his
stomach. A part of him missed Blaine, wanted to talk to him, to reassure him
that everything was okay, but…
 
… everything wasn’tokay.
 
Everything might never be okay again.
 
WhatwouldIsay? Kurt wondered, feeling at a total loss as he stared helplessly
at the flashing screen.
HowcouldIexplainbeingsocompletelyunavailableallweekend?WhatwouldBlainethinkifheknew?
 
He imagined Blaine’s happy, excited voice if he answered, pictured the
expression of relief, the warm smile that would be on his face – and it just
hurt too much. He didn’t want to think about crushing that warmth and happiness
with the cold, bitter truth of what had happened – and he couldn’t imagine
faking it well enough to convince Blaine that everything was okay.
 
And he didn’t want to.
 
Swallowing hard, Kurt set the phone to silent and then set it back down on the
night stand without answering it. Carefully, he turned onto his other side,
away from it, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep.
***** Chapter 14 *****
It was a common assumption among the entire Hudson-Hummel household that Kurt
would not be going to school on Monday – but Burt was painfully aware that the
topic of school was something that would have to be discussed before long.
 
Burt waited until Carole had left for work before addressing the issue with
Kurt, who was still sitting at the table, picking listlessly at the plate of
what should have been very tempting food in front of him. Finn was still there
too, but only because he was still polishing off his third plate. Kurt hadn’t
had much of an appetite since he’d come home – but Carole kept trying to coax
it out of him, as if it was the only thing she could think of to try to help.
 
Burt knew better than to think that Kurt would eat any more than the couple of
bites he’d taken for Carole’s benefit – but he still sat there politely
pretending to try. Carole had spent too much time on the meal, carefully
preparing several of Kurt’s favorite foods, for him to ask to be excused – at
least while she was there to see him do it.
 
“Dad, I – I don’t think I’m very hungry,” he admitted before the door had even
closed behind Carole.
 
“That’s fine, kiddo,” Burt assured him. “But don’t go anywhere just yet. I
wanted to talk to you.”
 
Burt hated the way Kurt flinched at the words, his gaze darting uneasily toward
Finn for a moment before he focused down on his untouched breakfast, his fork
tracing streaks of dark maple syrup across the lines of the thick Belgian
waffle on his plate. He nodded once, slowly, visibly steeling himself for an
uncomfortable conversation. Burt pressed forward anyway, determined to deal
with the issue now.
 
“You know – you don’t have to go back to school until you feel ready. Okay? We
can even – we can do homeschooling if you want. You know, correspondence
courses or something. Whatever you need, Kurt.”
 
Kurt swallowed hard, relaxing a little in his seat, and Burt found himself
wondering what exactly Kurt had thought they were going to talk about. “I – I
don’t want to be homeschooled,” he replied without any hesitation.
 
And Burt immediately felt a twinge of guilt for the foolish suggestion. Of
course Kurt didn’t want to be homeschooled.
 
Right now, he didn’t want to be home.
 
“Okay. That’s fine,” Burt quickly conceded.
 
“I don’t want to wait too long. I don’t want to get behind, but I – I don’t
think I want to go back to Dalton, either, though,” Kurt added hesitantly,
glancing anxiously up at his dad. “I mean – I don’t think I want to be – that
far from – from Lima.”
 
Burt’s heart ached, because it was perfectly clear to him what Kurt was trying
to say. He hadn’t said it aloud, probably for fear of how weak and childish it
might sound to Finn’s ears, but Burt knew what he really meant.
 
“I don’t want to be that far fromyou.”
 
And he felt guilty for the intense level of temptation he felt to immediately
agree to that request, for his own selfish reasons – because he didn’t want
Kurt to be that far from him, either.
 
“I – I want to try going back to McKinley,” Kurt continued.
 
Burt hesitated, warring between his own desire for his son to be closer, at
home all the time again – and the continued threat he knew would still be an
issue at McKinley.
 
“What about that Karofsky kid?” He frowned. “He still goes there, and nothing
ever happened to him for what he said...”
 
“Yes, but – it’s out in the open now,” Kurt pointed out quietly, still staring
at his fork. “He knows he’ll be expelled if he touches me.”
 
Burt nodded slowly. Kurt had a point, but he still didn’t like the idea of Kurt
walking the same halls as the brutish bully who’d threatened his life – the
much larger boy who could do a lot of damage if he wanted to, to Burt’s
fragile, traumatized son, who was so much more vulnerable now than he’d ever
been when he’d attended McKinley before.
 
Burt was more aware than ever of just how easily Kurt could be damaged by
someone who really wanted to hurt him.
 
“I have to know that you’re safe, Kurt,” Burt pointed out. “I can’t send you
back there without being sure that that kid can’t come after you. “ He sighed,
shaking his head and taking another bite of his own breakfast. “If I have to
hire a bodyguard to walk through the halls with you every day, I will…”
 
“You won’t have to.”
 
Burt looked up, a little startled by Finn’s sudden, certain interjection into
the conversation. The boy was looking at his stepfather with an
uncharacteristically solemn, intent expression on his face. He glanced over at
Kurt, who was staring at him with a single eyebrow raised, as if not sure what
to expect from his stepbrother. Finn swallowed hard, returning his level gaze
to meet Burt’s.
 
“I promise, Burt. I won’t let anything happen to him.”
 
Burt studied Finn’s face, and knew beyond any doubt in that moment that he
meant every word. He had let Kurt down the first time, though he hadn’t had any
idea of the extent of the torment he’d been facing every day – but Finn wasn’t
going to let him down again. Burt turned toward Kurt, noting the almost
imperceptible fall of his shoulders, the subtle relaxing of relief in his
carriage as he sat back a little in his seat, finally allowing his hand to fall
to rest on the table.
 
Burt’s heart ached as he took in the dark bruises that marred Kurt’s usually
flawless skin, the shadows under his eyes that betrayed how little he’d
actually been sleeping while holed away in the lonely quiet of his room. He
thought of the painful limp with which Kurt moved around the house, stiff and
skittish, shying away from every touch, his wide, expressive eyes haunted and
fearful.
 
In that moment, all he wanted was to take his boy in his arms and hold him
close, and never let him out of his sight again.
 
“Okay,” he agreed quietly with a nod. “It’s settled, then. Take the week. I’ll
take care of the transfer, and you can go back to McKinley next Monday.”
 
************************************************
 
Kurt was surprised by how touched – and relieved – he felt by Finn’s heart-felt
offer of protection. It really didmake him feel safer – not that Karofsky’s
desperate, terrified attempts at intimidation seemed even half as scary as they
had a few days earlier, before Kurt had learned what it felt like to face a
realdeath threat – to face such unspeakable brutality as he’d faced in the one
place he’d thought he could feel safe.
 
He felt a twinge of loss as he thought again of Blaine – and not only Blaine,
but all of the polite, privileged boys with whom he’d formed shallow, surface
friendships at Dalton. He imagined their reactions if they knew – shock and
horrified outrage, and a kind of sympathy that didn’t go deep enough to allow
them to really be touched by what had happened to him – to really feelit, at
all.
 
Maybe that was unfair. Maybe he was wrong about them.
 
Kurt couldn’t bring himself to care.
 
Before he knew he was going to say it, he’d asked to go back to McKinley – and
once he said it, he realized how much he really wanted it. Yeah, Karofsky made
him a little nervous, but he couldn’t imagine being so far away from his dad
right now, so soon after what had happened.
 
What if something happened while you were gone? What if the guy comes back, and
you’re two hours away at Dalton, and something happens to Dad, and you can’t
get back in time…?
 
Kurt shuddered, trying to put the thoughts out of his mind, taking out his
phone to serve as a distraction, as he made his way back down to his room, for
once leaving his dad and Finn to clean up the breakfast dishes.
 
He hadn’t yet responded to any of the calls or messages – which thankfully
seemed to have stopped coming with such intensity, now that the new school week
had started. All of his friends at McKinley would assume that he was back at
Dalton, and while they’d probably be a little pissed at him for ignoring them
all weekend, they’d more or less forget about him for a while and leave him
alone.
 
Blaine, on the other hand, just had more cause to worry than ever.
 
And Blaine wasn’t like the other boys at Dalton. Blaine could relate all too
well to what Kurt had gone through at McKinley. He’d listened with an openness
and understanding that made Kurt feel, for the first time in what had been a
torturously lonely, frightening school year, like he was not alone.
 
The problem was – bullies and threats were about as far as Blaine’s experience
went with the horror that the world had to offer.
 
Kurt tried to imagine telling Blaine what had happened, but he could never get
past the look of horror and pain on Blaine’s face, and the agonizing
realization that this was something Blaine could never understand – something
that no one else could understand – and that once again, Kurt Hummel was
totally, absolutely alone.
 
There were two text messages from Blaine already that morning, asking where he
was and whether or not he was okay. Kurt felt sick when he tried to think about
what to do about Blaine – what to tell him, how to say goodbye when he wasn’t
going back to Dalton, whether he should say goodbye at all – so he stopped
thinking about it, trying again, uselessly, to sleep.
 
It was impossible when every time he closed his eyes, the same waking nightmare
played out before them.
 
*****************************************
 
Finn had been sent to school with strict instructions from Kurt – and Burt –
and his mother – not to say anything about what had happened to anyone. Kurt
had insisted that he simply pretend that Kurt was back at Dalton. Neither Burt
nor his mother had told him to lie, per se, but they made it clear that the
story of the break in was Kurt’s to tell if he so chose, and no one else’s.
 
Finn really didn’t get what the big deal was.
 
Well, that wasn’t true, exactly.
 
Kurt had apparently come very close to death during the course of said break
in. His injuries had required two nights in the hospital to treat – and Finn
still hadn’t managed to figure out why that might be. His face was a little
bruised up, and he seemed pretty sore, probably from getting kicked around and
punched and stuff like Burt said had happened when Kurt talked back to them –
and how cool was that, anyway? But there didn’t seem to be any obvious injury
that would have required hospitalization.
 
Maybe he just got hit in the head too hard. I don’t know.
 
All I know is, if it was me who’d survived a robbery – me who’d had the guts to
mouth off to the guys until they had to shut me up with their fists – I’d be
telling the story to everybody who’d listen.
 
I bet Rachel’d think it’s hot. I betallthe girls would think it’s hot. I just
don’t get why he wants to keep it a secret…
 
Oh.
 
I wonder if gay guys think stuff like that is hot?
 
Of course, what none of his family had counted on was the fact that Lima was a
ridiculously small town – and the Hudson-Hummel home had been surrounded by
police tape for nearly 24 hours. Finn didn’t read the newspaper, but apparently
the story had been on the front page of the Lima Press that morning – and
nearly everyone’s parents had been talking about it.
 
By the time Finn got through homeroom, he’d already been asked by half a dozen
people about the robbery, and whether or not his stepfather and stepbrother
were okay. All of those people were members of New Directions.
 
“And I was all pissed off that he was ignoring me all weekend, while my boy was
laid up in the hospital!” Mercedes was particularly upset. “Why didn’t you call
me, Finn?”
 
“Kurt said he didn’t want anyone to know.” Even as he explained, Finn wished he
had an explanation that made more sense. “And anyway, he’s fine. I mean, sore
and stuff. He’s mostly just sleeping a lot.”
 
Mercedes’ eyes went wide, the beginnings of a smile on her face. “You mean he’s
home?”
 
Oh.
 
Crap.
 
By the time Finn came down the stairs to their temporarily shared room that
afternoon after school, Kurt seemed to be more than ready for a little bit of
company. He didn’t have much to say beyond the initial “hi, how was your day?”
kind of small talk questions – but then, Finn wasn’t much of a
conversationalist, either, usually – and now, more than ever, he had no idea
what to say.
 
Even so, Kurt visibly relaxed a little as Finn settled into his chair at his
desk across the room from Kurt’s bed – so Finn decided to take a stab at his
homework for once. Finn was well aware that as teenage boys went, he wasn’t
among the most sensitive – and that was saying a lot. Still, he was given to
random, unexpected moments of perception – and it seemed clear to him that Kurt
didn’t really want to be alone at the moment. So Finn sat there and pretended
to study, every now and then bringing up something that had happened that day,
something he thought that Kurt might find interesting – all the while carefully
avoiding anything that might give away his own slip-up that morning to
Mercedes.
 
Gonna have to tell him eventually, though, he realized grimly, feeling
something akin to terror at the idea of Kurt’s reaction when he found out.
Because now that she knows he’s here, Mercedes isn’t going to stay away for
long.
 
*****************************************
 
Kurt was quietly, deeply grateful for Finn’s quiet, steady presence in the
room.
 
He didn’t say anything to indicate his appreciation – but he found himself
relaxing, lying back on his pillow and listening, nodding and murmuring when it
was appropriate. It wasn’t as if he really cared all that much about the
pointless stories Finn was telling, but the sound of his voice was soothing,
making him feel oddly, a little more secure – and a lot less lonely.
 
And suddenly – overwhelmingly exhausted.
 
He found himself drifting off to sleep, having time for a moment of clarity in
which he realized that he never would have imagined himself feeling more
comfortable going to sleep with Finn in the room than without him there –
before his thoughts faded into a pleasant haze, and he settled more comfortably
down on his mattress, pulling the blankets up closer around him.
 
He said he’d look out for me… won’t let anything happen…
 
And then – the doorbell rang.
 
Kurt opened the door, expecting to see Mercedes standing there, DVDs in hand in
preparation for a rare night in with her best friend – but instead, two masked
men shoved past him into the house in a disorienting flurry of activity that
left him confused and terrified, with a gun being held in his face.
 
Dad,was all he could think. Oh, God, please don’t hurt my dad…
 
************************************
 
The doorbell rang – and Finn stopped talking abruptly at the sound of a
shuddering gasp behind him. He turned with a worried frown to see Kurt sitting
up straight in the bed, not even breathing, just staring up the stairs with
dread in his wide, stricken gaze.
 
“No,” he whispered, shaking his head, scooting back against the headboard and
burying his face in his arms. “No, please…”
 
“Kurt?”
 
Finn sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, and Kurt didn’t flinch or move
away – but the tentative touch of his hand on Kurt’s knee was obviously too
much, when Kurt jerked away with a little gasp.
 
“D-don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t touch me, please don’t…”
 
“Okay.” Finn made his voice softer, immediately withdrawing his hand, a sick
sensation beginning to build in the pit of his stomach at Kurt’s extreme
reaction. “Okay, dude. Whatever you want, okay? It’s all right. Really. It’s
just the doorbell. That’s all. Just the doorbell.”
 
Kurt raised his head, swallowing hard as he met Finn’s eyes with panic in his
own, tears streaming down his face. “Th-theyrang the doorbell…” he whispered.
 
Finn’s stomach lurched as he suddenly understood. “Kurt, no,” he hurried to
assure him. “It’s not them. I promise. It’s okay, dude, really. Look, I’ll go
check, okay? I’ll go upstairs just to be sure, but I promise…”
 
There was a soft knock on the door at the top of the stairs, followed by a
faint creaking as it was opened just a little. Before Kurt had time to freak
out any further, both boys heard Carole’s soft, cautious voice.
 
“Kurt? Your friends are here. Are you feeling up to some company?”
 
**************************************
 
Kurt immediately got up from the bed and retreated to the bathroom, locking the
door behind him and calling through it to Finn to find out who was there to see
him. Finn made the trip up the stairs, then back down again to relay the
message that it was Rachel and Mercedes.
 
Kurt opened the door just a crack, red-rimmed, tearful eyes narrowed
suspiciously on Finn as he demanded, “How do they even know I’m still here?”
 
“I, um… may have let it slip?” Finn admitted with an apologetic grimace. “But I
didn’t tell them!” he hurried to clarify as Kurt groaned and closed the door.
“I mean – it was in the papers, so they already knew...”
 
The door immediately shot open again, and the panicked look of horror on Kurt’s
face made Finn’s stomach feel funny. “What?”
 
“I guess a – a robbery in Lima is pretty big news,” he reluctantly replied.
“They already knew about it when I got there.”
 
“Robbery,” Kurt whispered, looking away, his eyes large and stricken, barely
even seeming aware that Finn was there anymore. “Right. It – it wouldbe, I
guess.”
 
Kurt abruptly closed the bathroom door again, right in Finn’s face. Finn
blinked at the door inches from his nose, before timidly knocking on it again.
 
“Kurt? Kurt! Come on, dude, what do you want me to tell them?”
 
All was quiet for a few moments, and just when Finn was pretty sure he was
going to have to give up, go upstairs, and tell the girls to go, Kurt called
through the door again, his voice carrying an unnatural calm.
 
“Tell them to give me ten minutes.”
 
Twenty minutes later, Finn made his way up the stairs for the third time,
standing back and beckoning for Mercedes and Rachel to go past him down the
stairs. Carole stood there for a moment, her arms crossed, a worried from on
her face.
 
“Is everything okay down there?” she asked quietly. “Is he really okay with
having company right now?”
 
“Is he really okay at all?” Finn shot back in a hushed, angry hiss, searching
her face for answers that he wasn’t at all sure he was ready to hear. “Mom –
what really happened to Kurt this weekend?”
***** Chapter 15 *****
Kurt stood in front of his mirror for a moment, drawing in a shaky breath and
trying on a smile.
 
It felt brittle and painfully false, as if it’d been years since he’d used it,
and he’d almost forgotten how. It’d only been a couple of days, really – and
that in itself felt unfathomable. He didn’t look like himself to himself – and
the forced smile fell away with the sudden, terrifying certainty that Rachel
and Mercedes would know – they’d take one look at him and just know.
 
The footsteps on the stairs made his stomach drop, and he quickly sat down on
the edge of his bed, folding his hands primly in his lap and putting the smile
back on, turning expectant eyes toward the base of the stairs.
 
“Kurt!”
 
Mercedes smiled as she approached him, but her eyes were large and troubled as
she swept him up in a warm hug that was a little too much, a little stifling.
The moment she let him go, Rachel took her place, and Kurt fought back the
completely inappropriate and undeserved desire to shove her away.
 
It wasn’t Rachel’s fault. She was his friend, and Mercedes was his best friend,
and he knew he should have been happy to see them. But it was just too much,
too quickly, before he really had time to prepare for it, and he didn’t know
how to tell them that he just didn’t want to be touched right now.
 
They’d listen. They’d stop, but…
 
… but then they’d know.
 
“Oh, Kurt,” Mercedes sighed, sitting down beside him, and Kurt couldn’t bear
the sorrow in her voice as she looked at him too closely, her dark eyes taking
in the bruises that marred his face, raising a hand to hover near them but not
quite touching. “Does it hurt much, sweetie?”
 
“Finn said you were very brave,” Rachel interjected helpfully, her smile bright
and hopeful as she raised one hand to rest companionably on his shoulder. “He
said you weren’t afraid, and you talked back to the robbers, and tried to make
sure they paid attention to you and left your dad alone.”
 
Kurt was mildly surprised by that unnervingly accurate assessment of the
situation, and wondered how Finn knew that. When he realized that it must be
because Burt had talked to Finn about what had happened, he felt an uneasy,
sick feeling creep over him.
 
Dad wouldn’t tell Finn – that part. He wouldn’t tell him without making sure I
was okay with it, and I’m not…
 
Still, the idea of the incident being discussed when he wasn’t around was
deeply unsettling.
 
“Not sure if that’s very brave, or very dumb.”
 
It took him a moment to process the words through his distracted thoughts, but
when he did, Kurt blinked, startled, as he turned a bewildered, slightly
betrayed gaze toward Mercedes. The tears shining in her eyes, the way her lip
quivered as she reached out to take his hand, softened the blow of her words a
little – but they still stung.
 
“It’s just – Kurt, your face. Seeing you like this, and – boy, what were you
thinking? They – God, they could have killed you…”
 
“I’m very much aware of that, thank you,” Kurt pointed out quietly, looking
away. “And another heart attack could have killed my dad. But next time, if it
makes you feel better, I’ll just let him draw their attention like he tried to
do, and let him take the worst of it instead.”
 
“No, Kurt,” Mercedes relented, squeezing his hand imploringly until he
reluctantly looked up at her again. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just
– I can’t stand to think about what could have happened, and… and… I’m just
glad you’re all right. That’s all.” She shrugged, giving him an apologetic
grimace and admitting, “That was a crappy way to say it, but – I’m just glad it
wasn’t any worse than a few bruises.”
 
The words were like a knife through his heart, and Kurt felt the sickness in
the pit of his stomach welling up stronger. Her assumption, though exactly what
he wanted her to think, made him feel oddly distant and detached from her, as
if there were an invisible wall between them – one that would permanently keep
him out of their innocent, carefree world and in this new, dark place of
isolation where he’d been for the past two days.
 
“You are all right, aren’t you?” Rachel hesitantly asked, a slight frown
creasing her brow. “I mean – a little banged up, but – but you’re going to be
okay? I mean, they wouldn’t have let you leave the hospital if you weren’t
going to be okay…”
 
“I’m fine,” Kurt assured her, not quite able to meet her eyes as he forced
himself to smile again. “I’m – a little shaken up, naturally, so I’ve taken a
couple of days to just rest, but – but I’m all right, I promise.”
 
Rachel studied him for a moment, closely enough to make him feel self-conscious
and slightly panicked, before she finally smiled, her shoulders relaxing.
“Good.” Rachel put her arm around him and shifted closer on the bed, and Kurt
tried not to show his wince of pain at the movement of the mattress beneath
him. “How long are you going to be staying in Lima?”
 
“Well – for good, actually,” Kurt replied with a hesitant smile, explaining
when they stared at him in surprise, “I’m coming back to McKinley.”
 
“Kurt, that’s awesome!” Mercedes replied, bouncing a little on the bed beside
him in her excitement, and Kurt winced at the searing pain that innocent
gesture caused. “I’ve missed you so much, boo, for real. It’s going to be so
good to have you home again, and…” Mercedes’ voice trailed off, and she
frowned. “What’s wrong? Are you hurting? What happened?”
 
“Nothing, I just – I’m just a little sore, you know?” Kurt explained with a
smile that he hoped didn’t look as tight and forced as it felt. “You didn’t do
it, it’s just – it’s nothing. It just – hurts a little.”
 
Mercedes’ eyes narrowed with protective anger, and she shook her head slowly.
“I’d like to get my hands on the guy that did this – show him what happens to
fools who mess with my friends.”
 
Kurt’s stomach did an anxious little flip at the mention of the man who’d hurt
him, and the unintentional reminder that he still had yet to be found.
 
He could still come back, if he wants to…
 
… could do it all again…
 
Kurt couldn’t be sure what exactly Mercedes saw on his face, but her expression
abruptly softened with sorrow, and she placed a warm, gentle arm around his
shoulders, resting her head on his shoulder.
 
“Oh, Kurt,” she sighed. “I’m glad you’re coming home and all, but – I sure wish
this hadn’t happened.”
 
“I’m as glad as anyone that you’ll be back at McKinley, and back in New
Directions,” Rachel acknowledged in that tone that told Kurt she was swiftly
veering into competitive mode, and he tried not to respond to Mercedes’
dramatic eye roll outside her line of vision. “I’d much rather have your rare
counter-tenor vocal range as an asset to us than as an asset to the Warblers.
But…” She hesitated, apologetic as she pointed out, “What about Karofsky? He’s
still there, and still as hateful as ever.”
 
“Finn said he’ll make sure he leaves me alone.” Kurt smiled a little for real
at the memory of Finn’s passionate promise at the breakfast table that morning.
“Anyway, my dad’s a little shaken up, too. And – he doesn’t want me that far
from home right now. Which… is kind of ironic and doesn’t really make sense,
given that home is where it happened, but…”
 
“Kurt.” Mercedes’ voice was hesitant, and when Kurt turned his gaze toward her,
there was a sort of dread in her eyes. “Kurt – when exactly did it happen? I
mean – what time…?”
Kurt bit his lower lip, knowing why she was asking, and wanting to spare her
the guilt he knew she’d feel at his answer – but well aware that there was no
way he’d be able to convince her of anything other than what had happened. He
opened his mouth to respond, but then couldn’t seem to find the words, and just
looked away.
 
“Oh, God,” Mercedes gasped, lowering her head into her hands. “Oh, no. Oh, no,
I didn’t just… God, no…”
 
“You had no way of knowing,” Kurt pointed out, this time reaching out to
squeeze her hand in both of his. “Mercedes, I did everything I could to make
sure you didn’t know…”
 
“Know what?” Rachel blinked, looking between the two of them with confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
 
“I was here that night. While the robbers were here, and – and I just left. I
just walked away, and – and if I’d noticed what was going on, if I’d gotten
help…”
 
“Then what?” Kurt cut her off sharply. “I might have a couple less bruises?
Mercedes, I did my best to make you go away,” he insisted. “Because I didn’t
want you to get hurt. I’m just glad that you’re okay, and don’t worry about it
because it’s all over now and me and Dad are okay, and you’re okay, and
everything’s fine, all right? So don’t you dare feel guilty, because I was the
one who told you to go. Okay?”
 
Mercedes didn’t look convinced, but she accepted his words, hugging him
tightly, and Kurt gently raised his arms to return her embrace, allowing her to
cry against his shoulder.
 
“I’m just so glad you’re okay.” Her words were muffled against his shirt. “I’ve
missedyou, Kurt…”
 
“I know,” Kurt soothed her, drawing back and offering her an encouraging smile.
“I’ve missed you too – but I’m here now. This whole thing was – scary and
upsetting, yes, but – it’s over now, and I’m back here in Lima, and – and
everything’s going to be normal again. All right?”
 
Mercedes nodded, seeming genuinely reassured by his words.
 
A quiet knock at the door upstairs made Kurt jump a little, and he glanced
anxiously at the girls to see if they’d noticed, but they both were looking
toward the stairs as the door creaked open.
 
“Girls?” Carole called down. “I know Kurt’s glad to see you, but he needs to
rest. Why don’t you come on up now, and come back tomorrow if you like?”
 
“We’ll be right up, Mrs. Hummel,” Mercedes called back, giving Kurt one last
hug before she rose from the bed. “Is it okay?” she asked, an anxious look in
her eyes. “For us to come back tomorrow?”
 
Kurt nodded, forcing a bright smile in response to her words, though the last
thing he wanted at the moment was more company.
 
I have to get used to being around them again – now. I have to learn how to do
this, and it’s better if I do it gradually than just plunging in next week.
 
Besides – they’re my friends. I should be glad to see them – right?
 
He swallowed hard, fighting back the return of that uneasy, sick feeling that
had eased a little while he’d been focused on soothing Mercedes.
 
Butyou’re not right anymore. Things won’t be normal anytime soon, because
you’re not normal – and sooner or later, everyone’s going to figure that out.
 
It’s only a matter of time…
 
Mercedes headed up the stairs, but Rachel lingered a few steps behind,
hesitating a moment before turning back and standing in front of Kurt again.
 
“From one gifted actor to another,” she began in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone,
“a brilliant, Oscar-worthy performance. But – you don’t have to pretend to be
okay, Kurt. No one would be okay after going through something like that. It’s
nothing to be ashamed of. So – whenever you decide that you want to talk about
it? Mercedes, Finn, me – everyone in New Directions, really – we’ll all be
here.”
 
She didn’t wait for a response before turning and heading up the stairs, and
Kurt’s heart sank with despair.
 
Maybe a matter of less time than I thought.
***** Chapter 16 *****
“Thanks, Mrs. Hummel.” Mercedes offered Finn’s mother a warm smile as she
walked past her out the front door. “I’ll come by again tomorrow, if that’s
okay.”
“As long as Kurt’s feeling up to it,” Carole agreed, returning Mercedes’ smile
and squeezing her shoulder as she passed. “I’m sure he’s glad to have the
company. Just call before you head over, okay?”
Finn turned expectantly toward Rachel, assuming that she was going to follow
Mercedes out, but instead, she made her way only as far as where he stood near
the gently used sofa the Hudson-Hummels had just purchased the previous day,
taking both of his hands and meeting his eyes with a troubled, uncertain gaze.
“Is it okay if I stay for a little while?”
“Yeah, of course,” Finn agreed, glancing toward his mother as an afterthought.
“It is okay, right, Mom?”
“Yes, that’s fine.” Carole nodded. “I’ll just be in the kitchen if you need
anything.”
Finn sat down on the sofa without letting go of Rachel’s hands, tugging her
down beside him. He glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen doorway,
waiting until his mother was completely out of sight before focusing his
worried frown on Rachel.
“So, how was he when you talked to him?” he asked in a tone of hushed urgency.
“He’s seriously not okay, right?”
Rachel gave him a small, sad smile. “Well, of course he’s not okay, Finn. After
what he’s been through...”
“Yeah, I know, but – but doesn’t it seem to you like – like maybe more than
that happened?” Finn persisted. “I mean – Kurt seems so – so traumatic right
now…”
“He seems traumatized,” Rachel gently corrected him, her brow creasing with
worry as she glanced back toward the basement door. “Being held at gunpoint and
robbed and nearly murdered was traumatic.” She looked back up at Finn sadly.
“Really, Finn, what more do you think it’d take?”
“I don’t know.” Finn sighed, shaking his head and looking away. “I guess you’re
right. It’s just – I asked my mom what she wasn’t telling me, if there was
something more to the story than I know, and – she said if I wanted to know
more, I have to ask Kurt. And – that means that there is more to know, right?”
It was a troubling thought, given what he already knew of the situation. The
mental image of his little brother being manhandled and kicked around by some
masked psycho, forced to his knees with a gun waved in his face while he tried
so hard to be defiant and difficult, to stand up to them, to make sure that if
they hurt anyone, it was him and not his still-recovering father…
It made Finn feel a sense of awe in regards to Kurt that had previously been
reserved for the likes of the father he’d never met, and the superheroes in the
cartoons he’d watched as a kid, and whatever athlete happened to be his role
model at the moment.
How was it possible that the boy in the basement – the boy his friends had
tormented and taunted for years for his girly voice and mannerisms, who’d
always responded to their jeers and insults with his head held high and a sharp
comment that made their pitiful insults sound as if a five-year-old had made
them up; hell, half the time Finn couldn’t even understand them, but he knew
they were clever – how was it possible that Finn now felt that he’d never be as
brave, as strong, quite as much a man as Kurt?
It’s – like when it’s something that’s like the exact opposite of what you
would have thought… what’s the word?
Oh, yeah. Iconic.
It’s totally iconic.
Rachel nodded thoughtfully, considering his reasoning. “Maybe there is
something more to the story of what happened that night,” she conceded. “If you
really want to know so badly, then ask him,” she suggested. “But – be prepared
for the possibility that he might not want to tell you.” Her dark eyes were sad
and solemn as she looked up to meet his gaze. “He’s trying really hard to
pretend that he’s okay right now. So, if he doesn’t tell you – don’t push him,
okay? Just – he’ll tell you when he’s ready – if he ever is.”
Finn frowned, not liking the sound of that. “And if he’s never ready?”
Rachel’s tone was gently reproving as she offered him a sympathetic little
half-smile. “Then – his secrets are his to keep.”
Finn didn’t like it – but he had to admit that she had a point. There were
things he hadn’t ever told anyone, and didn’t have any intention of ever
telling anyone – like his secret technique for keeping himself under control
when things got a little too hot and heavy with Rachel, or like the massive
crush he’d had on Miss Pillsbury his freshman year of high school.
He doesn’t have to tell me if he doesn’t want to…
Still, Finn found himself making his way down to the basement an hour or so
later, once Rachel had headed home. He found Kurt lying on his bed, staring
sadly at his cell phone, as he had often found him over the past few days.
“Hey.”
Kurt barely glanced up at him, offering a listless, barely whispered, “Hey,” in
return.
Finn hesitated, drawing in a deep breath before speaking in a halting,
uncertain tone. “So – I just wanted to tell you that – I get that you’re
freaked, okay? About – the stuff that happened. I think – I think that’s
probably normal.”
Kurt was staring at him now, his expression an odd cross between confusion and
something that was not quite irritation, but ready to become it at a moment’s
notice. He just lay there in silence, a single brow raised as he waited for
Finn to get to his point.
The point. Right. Get on with it.
“Well, I just wanted you to know that – I think you’re freaking awesome, Kurt.
I think – if it was me, I’d probably have pissed myself if someone stuck a gun
in my face, and – and I think you’re pretty damn brave for standing up to the
robbers the way you did. I just – just want you to know that, and – and to know
that – if you ever want to like, talk or anything – about what happened – or
anything – I’m here, dude. Okay?”
Kurt was quiet for a moment, studying Finn with a pensive frown that made him
feel suddenly very self-conscious, and he looked away, swallowing hard.
“Okay,” Kurt replied at last, his voice soft and tired. “I just – I just want
to rest right now. Okay?”
“Oh. Oh, yeah, sure, man.” Finn nodded, turning toward the stairs. “I’ll just
catch you later. Let me know if you need anything…”
“Finn?” Finn was halfway up the stairs when the quiet, oddly vulnerable voice
reached his ears, and he paused, half-turning on the stairs and waiting for
Kurt to go on. After a moment’s silence, the younger boy added softly, “Thank
you.”
****************************************
The single week that Kurt had to hide away in the safety of his basement passed
all too quickly.
He was beginning to feel better, physically – and getting better at not feeling
at all, emotionally. There were visits from his friends in New Directions, some
of them showing up once or twice, while others – like Mercedes, Rachel, and
Tina – came daily to show their support and let him know how much they’d missed
him, and how glad they were that he was coming back to McKinley.
Kurt got really good at the faking of bright, optimistic smiles and convincing
his friends that he was really okay – or at least, going to be sometime in the
near future.
Kurt couldn’t imagine that such a day might actually come.
He ignored the repeated calls and texts from Blaine, not wanting to tell him
what had happened, and not feeling strong enough to keep up his carefully
constructed façade in the face of Blaine’s concern. Still, when those calls and
texts began to taper off, gradually going from hourly, to four or five hours,
and then longer, between, Kurt felt a dull ache of loss at the realization that
Blaine was giving up.
When Friday came and went without a single call, Kurt didn’t know whether to
feel relieved – or heartbroken.
He tried to shut it out of his mind and focus all of his thoughts on convincing
himself that he would be okay, going back to McKinley on Monday.
He was no longer afraid of David Karofsky. After having faced pure evil in its
most terrifying form, Kurt couldn’t muster up even a trace of the old fear that
the other boy had once inspired in him. He remembered David’s face as he’d
backed him up against the wall, a threatening smile on his lips as he warned
Kurt to silence – and now, all he could see was the sheer, blind terror in
David’s eyes – the desperation, the intense need for self-preservation that had
driven his actions.
Why hadn’t he seen it before?
Now, it was impossible to miss – because he knew exactly what that felt like.
No, it was not Karofsky that made Kurt’s stomach sick at the thought of going
back; it was the knowledge that he would have to face his friends, his classes,
every day, without ever letting on to any of them that way in which he’d been
so completely, irrevocably changed.
He was damaged. Dirty. Constantly terrified.
He couldn’t sleep without a light, or even alone, in his own bedroom anymore.
The slightest touch made him flinch away; sudden movements near him made his
heart clench in terror. Even his father’s rough, gentle hands, his protective
arms encircling him, made Kurt feel suffocated, restrained, desperate to escape
so that he could regain some semblance of control.
A stranger in a mask with a gun had managed to do what so many others had tried
before to do, and all had failed miserably – to utterly, completely break him.
*****************************************
“You know, you don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”
Kurt heard the tremor in his father’s voice, sensed the fear he felt at letting
his son walk back into the school that had been such a miserable prison for him
the previous year – and for one desperate, panicked moment, he wanted to accept
the offered reprieve, to ask his dad to just turn the car around and take him
home.
But he knew he couldn’t do that.
It wouldn’t get easier to face the fear of this place, of the staring eyes and
pitying looks and well-intentioned but humiliating questions. If he didn’t want
to go in there now, Kurt could only imagine how much less he’d want to go in
the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. Time would only
give people more opportunity to talk, and him more opportunity to adjust to
being at home, until eventually, going back would no longer feel like an option
at all.
Kurt knew deep down that if he went back home to hide now… he’d be hiding
forever.
“You don’t want to do this, I’ll turn this car around right now,” Burt insisted
quietly. He glanced over his shoulder with a rueful little grimace, adding,
“You know. After Finn gets out.”
“I’m never going to want to, Dad,” Kurt sighed, casting a grim glance toward
the old, worn down building that somehow looked both intimately familiar, and
like a strange, new place to him. “I have to, anyway.”
“Don’t worry, Burt,” Finn interjected. “I won’t let anything happen to him.” He
looked toward Kurt, his face in the rearview mirror earnest and solemn. “Kurt,
I swear if any of those guys so much as looks at you wrong…”
He reached a supportive hand forward toward Kurt’s shoulder as he spoke. His
words trailed off as Kurt tensed, and Finn’s hand faltered, hesitating a moment
before coming to rest on Burt’s shoulder instead.
“Well… I’m not going to let anyone mess with you. I promise.”
Kurt looked away, feeling guilty and ashamed for his reaction, for making Finn
feel like crap when all he’d wanted to do was to be helpful and supportive.
“Thank you, Finn,” he replied with quiet sincerity. “That means more than you
know.”
He saw no reason to deflate Finn’s heroic attempt by pointing out that
McKinley’s bullies with their slushies and dumpster tosses were the least of
his worries at the moment. He drew in a deep breath, straightening his posture
and adjusting the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder before forcing a
bright smile for his father’s benefit and opening the front passenger door.
“Well, wish me luck,” he breathed out as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Here we go.”
***** Chapter 17 *****
William McKinley High School had never looked so intimidating as Kurt made his
way toward the large double doors that led inside. Finn quickly fell into step
beside him, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder, his voice low and private,
inaudible to any of the dozens of students milling around them in every
direction.
 
“I meant what I said back there. No one’s gonna touch you. Okay?”
 
Kurt forced a bright smile, sparing Finn what he hoped passed for an
appreciative glance. “I know,” he replied softly. “Thank you.”
 
Despite his words, however, he found himself wishing that Finn would just leave
him alone – right up until the moment when they walked through the doors. Kurt
knew he wasn’t imagining the curious glances in his direction, the urgent
whispers behind him as he passed down the hall toward his locker.
 
Suddenly, he was desperately grateful to have Finn by his side – to simply not
be facing this alone.
 
Mercedes and Rachel were waiting for them at Kurt’s locker.
 
It seemed that at some point while he was not around, the three of them had
worked out a plan. Finn would accompany Kurt to homeroom and English. Mercedes
was in the same homeroom, after which she would take Finn’s place for Kurt’s
trigonometry and home economics classes, while Rachel would stay at Kurt’s side
during the French, world history, and study hall periods they shared.
 
“I wouldn’t blame you if you’re ready to ditch us by lunch,” Rachel
acknowledged with a rueful but warm smile, reaching out to touch his arm – and
Kurt fought not to pull away, not to scream with frustration.
 
“Yeah,” Finn agreed. “Just – try to stay where we can see you if you do.”
 
“Thanks, guys,” Kurt sighed, offering them a weak smile. “But – I don’t think
this is necessary, really. I think – I think I’m probably too pathetic for the
bullies to target at this point. I know they like to prey on the weak and
defenseless, but at a certain point it just stops being fun.” He paused,
shrugging slightly. “You know, I guess. If you’re the type of human being that
finds that sort of thing fun to begin with. I wouldn’t really know.”
 
“Please,” Mercedes scoffed, rolling her eyes as she slid her arm through Kurt’s
and started down the hallway. “More like they don’t want to mess with the kid
who took on two armed robbers all by himself and came out alive. If Karofsky
and Azimio were in your place, they’d have been blubbering like babies and
begging for mercy.”
 
Please – please, don’t – don’t do this to me, please…
 
Kurt withdrew his arm from hers abruptly, forcing a reassuring smile in
response to the worried, uncertain look she gave him.
 
“I should go,” he explained. “I want to check my hair – make sure I’m
presentable – before I start this day.”
 
“I’ll go with you,” Finn offered, following Kurt the few yards he needed to
backtrack in order to reach the bathrooms – only to have Kurt choose the girls’
restroom, the door closing in his face just before he would have walked right
into it. “I’ll – just wait for you here, then,” Finn amended flatly, his words
muffled but audible through the closed door.
 
Kurt let out a shaky sigh of relief, trying to push back the guilt he felt for
intentionally thwarting the best intentions of his friends. He stared at his
own reflection in the mirror – wide, terrified eyes, pale skin, hands that
trembled as he raised them to adjust hair that didn’t need adjusting – and
tried to calm his frayed nerves, tried to push back the dark memories that
flooded his mind, and focus on taking deep breaths, his hands clenched into
fists as he struggled to stop the shaking that seemed to have overtaken his
body.
 
When he stepped out of the ladies’ room, Mercedes had gone on ahead, but Finn
was waiting for him. He made himself smile, though it felt brittle and false,
as he walked into his homeroom and found himself surrounded with several more
familiar faces.
 
Tina immediately rose from her seat and headed toward him, a brilliant smile
lighting up her face – but she was coming too quickly, too close, before he
could prepare himself for the hug – just a sweet, simple, non-threateninghug –
she offered. The way she immediately let go – the dismay in her dark eyes –
made it clear to Kurt how obvious his reaction had been.
 
“I-I’m sorry,” Tina said, biting her lower lip, her face sad and confused. “I
didn’t mean to…”
 
“It’s okay,” Kurt whispered, glancing self-consciously around the room as he
slid into the seat beside her, hoping the none-too-discreetly staring eyes
aimed in his direction would quickly get bored and find something else to focus
on. “Just – don’t worry about it. You didn’t do anything,” he insisted,
reaching out to give her arm a reassuring squeeze. “I’m just a little jumpy,
that’s all.”
 
One last sweep of the room as the teacher headed for her desk revealed that
most of his fellow students were at least trying to look as if they didn’t
notice him – except for Santana, sitting just behind him and a couple seats
over. She had a vaguely distracted frown on her face, and for a moment he
thought she might have been staring at him by accident, her thoughts somewhere
else entirely – but her gaze was a little too sharp, a little too close. He
tried a smile, but she didn’t return it. Instead, she narrowed her eyes with
suspicion – before rolling them and looking away, tapping her pencil
impatiently against the top of her desk.
 
She found me annoying before, Kurt remembered. Not that there’s much of anyone
she doesn’t find annoying, besides Brittany. But I’m pretty sure she can smell
blood – or at least weakness. It’s easy for her to see that I’m even more of a
pathetic wreck now than I was when I left here a month ago.
 
And clearly, that annoys her.
 
Kurt swallowed hard, trying not to notice when she started staring again, and
focused on sinking down further into his seat and trying to make his
patheticness as inconspicuous as possible. Santana was scary in the best of
conditions.
 
Santana, completely focused and zeroing in on him – well, that was simply
terrifying.
 
It was an ironic contrast to the reaction Kurt had when he finally ran into
Karofsky just after lunch – quite accidentally on both parts. His heart
clenched slightly as their eyes met, though Kurt was pretty sure his reaction
was little more than physical habit at this point. Finn was with him, and he
immediately, pointedly crossed to Kurt’s other side, placing himself firmly
between Kurt and Karofsky, and gave the other boy a fierce, intimidating glare.
 
The Karofsky Kurt remembered might have offered a sneer and a derisive comment
in passing, something designed to let Finn know that he wasn’t scared of him,
that he was only letting it go because they weren’t worth his time, not because
Finn Hudson was actually capable of intimidating him.
 
This time, Karofsky just looked away immediately, his head bowed self-
consciously as he hurried his pace away from them.
 
It was – oddly unsettling.
 
He didn’t know if it was his constant volunteer security detail, or the fact
that the official, edited version of what had happened to him and his father
was public knowledge, but he seemed to be considered off limits by not only
Karofsky, but all of the usual jocks who liked to push him around and toss
cruel names in his direction as they passed.
 
Just like I thought. Even the bullies think I’m too pitiful to mess with now.
 
At least that means I’ve made it through the whole day without getting slushied
– so far.
 
The rest of the day went just as smoothly, and Kurt found himself letting out a
breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he walked beside Rachel into the
choir room at 3:30 that afternoon. Glee club had always been his favorite part
of the day, but today, it had taken on a new meaning for him.
 
The day was almost over – and he’d made it.
 
Oh, sure, he’d gotten a ton of weird looks and whispering behind his back – but
that was nothing new for him, not really, and just as Finn had promised, no one
had dared to lay a hand on him or say a single nasty word. He tried not to
think about the fact that that was probably mostly out of pity, and just focus
on the positive of what that meant – that he’d be able to make it here, again.
 
He’d come back to McKinley without incident; and, standing in the doorway to
the choir room, among the group of familiar, friendly faces, feeling the
memories slide easily into place instead of the ones he’d been wrestling with
all day – Kurt could allow himself to almost believe that it was going to be
okay, after all – that in time, he might even manage to fall into something
that felt a little like normal again.
 
He didn’t even flinch when Brittany headed toward him, arms extended for a hug,
Tina’s worried gasp and outreached hand not swift enough to stop her before she
got to him. Kurt actually felt the smile he gave her as she wrapped her arms
around him and kissed his cheek, pulling back to give him a sweet, earnest
smile.
 
“I’m so glad you didn’t get shot.”
 
“It’s good to see you, Britt,” he replied, genuinely meaning it.
 
He’d expected everyone that he hadn’t run into during the course of the day to
want to express their well wishes, so Kurt was at least somewhat braced for the
physical contact that seemed to naturally accompany that. Only Puck and Santana
kept their distance – Santana filing her nails as if she was bored, and Puck
offering only a gruff, abbreviated little nod from his place in the risers –
apparently preoccupied with the hard-ass images they had to maintain.
 
“Kurt! You’re back!”
 
A loud male voice behind him, familiar though it was – a strong hand on his
shoulder – and suddenly, Kurt’s chest clenched up, his breath leaving him as he
spun around, his hands thrown up defensively in front of him.
 
“Don’t!”
 
The cheerful chatter of the choir room died away, and Kurt found himself
staring into the horrified face of Mike Chang, who looked about like Kurt
imagined he would if he’d just run over a puppy.
 
“I’m sorry,” he hurried to explain. “I didn’t mean to, Kurt, I just – I wasn’t
thinking…”
 
“It’s okay,” Kurt repeated for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
“It’s okay, really. Don’t feel bad. It’s me, I’m just – I’m a little out of it
right now. You just startled me, that’s all.”
 
“O-okay.”
 
Mike didn’t really seem to be buying it, but he let Tina pull him over to where
she was sitting, where the two of them began talking quietly, matching
troubled, solemn expressions on their faces as they no doubt compared notes on
their respective awkward first encounters with him.
 
His face flaming with humiliation, Kurt sank into the seat between Rachel and
Mercedes, bowing his head and closing his eyes for a moment before subtly
glancing around the room to survey the damage. Thankfully, no one seemed to be
paying him any more attention at the moment – except for Santana, again.
 
Her gaze was fixed on him again, not quite as intense this time, but more
speculative, as if she were sizing him up for some reason.
 
Kurt was more than a little freaked out by this. This time, he knew better than
to try to smile at her, and instead just tried to focus on Mr. Shue as he made
his way to the front of the room, several papers in his hand.
 
“Okay, guys. We’re all thrilled to have Kurt back with us…”
 
He waited, beaming and falling in with his students as a spontaneous round of
applause met his words. Once it had faded, he continued, setting the papers on
the miniature podium in front of him.
 
“… and just in time to work on our new number for regionals. We’ve only
practiced this once so far, Kurt, so it shouldn’t take you long to catch up.”
 
Kurt nodded, smiling brightly as the first notes to “Sing” by My Chemical
Romance began to play on the piano.
 
He listened as Rachel sang the verse, mentally finding the harmony part he
would need to come in with, with the others, when they reached the chorus. The
music soared leading into the group part of the number, and Kurt opened his
mouth to sing.
 
“You’re a singer, Kurt?”
 
Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by a feeling of nausea, his face breaking out in a
cold sweat, his hands in his lap shaking uncontrollably. He swallowed hard,
closing his eyes and trying to focus on the notes that he was supposed to be
singing – but they wouldn’t come. He couldn’t seem to find the music – couldn’t
find the words – couldn’t find his voice.
 
“Then why don’t you sing forme?”
 
Kurt lurched to his feet, swaying dangerously for a moment before gracelessly
rushing toward the door. He barely made it to the ladies’ room down the hall,
barely managed to drop painfully to his knees on the cold linoleum, before
vomiting up the few bites of lunch he’d managed into the toilet in front of
him. His head was spinning, black spots of light obscuring his vision as the
mocking laughter of his attacker echoed in his head, emphasizing this cruel new
humiliation.
 
He couldn’t sing.
 
The first moment he’d attempted to do so, and all he could think about was what
had happened in his house that day – the high, thin, far-from-pretty sound of
his own panicked voice as he’d struggled to obey, humiliated by his own
failure, irrationally actually caring about the fact that this was the only
time this man would ever hear him sing, and he’d never have the chance to prove
that he could do better when he wasn’t terrified and desperate and certain that
it was only a matter of time before he was going to be brutally murdered.
 
He remembered the man’s cruel laughter, his taunting words as he’d slapped Kurt
to silence.
 
“That’s real pretty, Kurt. Pretty like a little fucking bitch. You sing like a
girl, you know that?”
 
Kurt was dry-heaving over the toilet, nothing left to come up, but unable to
fight the overwhelming desire to purge himself of the disgusting feeling of
shame he felt at the memories of that cold voice, those softly invasive hands,
all over his body.
 
“Maybe I should treat you like one…”
 
When Karofsky had tormented him the previous semester – when the other bullies
had shoved him around and called him names and threatened him – he’d always
been able to find comfort and shelter in music. He would sing, and his heart
would soar with his voice, above the humiliation and hurt, taking him to a
place where, for a little while, he didn’t have to think about it anymore.
 
Now, the shame was all he could think about.
 
And he couldn’t sing.
***** Chapter 18 *****
Kurt stayed on his knees by the toilet, trying to shut out the remembered voice
of his attacker in his mind, trying to think of anything else, until his
breathing finally returned to something resembling normal, and his stomach
began to stop churning. He rose to his feet, feeling dizzy and shaky and gross,
grimacing at the awful taste in his mouth.
 
Just… get it together. Wash your face, rinse your mouth, and get back in there
before someone decides to come after you…
 
“Kurt?”
 
Too late.
 
Kurt didn’t respond to the sound of Rachel’s voice, concerned and cautious as
she matched his steps, crossing the room to meet him at the sink. He brought
some water to his mouth in a trembling hand, spitting it out in the sink and
wiping his mouth with a towel before bracing his hands against the sink in
front of him and letting out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes for a moment.
 
Ignoring her and hoping she went away was clearly not going to be an option.
 
“Are you all right?” Rachel continued, stopping at his side and reaching out to
place a soft, small hand at the crook of his arm.
 
Kurt jerked away from her touch before he could stop himself, turning to face
her and swiping self-consciously at his face with the back of his hand, unable
to meet her eyes. “I’m fine,” he replied, wincing a bit inwardly at his tone,
which was a bit harsher than he’d intended it to be. “I just – wish everyone
would stop asking me that.”
 
In the mirror, out of the corner of his eye, Kurt could see Rachel bite her
lip, her eyes warm and sad and far too sympathetic. “I get that,” she replied
softly, nodding. “But you know, Kurt – we don’t all just want you to say yes. I
hope you know that. If we’re asking, it’s because we really want to know. We’re
your friends. We care about you, and if you want to talk about anything…”
 
“I don’t,” Kurt snapped, his voice rising with frustration. When Rachel
flinched slightly at his tone, Kurt immediately relented, his shoulders falling
with regret. “I’m sorry, Rachel,” he sighed wearily. “This isn’t your fault.
None of this is anyone’s fault, but – but I just can’t deal with everyone
else’s drama about this right now, okay? It’s hard enough to deal with this on
my own, and I just need for you and Finn and everyone else…”
 
“But that’s just it, Kurt!” Rachel broke in with an encouraging smile, a
nervous laugh in her words. “You don’t haveto deal with this on your own! We’re
right here, and…”
 
“Let it go, Berry. You’re clearly getting nowhere – so get lost.”
 
Kurt and Rachel both looked up with surprise to see Santana standing in the
doorway, one hand on her hip as she idly examined the blood red nails on her
other hand. She looked up with a false, dangerous smile, raising an eyebrow in
Rachel’s direction.
 
“I said beat it, she-hobbit.” Santana sauntered further into the room as she
spoke, her eyes narrowed on Rachel, her smile fading slightly. “I’ve gotthis.”
 
Rachel looked up at Kurt uncertainly, her dark eyes worried as they darted back
and forth between him and Santana. Kurt wasn’t exactly comfortable with the
idea of being alone in the ladies’ room with Santana, but he liked his chances
of keeping his guard up better with a girl who’d bullied him and treated him
like garbage since freshman year, than with the one who had somehow become his
closest friend over the course of the past year.
 
At least I can freeze Santana out, he realized. Sooner or later, Rachel’s gonna
figure it out if I can’t get her to go away…
 
“It’s okay, Rachel. I’ll be back to class in a minute,” he said softly,
reaching out at last to squeeze Rachel’s hand, meeting her eyes in warm
reassurance. His mouth quirked up slightly in a faint, sarcastic smile as he
added, “Go on. Save yourself.”
 
“Please,” Santana drawled, rolling her eyes, giving a smirk in response to
Rachel’s suspicious glare as she passed her on her way out the door. “If she
was really on my list, there’s no place she could hide.” Only once the door had
closed behind Rachel, Santana looked back towards Kurt, taking a few slow,
measured steps closer. “Alone at last.”
 
Kurt turned deliberately away from her, taking a couple more towels from the
dispenser and wetting them in the sink, dabbing carefully at his face as he
replied in a cold, flat tone, “What do you want, Santana?”
 
“I’ve been trying to figure you out all day, Hummel,” Santana remarked, her
voice deceptively calm, almost disinterested, as she continued until she was
standing right beside him, leaning one hand on the edge of the sink he was
using – a bit too close, too much in his space for his comfort. “I knew there
was something about this whole thing that I wasn’t quite catching – but I think
I’ve got it now.”
 
She couldn’t possibly have figured it out…
 
Kurt’s stomach lurched at her words, but he rolled his eyes, dismissive. He
kept his tone flat, bored, when he replied, tossing the used towels in the
trash and turning to face her with his arms crossed over his chest.
 
“Please go away.”
 
Santana ignored his words, smiling thoughtfully. “You walked in here like you
owned the place, with your special guard detail and your better-than-everyone
smirk, and you’re trying to act like everything’s okay – like you’re okay – but
you’re so obviously not.”
 
As she spoke, she edged in nearer, and suddenly Kurt felt trapped,
claustrophobic, his stomach churning again. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry
with apprehension, but somehow managed to force out a stony, cold response.
 
“I’m fine.”
 
“Really?” Santana raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Because you don’t seem fine. In
fact, you seem like this is making you really uncomfortable.”
 
“It’s my problem,” Kurt hissed, closing his eyes and retreating, against his
will, to the wall beside the sink, cursing his choice when Santana moved to
stand between the two sinks, effectively blocking him in. “I’ll get over it.
Just leave me alone.”
 
“I saw how you reacted when Tina hugged you this morning – and then Mike just a
minute ago,” Santana observed, and Kurt looked up to see her smile fading,
something hard and painful in her eyes as she continued with a mirthless little
laugh in her voice, “That’s how you’re going to deal with this? Just smile and
tell them you’re fine? Apologize to them and act like everything’s just great?
Like they’re not making you want to crawl out of your skin just by touching
you?”
 
The words were too accurate, cutting painfully past his façade, and the way she
edged closer as she spoke made Kurt want to scream, to flee – but there was
nowhere to go.
 
“If you don’t want to be touched, Hummel…”
 
Santana continued, her voice trembling slightly with something that sounded
like anger, though Kurt had no idea what she should be angry about. He was the
one being practically accosted, and she was just too close, close enough that
he could feel the heat from her body, even though she wasn’t touching, not yet,
but if she did, Kurt thought he might scream,and why wouldn’t she just leave
him alone?
 
Santana’s smile was too calm, her gaze unsettlingly sharp, knowing, as she
slowly and very deliberately reached out a hand and placed it on his arm.
 
“… then don’t let them. Just tell them ‘don’t fucking touch me’…!”
 
“Don’t fucking touch me!” Kurt snapped before he even knew he was going to
speak, standing up straighter, jerking his arm away from her and taking a step
forward to force her back. His voice was trembling dangerously, his hands
clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes burning with frustrated tears. “Just
back off, all right?”
 
Santana took a couple of slow steps back, crossing her arms over her chest as a
slow, triumphant smile spread across her face. “Yes. That’s more like it.”
 
The fact that he had somehow played right into her game and apparently done
exactly what she wanted him to do just fed Kurt’s fury. He threw his hands up
in front of him in frustration, using the added room the gesture bought him to
move out from between the sinks and back toward the door. Heedless of the hot
tears that slid down his face, he nearly shouted his next words in Santana’s
infuriatingly calm, accepting face.
 
“God, I’m just so sick of everyone asking if I’m okay all the time and telling
me I should talk about it and just being all over me and freaking smothering me
when all I want is for them to just leave me alone!”
 
He turned toward the door as if to leave, but then turned back a moment later,
raising one hand upward in a helpless gesture of frustration, shaking his head
as he continued, “I know they think they’re helping. They think they’re making
it better, but every time they hug me or touch my shoulder or put their hands
on me I just want to scream. I can’t – I just can’t take – I can’t…”
 
All of a sudden, Kurt couldn’t even draw enough breath to finish, his lungs
tightening and forcing him back, away, as he struggled to breathe. His back his
the door and he slid down against it, covering his face with his hands and
trying to stem the flow of the tears that streamed down his face, trying to
catch his breath.
 
It didn’t really matter. He didn’t know anymore what he’d been about to say,
anyway.
 
The slow sound of Santana’s footsteps across the floor toward him made him
tense, bracing himself for another confrontation – just now when he seemed to
have used up the last of his strength and ammunition – but she just sat down on
the floor beside him, her back against the door as well, and the strangely
comforting thought crossed his mind that if someone tried to come inside right
then, they wouldn’t be able to push them bothaway from the door to do so.
 
There was silence for a few long, weighted moments, the only sound Kurt’s
harsh, uneven breaths as he struggled to regain his composure.
 
“Breathe, Kurt,” Santana sighed beside him, her voice uncharacteristically soft
and patient – and to Kurt’s relief, she didn’t touch him, didn’t move into his
space again as she’d done before. “Breathe.”
 
Finally, he looked up at her, vaguely aware that he must have lookedlook a
wreck, his face red and streaked with tears. Despairing, he shook his head, his
voice barely over a whisper when at last he found it again.
 
“God, Santana – I’m so screwed up.”
 
Santana’s mouth quirked up slightly at the corner, but there was no cruelty in
the faint hint of a smile, or in her quiet, flat observation as she stared down
at her lap.
 
“No kidding.”
 
“I can’t – I can’t sing anymore.”
 
Santana looked back up at him sharply, immediately, a frown creasing her brow.
“What?”
 
“I just – I try, but – but all I can think about every time I try is just – is
him, and what he did, and his hands on me and the things he said, and I – I
can’t,” Kurt confessed brokenly, tears flowing again – vaguely aware that he
was probably saying too much, but unable to stop himself. “That’s all I’ve got,
Santana – my voice. It’s the only thing that’s going to take me away from here,
from all of this, from what happened, and – and it’s gone.” He looked back up
at her, sad and defeated. “He – he ruined me, Santana. He ruinedme.”
 
Santana was quiet for a moment, before finally replying, “I know.” Her hand
slid across the floor between them, edging toward his, well within his sight –
and when he didn’t move his away, she finally completed the gesture, gently
clasping it with her own. “Kurt…” She waited until he looked up into her eyes,
uncertain and questioning, to repeat emphatically, meaningfully, “I know.”
 
Kurt saw the recognition in her eyes, heard it in the heaviness of her voice,
but couldn’t quite bring himself to accept exactly what she was saying.
 
“What?” he demanded, his voice trembling, instantly defensive. “What do you
know?”
 
“I – I just know, Kurt, okay?” Santana sighed, a little defensive herself.
 
“How?” he cut her off, withdrawing his hand and drawing away from her a little
bit. “How do you know anything…?”
 
“Because you’re not the only one who’s been seriously fucked up for life,
okay?” she shot back, her voice rising, shaky, a little angry. She swallowed
hard, meeting his eyes, and Kurt suddenly understood when he saw the hurt, the
confusion, the insecurity there that matched what he saw when he looked in the
mirror. “Because…” she continued, softening as she held his gaze, saw him begin
to grasp what she was saying. “… because some things you just know. If you’ve
been there. All right? Some things – you just know.”
 
Kurt looked away for a moment, his mind slowly catching up with what his heart
had already figured out, putting the pieces together, suddenly understanding
why Santana had been so focused on him all day, why she’d followed him in here,
why she alone out of all of his friends had known how to push him through to a
much-needed release of the pent-up anger and frustration he’d been fighting
with all day…
 
… why she alone now knew the secret he’d been keeping…
 
“You can’t tell anyone, Santana!” Kurt pleaded, looking up at her abruptly and
reaching out to take her hand again. “Please. Please, don’t tell anyone. If
they knew – if they knew that it was anything more than just a robbery – I –
I’m lucky so far because they can’t – they’re not allowed to talk about –
about…” Kurt struggled over the words, his voice dropping to a hushed, shame-
filled whisper as his eyes dropped to their joined hands. “… underage victims
of – of that – on the news and stuff. But – if anybody ever found out what he
did to me…”
 
“Please,” Santana scoffed, but she squeezed his hand in silent reassurance as
she spoke. “I’m a bitch, and maybe even a little bit of a sociopath – but I’m
not completely evil.”
 
Instinctively Kurt knew that she was telling the truth; she wasn’t going to go
spreading this around. He was relieved, and leaned back against the door,
letting out a long, shaky sigh. Still, the very thought of what she’d
discovered becoming common knowledge made him feel sick inside. Kurt stared
down at the floor, shaking his head.
 
“They already call me every demeaning, sexual insult in their admittedly
limited vocabularies around here,” he pointed out softly, trying to keep the
tremor out of his voice. “Every day – or at least they did, before I left. For
now, they’re leaving me alone, but – but it’s only a matter of time before the
pity wears off and things go back to normal, and – and what happens if they
find out that I can’t even – couldn’t even stop him from – from making me –
from – from forcing me to…”
 
“Hey.” Santana’s voice was somehow sharp and gentle at the same time, as she
turned to face him more completely, waiting to speak until he reluctantly met
her eyes. “They’re not going to find out, Kurt – because I’m not going to say
anything. It’s nobody’s business but yours, and it’s going to stay that way, if
I have anything to say about it.”
 
Kurt bit his lower lip, taking in the honest, open promise in her eyes and her
words for a moment, before nodding, accepting it, his shoulders falling with
relief.
 
“Thanks,” he whispered. “Thanks, Santana.”
 
She shrugged. “We’d better get back before Mr. Shue sends Miss Pillsbury in
after us.” She rose to her feet, extending a hand to help him to his own as
well. “But you know,” she added as an afterthought, “if you ever doneed to
talk…”
 
Kurt glared at her, but couldn’t help a slight smile as he saw the teasing
gleam in her dark eyes, and realized that she was just messing with him.
 
“I will stabyou in the face,” he threatened in an exaggeratedly dark, warning
tone.
 
Santana laughed, holding up both hands in a placating gesture. “Kidding,” she
assured him. Her smile faded, becoming warmer, more solemn, as she shrugged and
added, “Except, you know – not.”
 
Kurt nodded, returning her smile. “Got it.” He was quiet for a moment before
repeating softly, “Thanks.”
 
Santana glanced at the clock on the wall before observing, “It’s too late to go
back to glee club. Why don’t you text Manboobs and tell him I’m driving you
home?”
 
“Okay.” Kurt nodded, taking out his phone. “But don’t blame me if he takes it
upon himself to call the cops and have them start searching the local ditches
for my body.”
 
The passenger seat of Santana’s car was the last place Kurt had imagined he
would end this overwhelming day. But a few minutes later, he was headed home,
allowing the relief and easing of the pressure to sink in, as Santana made him
laugh with crazy stories of Cheerios practices and other things he’d missed
while away at Dalton. The weight of his worries seemed to slip away as she
pulled into his driveway, and he got out to go inside.
 
His first day was officially over – and he’d survived.
***** Chapter 19 *****
The next day was a little easier than Kurt’s first day back had been.
 
He seemed to be old news already to the general student population, most of
whom just ignored him as he made his way through McKinley’s halls. There was
the odd glance or whispered conversation that stopped as he drew near, but for
the most part, his fellow students seemed to be already bored with his story,
as they knew it.
 
His panic attack in glee club the previous day felt like a distant memory, and
Kurt was almost able to convince himself that that was all it had been – just a
panic attack. He wasn’t physically incapable of singing. That was just silly.
He’d just freaked out a little bit, had a moment’s uncertainty, when faced with
his dark memories of the attack, and allowed his mind to play tricks on him.
 
He could sing. Of course he could sing.
 
He just… didn’t feel like it at the moment. Not even to prove to himself that
he could.
 
Besides, he had more interesting things to think about – like the fact that
Santana seemed to have abruptly added herself to his security team. Kurt was
amused, but not at all surprised, to find that her presence at his side seemed
to be more effective than that of all of his other friends combined.
 
She didn’t take shifts like the others. Rather, she seemed to have some kind of
psychic radar that told her when Kurt was feeling a little anxious, or a little
overwhelmed, or just about to pass a group of McKinley’s more intimidating
jocks. At just the right moment, she would materialize at his side, slipping
her arm through his and offering him a sly but warm smile before casting her
icy glare on anyone who dared to so much as look at him wrong.
 
He would never have thought that, of all people, Santana Lopez would be the one
who would make him feel really safe for the first time since the attack.
 
And then there was the added bonus, the looks of horrified confusion on the
faces of his brother and friends when they saw the two of them strolling down
the hallway together like lifelong besties. Kurt couldn’t help but find it
incredibly amusing – hilarious, even.
 
Only Brittany seemed completely unsurprised and unbothered by the new
arrangement. Without missing a beat, she just sidled up at Kurt’s other side,
taking his arm in a mirror of Santana’s pose.
 
Kurt’s second day back at McKinley proved to be not only a lot less scary – but
a lot more fun, as well.
 
When he walked in on the morning of the third day, Kurt wasn’t even nervous. He
was certain that the worst was over, and anyone who still seemed to find his
trauma entertaining would swiftly be scared off by Santana and the others.
Everything was going to be fine.
 
Except that in his homeroom, Kurt noticed that people seemed to be staring
again. When he’d look up to meet their eyes with a haughty, raised eyebrow,
they’d invariably avert their eyes, waiting until he’d stopped looking to
whisper to each other again.
 
“What is up with everybody?” he asked Finn across the lunch table, his voice a
frustrated whisper.
 
“What do you mean?” Finn frowned, clearly confused.
 
Of course, that was his natural state, so Kurt wasn’t surprised.
 
“They’re just all – staring, and whispering, and – and they weren’t this bad
yesterday, so…”
 
“Kurt, this is Lima,” Finn pointed out. “It’s not like stuff like this happens
every day. Besides, you know…” Finn shrugged, a smile of affectionate pride on
his face. “… you’re kind of a hero.”
 
Kurt didn’t feel like a hero at all.
 
In fact, as the afternoon wore on, he began to feel more and more self-
conscious and anxious. He tried to ignore the stares and whispers, though he
knew by now that he was not imagining it. It was definitely worse today than
it’d been his first day back.
 
What are they all staring at? I thought they were past this by now. What are
they saying –thinking– about me?
 
He kept his head down, kept his eyes focused straight ahead, and tried to think
about nothing more than his afternoon classes – but by the time he reached his
free period, the one directly before glee club, he was really freaked out.
 
He let out a shaky sigh of relief as he stepped into the empty choir room, not
bothering to turn on the light, and made his way to the far corner of the room.
He sat down on the top riser and folded his arms across his knees, resting his
head on his arms and focusing on drawing in deep breaths.
 
“K-Kurt?”
 
Kurt looked up, startled, to find Rachel standing in the doorway. When he met
her gaze, she hesitantly advanced into the room, her steps halting and
uncertain, her book bag held in front of her, arms folded over it like a
shield. As she reached him, she bit her lower lip, a troubled expression in her
eyes.
 
“Rachel, if you’re going to ask me if I’m okay again, please don’t,” Kurt
sighed, burying his face in his arms again. “Please. I’m just sick of being the
focus of everyone’s attention…” He raised his head again, his shoulders falling
with defeat as he shook his head, a sad smile passing his lips at the irony. “…
and if you’d told me a month ago that I’d ever utter those words, I’d have
thought you were out of your mind.”
 
Rachel didn’t even crack a smile – and when she spoke at last, her tone made
Kurt’s stomach clench uneasily, the feeling that there was something going on
that he didn’t know about intensifying as she sat down beside him and withdrew
her laptop from her bag.
 
“Kurt – I don’t know how to tell you this. There’s just – there’s something you
should see…”
 
Kurt frowned, wondering immediately if there was some new news regarding his
case. Maybe the guy had been caught – but then, that didn’t explain everyone’s
strange behavior that day, or the way they’d guiltily looked away from him
every time he’d accidentally met their eyes.
 
When Kurt saw Jacob Ben Israel’s blog appear on Rachel’s screen, his frown
deepened.
 
“There’s nothing on there that I want to see, Rachel,” he declared. “That
ignorant blog is pure garbage. Everyone knows…”
 
His voice trailed off as the latest video Jacob had posted began to play, and
he recognized himself, walking purposefully down one of McKinley’s hallways,
Santana at his side. Once he was almost out of the shot, Jacob’s face appeared,
very close to the camera, his voice hushed and secretive as he began to speak.
 
“McKinley’s resident home invasion survivor, Kurt Hummel, appears to be taking
his traumatic experience in stride, on his second day back at school after he
and his father were held at gunpoint and robbed just a little over a week ago.
But my sources tell me that it’s all an act, folks – because there’s more to
Kurt’s story than we’ve been led to believe – a lot more.”
 
Kurt’s stomach twisted uncomfortably with dawning suspicion, and he raised one
hand slowly to his mouth, unable to tear his gaze away from the video as Jacob
made his way down the hall, stopping in front of the girls’ bathroom.
 
“Just outside this very door yesterday afternoon, Kurt Hummel was overheard
admitting that the robbers took more than the Hummels’ mid-range electronics
and petty cash reserves. No, as it turns out, the surviving robber, who remains
at large, his whereabouts unknown, took an interest in a lot more than money or
possessions…”
 
“The robber is not only guilty of robbery, dear viewers…” Jacob continued, and
Kurt closed his eyes, unable to breathe, his blood rushing in his ears and
almost – almost, but not quite – drowning out the killing blow as Jacob
delivered it, as carelessly as he might have delivered the latest gossip about
which jocks were dating which cheerleaders, “… but of rape, as well. Kurt
Hummel was raped. That’s the reason for the heavy guard duty his friends have
been keeping over the past few days. That’s the reason why the secrecy, why his
name hasn’t been released in the mainstream media…”
 
The rest of his words seemed to blend together, inaudible over the pounding of
Kurt’s own heart in his ears. The rest of his words didn’t matter, anyway. The
most awful, most devastating ones echoed over and over in Kurt’s head.
 
Kurt Hummel was raped… raped… RAPED…
 
Rapid footsteps crossing the choir room floor drew Kurt’s gaze up, and he
barely registered Santana’s furious face before she slammed Rachel’s laptop
closed, leaning over it to get right in Rachel’s face.
 
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she demanded, her voice trembling with rage.
“How could you showhim this, Rachel? Are you brain dead?”
 
“He – he has the right to know what people are saying about him,” Rachel
insisted, rising to her feet, her voice trembling, defensive. “If it was me, I
– I’d want to know…”
 
“Well, then you should just make the decision for everyone, shouldn’t you?”
Santana sneered, taking another step toward Rachel.
 
“It’s not true – is it?”
 
The sound of Finn’s voice drew Kurt’s attention, and his heart sank as he
looked up to see his brother’s stricken face, staring down at the closed laptop
between the two girls. He slowly raised his eyes to look at Kurt, and Kurt had
to look away, hot tears of humiliation welling up in his eyes and sliding down
his face.
 
“That – that’s not what happened,” Finn persisted, stepping cautiously closer.
“Is it? It didn’t happen.” His voice rose slightly as he repeated in horrified
disbelief, “Tell me it didn’t happen, Kurt!”
 
Suddenly, Kurt felt trapped, overwhelmed by the yelling and the pressure and
the overpowering, devastating weight of the fact that now everyone knew. He
hadn’t had the strength to tell his own brother, or any of his friends – had
been humiliated at the very thought of any of his closest loved ones finding
out – and now the entire school knew what had happened to him. He stood up on
the riser, shaking his head, covering his face with his hands and taking a
backward step that put him against the wall.
 
“Kurt!” Finn’s voice rose, sharp and insistent. “Kurt, talk to me, man, did
this happen? It’s – it’s bullshit, right?”
 
“Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with you, Hudson, so why don’t you just
back the fuck up?” Santana snarled, swiftly inserting herself between Kurt and
Finn, the riser she was standing on giving her a few inches, and making her
appear intimidating enough to make Finn take a step back. “Did you both just
take all your stupid pills at once this morning?” Santana glared at Rachel and
Finn in turn, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can’t you idiots see what
you’ve done?”
 
And then, they were all three looking at him, all three staring with varying
expressions of fury and horror and sympathy, and Kurt just couldn’t stand it.
His arms were crossed over his torso, his face turned away, burning with the
heat of shame as he tried to shut it out, tried to pretend this wasn’t
happening, because, God, this could not be happening…
 
“Kurt, I’m so sorry,” Rachel attempted, taking a step toward him, but halting
abruptly when Santana stepped toward her with a challenging glare. “I – I
didn’t mean to…”
 
“Please,” Kurt whispered, holding up a hand to ward them all off, his eyes
focused on his feet, blurring with the tears that were streaming down his face.
“Please, just – just don’t – don’t touch me, don’t…”
 
He glanced up with alarm when he caught movement in the doorway out of the
corner of his eye – but felt some relief when he saw that it was just Brittany.
She was staring between the four people gathered in the room, silently taking
in Santana’s fury, Rachel and Finn’s guilt and shock, and Kurt’s quiet,
devastated sobs.
 
After only a moment’s hesitation, Brittany moved swiftly and decisively across
the room, climbing the risers, past the other three, to simply fold her arms
around Kurt in a gentle, protective embrace.
 
If anyone else had touched him in that moment, Kurt was pretty sure he would
have lost it.
 
But it was Brittany, innocent and loving, with no motive but to comfort him –
and Kurt found himself melting into her embrace, lowering his head onto her
shoulder and crying quietly as she ran a gentle hand slowly up and down his
back.
 
His secret was out.
 
Everyone knew what had happened to him – and he wasn’t ready, didn’t think he’d
ever have been ready to face that – but he had no choice now. He felt sick,
wanted to die, wanted to go home and hide in his room and never come out again.
 
“Sometimes when I’m really scared or really sad,” Brittany whispered, her
breath soft and sweet against his ear, “I pretend I’m not there. Maybe – maybe
that would help.”
 
It was as good advice as any, so Kurt did – hiding his face against Brittany’s
shoulder and closing his eyes and trying to just shut it all out.
***** Chapter 20 *****
&#x201C;Are you happynow?&#x201D; Santana demanded, glaring up at Finn with a
protective fury that was truly frightening in her eyes. &#x201C;Look at what
you&#x2019;ve done to him!&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;I-I didn&#x2019;t &#x2013; do anything!&#x201D; Finn insisted, his
voice trembling with frustrated emotion. &#x201C;I just wanted to
know&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
He looked uneasily past her to take in the sight of his little brother, sobbing
quietly into Brittany&#x2019;s shoulder, visibly trembling even from the
distance the risers gave him &#x2013; distance that Kurt shouldn&#x2019;t have
had to feel he needed, not from his own brother.
&#xA0;
Kurt&#x2019;s already scared enough,Finn realized in an abrupt moment of
clarity that broke through his shock and horror at what he&#x2019;d just
learned. The last thing he needs is me up in his face yelling at him.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Look, I &#x2013; I&#x2019;m sorry,&#x201D; he admitted at last with a
shaky sigh, raking his hand through his hair as he paced away a couple of steps
and then back again in agitation. &#x201C;I didn&#x2019;t mean to &#x2013; to
freak him out so much, but &#x2013; but why didn&#x2019;t he
tellme&#x2026;?&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;He doesn&#x2019;t have to tell you shit, Hudson!&#x201D; Santana
snapped. &#x201C;Whatever happened to Kurt, it&#x2019;s his
business&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;I&#x2019;m his brother&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Nooo,&#x201D; Santana sneered slowly, her eyes narrowed and lips
twisting into a cruel smile that made Finn brace himself for the verbal
brutality he knew she was about to dish out. &#x201C;You&#x2019;re the
brainless, knuckle-dragging Neanderthal who happens to live down the hall from
him. That doesn&#x2019;t make you family, any more than it gives you the right
to demand the most intimate details of the worst night of his life. If he
doesn&#x2019;t exactly feel like baring his soul to you on demand, I&#x2019;m
really not surprised.&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;No, that&#x2019;s&#x2026;&#x201D; Finn shook his head, raising one hand
to press against his eyes, trying to somehow regain control of both the
conversation and his careening emotions. &#x201C;&#x2026; that&#x2019;s not
what I meant&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Come on, Britt.&#x201D; Santana cut him off, spinning dismissively away
from him. &#x201C;Let&#x2019;s get Kurt home. He doesn&#x2019;t need to be here
when the rest of the glee club comes in.&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Finn followed them out into the hall, but didn&#x2019;t protest as Brittany and
Santana ushered Kurt out between them, leading him away toward the exit. He
wasn&#x2019;t openly crying anymore, but he looked absolutely wrecked, pale and
disheveled and barely even moving under his own power, as they disappeared
around the corner.
&#xA0;
Finn felt like he should do something &#x2013; but on the other hand, he
realized, his heart sinking, it seemed like he&#x2019;d already done more than
enough.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Hey, what&#x2019;s up with Kurt?&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Puck&#x2019;s voice drew Finn out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see Puck
standing just beyond him, stopped in the doorway to the choir room and frowning
down the hallway at the place where Kurt, Brittany, and Santana had just been.
Puck turned his gaze to Finn, then, and his frown deepened.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Forget that. What&#x2019;s up with you, dude? You okay?&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;I&#x2019;m fine, I just&#x2026; Kurt&#x2026;&#x201D; Finn found himself
stumbling over his words, and alarmed to abruptly be fighting back an extremely
unmanly display of emotion. &#x201C;J-Jacob&#x2019;s blog. Have you seen
it?&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;No.&#x201D; Puck shook his head, confused.
&#x201C;What&#x2026;?&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Rachel appeared in the doorway at the moment, without a word handing her laptop
over to Puck and advancing past him to her boyfriend&#x2019;s side, her dark
eyes wide and worried.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Finn?&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Finn closed his eyes at the familiar, soothing feeling of Rachel&#x2019;s soft,
warm hand on his arm. It was reassuring, comforting &#x2013; and at the moment,
felt completely undeserved. His throat felt thick and his eyes burned, and his
mind, his entire world, was still spinning, tilting under the weight of the
devastating revelation he&#x2019;d just heard of what had reallyhappened to
Kurt that night.
&#xA0;
Jacob&#x2019;s voice echoed from the tinny speakers of Rachel&#x2019;s laptop,
and Finn tried to shut it out, tried not to think about how Kurt must have
felt, hearing such a callous, sensationalized version of what was so
unbelievably private &#x2013; his most humiliating, painful moments laid bare
for the whole world to see.
&#xA0;
Puck was leaning against the wall by the choir room door, holding the laptop
and watching it intently with a troubled expression on his face. Out of the
corner of his eye, Finn saw Puck slowly slide down the wall to crouch on the
floor, bracing the laptop against his knees, his mouth falling open slightly in
shock, his eyes wide. His voice was soft and disbelieving, as he finally closed
the laptop, staring blankly at the wall across from him.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Shit.&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Finn couldn&#x2019;t find the strength or focus to acknowledge Puck&#x2019;s
shock. All he could think about was the devastation he&#x2019;d seen on
Kurt&#x2019;s face a few moments earlier.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Finn&#x2026; it&#x2019;s okay,&#x201D; Rachel tried again to assure
him, her voice cautious and hesitant. &#x201C;You didn&#x2019;t
know&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;I &#x2013; I really screwed up,&#x201D; Finn argued quietly, his voice
hoarse and trembling. &#x201C;That&#x2019;s the last way I should have
reacted&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;You&#x2019;re not the only one,&#x201D; Rachel offered softly, her hand
on his arm squeezing gently. &#x201C;I &#x2013; I just thought he should know.
I&#x2019;d have wanted to, and &#x2013; and it was too much, like that. I
shouldn&#x2019;t have shown him that video&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;How did Jacob know?&#x201D; Finn wondered aloud, before looking at her
sharply. &#x201C;Did you know? Who else&#x2026;?&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;No, I didn&#x2019;t.&#x201D; Rachel&#x2019;s eyes widened at the
unintentional accusation he knew had been in his voice, and probably on his
face as well. &#x201C;Not until today, when &#x2013; when everyone was talking
about Jacob&#x2019;s blog, and &#x2013; and I saw it, and &#x2013; well, I kind
of wondered, but &#x2013; I didn&#x2019;t know.&#x201D; She was quiet for a
moment, looking away, before she added softly, &#x201C;I thought there was
&#x2013; something he wasn&#x2019;t telling everybody, but &#x2013; but I
didn&#x2019;t know it was this.&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Finn looked away again, pressing his forefinger and thumb against his eyes,
feeling suddenly very self-conscious and overwhelmed as the cheerful voices of
several more members of New Directions reached his ears. He glanced down the
hall for a moment, then down at Puck again, still crouched with his back
against the wall, a stricken look on his face.
&#xA0;
The others were coming for practice, and Puck was going to want more of an
explanation, and Rachel was going to want some kind of comfort and reassurance
&#x2013; and Finn didn&#x2019;t want to face them, any of them &#x2013;
didn&#x2019;t want to try to guess how much they knew, or when they&#x2019;d
found out, or what they were thinking now about his little brother and what
he&#x2019;d been through.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;I-I have to go,&#x201D; he blurted out abruptly, turning toward Rachel.
&#x201C;Tell Mr. Shue I &#x2013; it&#x2019;s a family emergency. Just &#x2013;
I need to go home right now.&#x201D; He was quiet for a moment, his chest
aching as he met Rachel&#x2019;s questioning gaze and concluded softly,
&#x201C;One missed practice doesn&#x2019;t matter. Kurt &#x2013; my &#x2013; my
little brother needs me.&#x201D;
&#xA0;
*********************************************
&#xA0;
He wasn&#x2019;t sure, afterwards, exactly how he got home &#x2013; but the
next thing Kurt knew, he was huddled on the new used sofa in his living room,
his legs drawn up under him, covered in a soft, fleecy afghan and trying to
sleep.
&#xA0;
Later, when he thought about it, he was pretty sure Santana must have driven
him, because Finn hadn&#x2019;t driven to school that morning &#x2013; and he
was pretty sure she wouldn&#x2019;t have let Finn near him at the moment,
anyway. Also, whenever Kurt finally started to focus on his surroundings again,
he realized that the house was quiet and mostly empty, with both Burt and
Carole still at work.
&#xA0;
In the quiet stillness, there was nothing left to shut out Kurt&#x2019;s
thoughts &#x2013; and he had to face the truth.
&#xA0;
It &#x2013; it really happened.
&#xA0;
Jacob Ben Israel &#x2013; heard me and Santana talking, and &#x2013; and he
told everyone. The entire school knows now, and &#x2013; and there&#x2019;s
nothing I can do about it.
&#xA0;
And I have to face them tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after
that.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Kurt?&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Kurt looked up toward the sound of Finn&#x2019;s quiet, subdued voice, not
quite meeting his brother&#x2019;s eyes, but waiting silently for him to go on.
Finn waited until he was standing directly in front of Kurt, and then crouched
down on one knee in front of him, bringing them face to face.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Kurt, I &#x2013; I&#x2019;m really sorry.&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Kurt bit his lower lip, nodding in quiet acceptance. &#x201C;I know,&#x201D; he
acknowledged softly. &#x201C;You &#x2013; didn&#x2019;t do anything wrong,
Finn. I know &#x2013; I know it was &#x2013; a shock&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Yeah,&#x201D; Finn sighed, relief clear in his voice. &#x201C;Yeah, it
was. And &#x2013; and I wasn&#x2019;t &#x2013; mad at you, or anything. I think
Santana thought &#x2013; but I wasn&#x2019;t. I just &#x2013; didn&#x2019;t
know how to takethat, and&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;I know,&#x201D; Kurt gently cut him off, finally making himself look up
to meet Finn&#x2019;s eyes. &#x201C;I know you didn&#x2019;t mean to &#x2013;
to scare me. I &#x2013; I accept your apology, Finn. There&#x2019;s no need to
explain. I should have&#x2026;&#x201D; His voice trailed off, and he shook his
head, looking away. &#x201C;No, I &#x2013; I&#x2019;m not going to say I should
have told you. I &#x2013; shouldn&#x2019;t have had to tell
anyone&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;I know.&#x201D; Finn&#x2019;s tone darkened, and Kurt looked up at him
warily to see anger in his eyes. &#x201C;Kurt &#x2013; I just got off the phone
with Puck, and &#x2013; and he and Mike and I &#x2013; we&#x2019;re gonna take
care of Jacob, Kurt. Gonna make sure he knows better than to pull that kind of
crap again. We&#x2019;re gonna deal with him.&#x201D; He paused, the hint of a
rueful smile on his lips as he shrugged. &#x201C;You know &#x2013;
whatever&#x2019;s left of him after Santana gets through with him,
anyway.&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Kurt felt as if he should have told Finn not to do it, should have asked him to
leave Jacob alone &#x2013; but he couldn&#x2019;t bring himself to be so
generous at the moment. He didn&#x2019;t respond at all, just stared down at
the blanket that covered the lower half of his body, picking at it listlessly.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;I just &#x2013; I don&#x2019;t know what to do,&#x201D; he whispered at
last. &#x201C;I &#x2013; I don&#x2019;t know how to walk in there tomorrow and
&#x2013; and everybody knows, and&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;It&#x2019;s none of their business, Kurt.&#x201D; Finn&#x2019;s voice
hardened. &#x201C;Anybody who says anything is an idiot. It&#x2019;s not like
it&#x2019;s your fault that creep&#x2026;&#x201D; His voice trailed off, and
when Kurt glanced up at him, he was looking away, flushed and self-conscious.
&#x201C;Anyway,&#x201D; Finn concluded at last, a bit awkwardly,
&#x201C;it&#x2019;s not like you&#x2019;vegot anything to be ashamed
of.&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Kurt knew in his head that it was true &#x2013; but it didn&#x2019;t feel true
at all.
&#xA0;
Just when he was beginning to think that Finn was going to stay there, all
awkward and self-conscious with nothing else to say, but not wanting to leave
him alone until their parents got home &#x2013; the doorbell rang.
&#xA0;
Finn let out an audible breath of relief, standing up and hurrying off to
answer it.
&#xA0;
A few moments later, Finn appeared in the living room doorway again, a
strangely wary expression on his face. Kurt sat up a little, trying to see past
him into the hallway.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;So, um&#x2026; I know you&#x2019;re resting and all, and &#x2013; maybe
not up for company, but &#x2013; I&#x2019;m pretty sure you&#x2019;d want to
see this person, so&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Kurt frowned, opening his mouth to protest that he didn&#x2019;t want to see
anyone at all &#x2013; but the protest died in his throat, when Finn stepped
out of the way, revealing the much smaller figure who stood in the doorway,
hands folded anxiously in front of himself, a timid, almost shy smile on his
face.
&#xA0;
Kurt&#x2019;s heart stuttered in his chest for a moment, his breath catching in
his throat.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Blaine&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Kurt&#x2019;s mouth was suddenly dry, his palms damp, as all at once he felt
incredibly self-conscious. He wanted to kill Finn for letting Blaine in without
asking him, for putting him in this position with no warning. It&#x2019;d been
weeks since he&#x2019;d talked to Blaine, and this was not how he&#x2019;d
envisioned them meeting again. He wasn&#x2019;t even sure if he&#x2019;d
intended for them to meet again at all.Kurt&#x2019;s face flushed with
embarrassment as he remembered all the calls and texts he&#x2019;d ignored, and
braced himself for Blaine&#x2019;s reaction.
&#xA0;
But &#x2013; Blaine didn&#x2019;t really seem angry, at all.
&#xA0;
Blaine seemed &#x2013; nervous.
&#xA0;
He was fidgeting with the end of his scarf in front of him, his eyes focused on
the floor as he took a halting, uncertain step further into the room.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;H-hi, Kurt.&#x201D; Blaine&#x2019;s voice was quiet and cautious, as he
slowly advanced, closing the distance between them.
&#xA0;
Kurt rose to his feet, putting aside the blanket, crossing his arms over his
chest in an unconsciously defensive gesture.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Blaine &#x2013; I&#x2026; I didn&#x2019;t mean to&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Wait.&#x201D; Blaine held up a hand in a halting gesture, glancing up
to meet Kurt&#x2019;s eyes with a pleading expression before looking away, his
gaze settling uncertainly on Finn, who was leaning in the doorway, just
protectively watching. &#x201C;I-I know you don&#x2019;t really want to talk to
me right now, even though I &#x2013; I don&#x2019;t really know why &#x2013; if
I didsomething or &#x2013; or what, and you don&#x2019;t have to tell me, but
&#x2013; please just let me say this before you kick me out of your house,
okay? Because if I don&#x2019;t say it now, I never will.&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Kurt blinked, startled, lips parted to protest and explain that Blaine
hadn&#x2019;t done anything wrong &#x2013; but Blaine&#x2019;s eyes were
downcast again, and he didn&#x2019;t see.
&#xA0;
And he hadn&#x2019;t yet stopped for breath.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Kurt &#x2013; I like you,&#x201D; he blurted out abruptly &#x2013; and
all thought of protest immediately fled Kurt&#x2019;s mind. Blaine&#x2019;s
words came faster, trembling and uncertain, as he continued, eyes locked onto
the floor as if terrified to see Kurt&#x2019;s reaction. &#x201C;I &#x2013; I
really like you, Kurt. I have for a long time now. And &#x2013; I know I
sometimes come on too strong, and maybe I&#x2019;ve pushed you away, and
you&#x2019;re obviously dealing with some family stuff and I didn&#x2019;t even
know about it, which is probably because I talk too much and don&#x2019;t
listen enough and I&#x2019;m &#x2013; doing that. Right now. But &#x2013; but
Kurt&#x2026;&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Blaine looked up at last, dread and hope mingled in his eyes as he earnestly
met Kurt&#x2019;s gaze.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;I reallylike you. And &#x2013; and if you like me back, or &#x2013; or
if you don&#x2019;t &#x2013; if you just need a friend &#x2013; I want to be
there for you. That&#x2019;s all. I just want to be there for you. So &#x2013;
you can ask me to leave now, if you want.&#x201D; Blaine swallowed hard,
glancing away for just a moment before meeting Kurt&#x2019;s eyes again, his
voice soft and pleading. &#x201C;But &#x2013; please don&#x2019;t.&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Kurt just stared at Blaine for a long moment, trying to process what
he&#x2019;d just said &#x2013; and as it gradually sank in, he found himself
overwhelmed by the cruel irony that it was now of all times that Blaine had
finally decided to confess his feelings for him &#x2013; now when he was so
irreparably damaged, and when everyone in the entire world was going to know
it, and Blaine couldn&#x2019;t possibly know what he was getting into, wanting
to get involved with Kurt at all.
&#xA0;
All at once, it was just too much &#x2013; and Kurt abruptly burst into tears.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Kurt?&#x201D; Blaine&#x2019;s voice was bewildered as Kurt sank back
down onto the couch, covering his face with his hands. A moment later, it was
much closer, and Kurt felt the depression of the sofa beside him as Blaine sat
down. &#x201C;Kurt &#x2013; what is it? What did I say?&#x201D;
&#xA0;
Kurt shook his head, wanting to tell Blaine that it wasn&#x2019;t his fault,
but unable to find words. The feeling of Blaine&#x2019;s tentative hand, warm
and reassuring on his back, only made it harder to control his emotions.
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Kurt,&#x201D; Blaine said softly, his hand running slowly, soothingly
up and down Kurt&#x2019;s back. &#x201C;Hey, come on&#x2026; it&#x2019;s okay.
It&#x2019;s okay. What&#x2019;s &#x2013; why are you crying?&#x201D;
&#xA0;
&#x201C;Hey, dude,&#x201D; Finn spoke up at last, and Kurt could tell by the
sound of his voice that he was now much closer than the doorway. &#x201C;Why
don&#x2019;t we give him a minute? Come here. Let&#x2019;s talk.&#x201D;
&#xA0;
When Kurt felt Blaine retreat, he looked up sharply at Finn, alarmed to see him
leading Blaine away with a gentle but firm grip on his arm. Finn caught
Kurt&#x2019;s eye and shook his head slightly, and Kurt easily read the silent
reassurance in the gesture &#x2013; the promise that Finn would not share his
secret with Blaine.
&#xA0;
Not that it made any difference.
&#xA0;
Kurt&#x2019;s heart sank with an undeniable realization, and he buried his face
in his hands, struggling to stem the flow of his tears, despite the fact that
the despairing course of his thoughts only made him want to cry harder.
&#xA0;
He&#x2019;s here&#x2026; and he wants tobewith me.
&#xA0;
Now.Now of all times, Blaine actually wants to be with me &#x2013; but I just
&#x2013; justcan&#x2019;t. I can&#x2019;t, and if he only knew, he
wouldn&#x2019;t want to be with me, anyway.
&#xA0;
And who am I kidding? He already knows that something&#x2019;s terribly wrong.
&#xA0;
If he really likes me like he says he does&#x2026; and he drove here from
Dalton just to be here for me&#x2026;
&#xA0;
&#x2026; he&#x2019;s not going to leave without some answers.
***** Chapter 21 *****
At first, when Kurt wouldn’t take any of his calls, Blaine just assumed he was
having a busy weekend at home.
After all, they saw each other all week, every week at Dalton. It wasn’t as if
Kurt had even had time to miss him yet, and his friends in Lima only got him
for what little time they could manage to kidnap him away from his family.
Between hanging out with his former glee club and adjusting to his new blended
family, it was completely understandable that Kurt would be too busy to take
Blaine’s calls.
Or send him a text back.
Or anything.
Blaine told himself all of that repeatedly that weekend, reminding himself that
he had no right to have hurt feelings just because he wasn’t Kurt’s first
priority when he was at home.
By Monday morning, however, Blaine was restless and vaguely anxious and very
relieved to know that he’d see Kurt in the second period French class they
shared. It was a new school week, and Kurt would be back at Dalton, and
everything would be back to a reassuring state of normal.
Except, it wasn’t.
Blaine slipped his phone from his pocket and sent off a couple of painstakingly
casual texts under the cover of his desk, while casting worried glances in the
direction of Kurt’s empty seat next to his. He was unsurprised, and
increasingly worried, when those texts went unanswered. At last, Blaine allowed
himself to consider the possibility that maybe there was a reason for Kurt’s
shutting him out – something beyond mere distraction.
Did I do something? he wondered. Say something that offended him?
But as hard as he tried, Blaine couldn’t think of anything he might have done
to make Kurt angry enough to write him off completely. Though, when he thought
about it, things hadbeen a bit awkward and uncertain for the couple of days
following Valentine’s Day, when Kurt had admitted his feelings for Blaine, and
Blaine had put him off. Kurt had acted as if he was fine with it, but Blaine
knew deep down that he could have done a lot better than the cringingly clichéd
“don’t want to ruin our friendship” spiel he’d given Kurt at the Lima Bean.
Problem was – it was actually the truth.
Blaine wasn’t blind. Kurt was the cutest guy he’d seen since he’d started going
to Dalton, and his obvious crush was both flattering and intriguing. He
couldn’t deny that he was attracted to Kurt, and had more than once allowed
himself to imagine what it might be like to have Kurt as his boyfriend. But
more than anything, during the past few months, Kurt had become Blaine’s best
friend. The last thing he wanted was for them to start dating, have it all fall
apart, and end up having lost Kurt completely.
Except it was soon obvious that that was what was happening, anyway – when
Kurt’s parents showed up at Dalton to pick up his things.
Blaine was not so arrogant and narcissistic as to believe that Kurt would
actually leave Dalton because of him. All they would tell him in the office was
that Kurt had withdrawn due to “personal issues”, and Blaine had no reason not
to believe that was true. But Kurt had to be angry with him about something –
or else why wouldn’t he return Blaine’s calls, if only to say goodbye?
Blaine had waited too long to figure out what he really felt for Kurt – and
now, it was too late. Kurt had apparently given up on being anything more than
friends with him – or even friends at all, for that matter.
Blaine kept trying desperately to reach Kurt, wanting some kind of reassurance
that he was wrong – that even though Kurt was leaving Dalton, they would still
be able to see each other, still be able to remain friends – but after the
weekend, he was increasingly sure that Kurt had no desire for that to happen –
no desire, anymore, for anythingto happen between them.
After a few days, Blaine started to feel like a bit of a stalker, so he stopped
calling. It took a few days longer for him to stop texting as well, resigning
himself to the loss of his friendship with the beautiful boy who’d become so
much a part of his life.
But missing Kurt just hurttoo much.
Blaine found that as hurt as he was, he couldn’t allow himself to give up so
easily. What was he so afraid of, anyway? Losing Kurt? That was already done,
wasn’t it? He could do nothing, and lose Kurt without a fight – or he could
try, and maybe lose him anyway…or maybe not.
At least he’d know he’d tried.
He’d rehearsed his speech to Kurt over and over during the drive from
Westerville, until he knew exactly what to say and how to say it. There was a
strong chance that Kurt would still be angry about – whatever he’d been angry
about to begin with. After all, Blaine still hadn’t heard from him. But if he
did, at least Blaine could take comfort in the fact that he’d given it his all.
Of course, the moment he saw Kurt, all Blaine’s careful planning flew out the
window, and he forgot everything he’d meant to say, and what came pouring out
was far less and far more than he’d intended. Blaine’s heart sank with
disappointment, and he braced himself for all of Kurt’s possible reactions to
his pathetic attempt to win back his affections. Yelling, disgust, laughter –
all were distinct possibilities, given his utter failure.
The last thing he’d expected was Kurt’s tears.
“What is it?” he asked softly, cautiously sitting down at Kurt’s side and
reaching out a hand to run tentatively up and down his back.
It wasn’t the first time he’d offered such physical comfort to Kurt when he was
in tears. There had been quite a lot of tears over the past few months – over
the vicious bullying Kurt had experienced, and leaving his family and friends,
and struggling to adjust to life at Dalton. Of course, this was different. If
Kurt didn’t even want to talk to him, then Blaine wasn’t exactly sure Kurt
wanted to be touched by him, either.
“Kurt – what’s wrong?” he gently urged his friend. “Tell me…”
“Hey, dude. Come on.” The tall boy who’d let him in – Kurt’s stepbrother… Finn,
wasn’t it? – was now standing at his side, a hand on his shoulder to pull him
away from Kurt. “Let’s give him a minute to himself, okay? Let’s go in the
other room and talk.”
Blaine hesitated. He wanted to object, wanted nothing more than to stay with
Kurt – but the other boy was insistent, and he was Kurt’s brother, right? So he
probably knew better than Blaine what was going on with Kurt lately – what he
needed.
He knows what happened… probably knows why Kurt’s upset…
That was really the main reason that Blaine complied. Reluctantly, he left the
room with Finn, who waited until the kitchen door was closed behind them,
glancing anxiously toward it for a moment as if afraid that Kurt might follow,
before turning back toward Blaine with a sympathetic grimace.
“He’s going through a really hard time, man,” he explained in a hushed,
apologetic tone. “It’s not you. It’s just – what did he tell you about what
happened?”
Blaine shook his head, biting his lower lip. “He, um – he hasn’t been… talking
to me, exactly…”
“Oh.” Finn winced, looking away from Blaine awkwardly. “That sucks, dude. I – I
didn’t know that.”
Blaine cringed inwardly, suddenly sure that this information would convince
Finn that maybe he shouldn’t tell Blaine anything, maybe he shouldn’t have let
Blaine into the house at all, not if all he was going to do was put the moves
on his little brother when he was obviously going through a terrible time.
Please don’t keep it from me, please don’t kick me out, please just tell me…
“But look, man,” Finn continued, “if he hasn’t been calling you, I’m pretty
sure it isn’t you. I mean – Kurt and his dad were robbed at gunpoint a couple
of weeks ago, and well – he kinda hasn’t been talking much to anyone, you
know?”
“Kurt was – what?” Blaine stared up at Finn in horror, taking an automatic step
toward the kitchen door. “Oh my God, is he okay…?”
“No, wait a minute.” Finn stopped him with a hand on his arm, pulling him back.
“Just – I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t want you to see him like this, dude. I mean
– if he hasn’t been talking to you or calling or whatever, well – I know it’s
not because he doesn’t like you.” Finn’s eyes widened suddenly, and he added
abruptly, “I mean – not that he does like you.”
Blaine’s heart sank. “He doesn’t like me?”
“No, he likes you!” Finn insisted. “He just – it’s not like he told me he likes
you, or anything. I mean…” Finn stopped for a moment, visibly flustered, before
blurting out in a rush, “Kurt absolutely didn’t tell me that he doesn’t not
like you.”
Blaine blinked and shook his head a little, unspeakably confused.
Finn sighed. “I should just… stop talking… now.”
Deciding to try to make sense of Finn’s multiple negatives later, Blaine looked
longingly toward the kitchen door again. “Well, maybe I should just try to talk
to him…”
“I think you should give him a minute,” Finn advised, considering for a moment
before suggesting, “Let me go talk to him. Wait here.”
*****************************************
When Finn went back into the living room, Kurt was still sitting where he’d
been on the couch, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his
hands extended in front of him. He was quiet and appeared to be calmer, but as
Finn reached him, he could see that he was trembling. He crouched down in front
of Kurt, bracing one elbow on the arm of the sofa and studying Kurt’s tear-
streaked face. Kurt looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed, a bleak attempt at a
smile on his lips.
“Hey,” Finn said in a mild, casual tone. “You okay?”
Kurt shook his head slowly, looking away. He was quiet for a moment before
confessing softly, “He doesn’t know what happened to me.” He looked up at Finn
again, his eyes flooded with fresh tears. “What’s he going to think of me when
he finds out? Why would he ever want to be with me now?”
“If he thinks anything of youwhen he finds out, then he’s not good enough for
you anyway,” Finn pointed out, feeling a rush of protective affection for his
new little brother. “And if he knows what’s good for him, he won’t give you any
crap about it.” He paused a moment before adding firmly, “And anyway, it’s not
like he even has to know.”
Kurt had just had all choice taken away from him when it came to keeping the
biggest, most painful secret of his entire life, and Finn would be damned if
he’d let thischoice be taken from him too.
“You decide how much you want him to know, and – that’s all he needs to know.
Okay?”
Kurt nodded, sniffling, and reached out a cautious, shaking hand to rest on
Finn’s on the arm of the sofa. “Th-thank you,” he whispered.
Finn shrugged. He really hadn’t done anything. He considered for a moment
before cautiously proceeding.
“But – you do like him, right? I mean, you told me a while back…”
Kurt nodded again, staring down at his lap, clearly miserable. “Yeah,” he
whispered. “That – hasn’t changed.”
Finn nodded slowly, taking that in. “Then – I think you doneed to tell him
something. Not – not what happened, necessarily, or – or anything more than you
want to, but – he drove all the way here from Dalton just to see you, and – I’m
pretty sure that means he likes you too.”
“Yeah.” Kurt’s eyes widened, and he looked up at Finn as if just remembering
the point of Blaine’s little speech a few minutes earlier. “That and the fact
that he – basically just declared his feelings for me in the middle of our
living room.”
Encouraged by Kurt’s focus on something that was not related to his recent
trauma, Finn smiled. “Yeah. There’s also that. I guess there’s not really much
question about how he feels. And – you feel it, too, so – whatever you decide
you’re comfortable saying to him, the only thing I really know is – you can’t
just let him walk away.”
***** Chapter 22 *****
Blaine paced back and forth across the Hudson-Hummels’ kitchen floor for a few
minutes before having a seat at the table. He was too restless to stay there
for long, though, and was up and pacing again a few moments later. Frustrated,
he turned to face the kitchen door again, running his hand through his hair and
biting his lower lip, fighting the impulse to ignore Finn’s advice and go back
out to the living room, where Kurt was.
 
Finally, he let out a shaky sigh and turned toward the back door, the fading
sunlight just beyond it seeming to mock him with its cheery invitation –
because he clearly was not welcome here.
 
Coming here was a mistake. He hasn’t come in here yet, because he wishes I
wasn’t here at all. I should just go…
 
“Hey.”
 
Blaine’s hand froze on the doorknob, his heart clenching in his chest at the
sound of the familiar voice – hoarse and shaky and weak as he’d ever heard it,
but still unmistakably Kurt’s. Blaine turned to face him, suddenly nervous and
self-conscious when faced with Kurt’s intent, searching gaze. Kurt’s eyes
drifted down from Blaine’s face to focus on the spot where his hand connected
with the doorknob, and a slow swallow was visible in his throat before he
looked up to meet Blaine’s eyes again, quiet and composed.
 
“You’re leaving?”
 
“I – was going to,” Blaine admitted, staring down at the floor, feeling
suddenly guilty. “I – I thought you – didn’t want to talk to me.” He hesitated
a moment before looking up at Kurt again and adding softly, “Like – ever
again.”
 
Kurt winced, biting his lower lip and shaking his head slightly. “About that.
Blaine, I’m so sorry…”
 
Immediately, Blaine felt like a tremendous jerk. Kurt had just been through
what had to be the worst ordeal of his life, and here he was worrying abouthim,
apologizing as if in the midst of such trauma, his first concern should have
been making sure he didn’t hurt Blaine’s feelings.
 
“No,” Blaine sighed, letting go of the doorknob and crossing the room toward
Kurt. “No, I’m sorry, Kurt. That – that wasn’t fair…”
 
“Yeah, well,” Kurt shrugged, his voice flat, his gaze averted as he sank into
the kitchen chair Blaine had left pulled out a few moments earlier, “neither
was leaving you wondering what you’d done to piss me off for two weeks while I
worked things out – or you know, didn’t. Because nothing is worked out.”
 
He was quiet for a moment, staring down at the table as Blaine hesitantly
closed the rest of the distance between them and took the seat across from him.
Finally, Kurt looked up, and this close, Blaine could see the tears in his red-
rimmed eyes, the red blotches on his face that revealed how recently he’d been
crying, and crying hard. Kurt’s expression and voice were bleak, filled with a
heavy resignation, when at last he spoke again.
 
“How much did Finn tell you?”
 
“He said – you and your dad were robbed. And – and it’s been hard for you, but
you’re – dealing with it. That’s it. That’s all he said.” Blaine hesitated
before adding, “That – that’s horrible, Kurt. I’m – so sorry that happened to
you, and I feel like such a jerk for thinking you were mad at me and worrying
about why you weren’t talking to me, when all this time you were – were going
through so much, and I just…” Blaine shook his head, momentarily at a loss,
before looking up at Kurt again and earnestly continuing, “Really, Kurt, if you
just need to be alone – just need some space, I get that. If you need me to go
away again, I will. I mean – just – whatever you need, Kurt…”
 
As he spoke, Blaine reached out across the table to touch Kurt’s hand – and
froze when Kurt flinched, drawing his hand abruptly away and placing it in his
lap, well out of Blaine’s reach. Blaine tried to conceal the automatic jolt of
hurt he felt at Kurt’s reaction, looking away and swallowing hard.
 
“I – I know I just sprang this whole – me having feelings for you thing on you
out of nowhere,” he admitted at last, struggling to get the words out past the
knot in his throat. “And – I was an idiot about this before, when you – when
you told me you liked me, and – Kurt, I’m just – I’m really sorry. I’m doing
this all wrong. I shouldn’t have just assumed…”
 
“No.” Kurt’s voice was tired and sad, as he cut Blaine off with a quiet sigh,
shaking his head. “No, it’s – it’s not you. I-I’m gladyou came.”
 
His tone – in combination with the previous weeks of ignored calls and texts –
was less than convincing.
 
“It’s just that – Finn’s right,” Kurt continued. “The past couple of weeks have
been – really hard.” His voice was hoarse, trembling slightly. “And – I want to
tell you – something. About – what happened to me, but…” He stopped abruptly,
frowning and shaking his head again. “No, I don’t want to tell you, but – but I
have to tell you – but I-I don’t think I know how…”
 
Well. That clarified absolutely nothing.
 
Blaine kept his tone gentle and understanding, well aware that, whether or not
it was him that had Kurt so spooked at the moment, Kurt was nevertheless a few
poorly placed words or a single sudden move away from bolting for the door, and
locking himself away again for who knew how long.
 
“Okay,” he ventured finally, cautiously. “You don’t have to, Kurt. You don’t
have to tell me anything if you don’t want to…”
 
“The thing is,” Kurt objected softly, with a bitter smile, “I kind of do.
Because at this point, you’re pretty much the only person in my whole entire
world who doesn’t know.”
 
More confused than ever, Blaine fell back on the only response he knew could
not be wrong in this situation – or pretty much any situation.
 
“Whatever you need, Kurt,” he said softly. “I – I just want to be here for you
in – in whatever way you’ll let me. Whether or not you like me back right now
or not – that doesn’t matter at all. Not right now.”
 
Blaine was quiet for a moment, hoping despite his words for some indication of
Kurt’s reaction; but Kurt just continued to stare flatly down at the table,
leaving him disappointed – so he tried again.
 
“I just – I just want you to let me be your friend – to be there for you.”
 
Kurt didn’t react at all for a long moment, staring down at the table between
them, before finally meeting Blaine’s eyes with a sad, tearful smile.
 
“It’s funny,” he replied at last, his voice barely more than a whisper. “That’s
what everyoneseems to want right now. And – I don’t think I know how to let
them. It’s just – it’s too much.” His smile faded, his eyes solemn and honest
as he conceded at last, “I can try. I – I will try. But – I can’t make any
promises.”
 
He looked away again, and his last, heartbroken words tore at Blaine’s
emotions, reinforcing his rising dread and certainty that there was far more to
the story than he’d been told thus far.
 
“It’s just… right now… it’s all I can do to just keep on breathing.”
 
Blaine swallowed hard, struck by the sheer desperation in Kurt’s hoarse, broken
voice, and resisted the urge to reach out to him once again, his hand instead
clenching into a frustratingly useless fist in his lap.
 
“What – what can I do, Kurt?” he whispered at last, studying Kurt’s face across
the table and willing him to meet his gaze. “What do you need me to do?”
 
Kurt was quiet for a long time, shaking his head slightly, visibly at a loss.
Finally, he replied softly, “I just – I need a little time. To – to get my head
together. I – I am glad you’re here, but – I wasn’t – r-ready to – to talkto
you about this, and – can you – can you come back? Tomorrow, maybe?”
 
“Yes,” Blaine replied immediately, nodding emphatically as he rose to his feet.
“Yes, I can do that. Whatever you need me to do. I just – I’ll get out of your
way and – and give you some space, and – and if tomorrow’s not long enough,
just call me, okay? Or text. Or something. Please, but…”
 
“I will,” Kurt promised, reaching out suddenly to catch Blaine’s hand and
momentarily stilling him just as he was about to back toward the door. He
looked up, and his blue eyes were bright and shimmering with tears. “I – I
wantyou to come back, Blaine. I really do.”
 
Blaine stared down at Kurt’s hand, soft and warm and surprisingly strong, and
swallowed back the knot in the back of his throat. His relief at the unexpected
contact, at the fact that even though Kurt was asking him to go, he was also
asking him to come back again – it was nearly overwhelming.
 
Suddenly, Blaine was the one who needed a moment.
 
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he whispered, squeezing Kurt’s hand gently
before letting it go, turning, and heading toward the door.
 
*******************************************
 
It was terribly difficult for Burt Hummel to go back to work that week.
 
He knew he had to provide for his family. He wouldn’t be doing his son any
favors by losing his customer base, and with it the ability to pay their bills
and keep a roof over their heads. And after the robbery, their resources were
greatly depleted; he had to do something to make up for the loss. So, when Kurt
said he was ready to go back to school, Burt decided that he would just have to
be ready to go back to work, too.
 
But he wasn’t.
 
He spent his days distracted, worrying, wondering how Kurt’s day was going,
whether or not he was safe, whether he’d made a terrible mistake in sending
Kurt back to school so soon.
 
Or at all. Locking him in his room has to be a legitimate option
insomecultures, right?
 
A few days back on the job hadn’t managed to ease his worry at all, and Burt
still sighed with relief when he finally headed home Wednesday afternoon.
 
If not for his very reliable staff, the day would have been a complete
disaster. As it was, they’d managed to catch two separate mistakes he’d made
that would have cost his customers days longer without their vehicles, and his
business thousands of dollars in replacement parts.
 
Yeah… gonna have to give those guys a raise…
 
The stress of being back at work, in combination with his worry over Kurt, had
Burt in a state of sheer exhaustion by the time he reached his front door – and
it immediately became clear that he couldn’t rest yet, when he was met just
inside the door by his very flustered, anxious stepson.
 
“Burt, I’m so glad you’re here! Kurt won’t come out of his room, and he just
keeps crying, and he screamed at me to go away, and you know he can be freakin’
scary when he’s mad, right?”
 
Burt’s heart sank; Kurt had always been emotional, but these past two weeks,
his emotional responses had seemed to careen violently between an unsettling
state of numbness, and uncontrollable tears. It wasn’t exactly surprising, but
it still broke his heart to think that Kurt was hurting so much, and that there
was so little he could do about it.
 
Finn’s eyes were wide and worried as he babbled on, “But we can’t just leave
him down there crying like that, right? Because he’ll get dehydrated or
something. I mean, he’s been down there like an hour, ever since Blaine left…”
 
Burt frowned. “Blaine was here?”
 
A rush of mingled, indistinguishable feelings came over him with that simple
revelation. He had yet to meet the boy that Kurt hadn’t stopped talking about
since he’d first gone to Dalton, which was a relief in a way, because he still
wasn’t quite sure he was ready to think about the idea of his baby having a
boyfriend and going on dates with that boyfriend in his car and that boyfriend
no doubt wanting and trying to do all the things he’d always tried to get away
with when he was someone’s boyfriend back in high school.
 
Despite his apprehensions, however, Burt actually felt a sense of resentment
and anger towards the boy, for taking so long to show up when Kurt was clearly
going through such a hard time. And yeah, Kurt had told him that Blaine wanted
to be “just friends”, but wouldn’t a good friend actually care enough to come
by and make sure Kurt was okay once he knew that Kurt had been through such a
terrible ordeal?
 
And surely he knew, at least about the robbery. The way Kurt talked about
Blaine, it seemed as if he told him everything.
 
So why was he just now finding time to show up and be there for Kurt?
 
Because he’s not good enough for Kurt. That’s why.
 
“… said he’s going to come back tomorrow, I guess because Kurt wasn’t really
talking to him much because of what happened at school today, and I’ve never
seen him so upset, and I really think you need to…”
 
Oh. Right. Finn was still talking.
 
Burt’s frown deepened, warning signals sparking in the back of his mind as some
of the almost frantic words his stepson was pouring out actually registered.
 
“Wait, slow down, Finn.” Burt held up a hand for a moment to halt him, before
placing that hand on Finn’s shoulder in a steadying gesture. “Slow down a
minute. What happened at school today?”
 
And in the next few moments, the story that Finn told him made Burt feel sick,
and then furious enough to want to knock the crap out of a boy no older than
his own son, and then sick again, as he imagined Kurt’s stricken face, the
humiliation he must have felt, at the vicious revelation of what was so deeply,
agonizingly personal, against his will and without any chance for him to
prepare or to figure out how to deal with the fact that all at once, every
single person that he knew… knew.
 
Finn was still talking, but Burt was no longer listening. He was vaguely aware
of Finn’s words slowly trailing off as he stepped past him without a word,
heading toward the basement door.
***** Chapter 23 *****
As Burt descended the stairs to Kurt’s basement bedroom, he was surprised to be
met with only silence. Finn had made it sound as if Kurt was practically in
hysterics – but instead, Burt found his son huddled in his bed, facing him,
buried under soft blankets up to his neck, silent and staring at the wall.
It made Burt’s heart ache to see him like that. He almost thought he’d have
preferredhysterics.
Kurt’s eyes flickered to his father for just an instant as Burt reached the
bottom of the stairs, but then he looked away, focusing on the wall again. Burt
drew in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and bracing himself. He
sympathized with Finn, he really did – because he knew that Kurt could be
unbearably stubborn, and if he didn’t want to talk, well… anyone attempting to
force him to did so at peril of their own lives. Though Kurt was quiet now,
Burt could clearly imagine the rage he must have displayed when Finn had tried
to comfort him before – and Burt didn’t exactly relish the idea of having that
rage aimed in his direction.
“Hey.”
Burt spoke in a soft, casual voice, hands in his pockets as he cautiously
approached the bed. Kurt’s body was curled into a near fetal position, leaving
a round hollow on the mattress beside him. Burt hesitated a moment before
nodding toward the spot and speaking again, his tone carefully neutral.
“Mind if I have a seat?”
Kurt’s gaze shifted downward, and he shook his head, scooting over a little on
the mattress to make more room.
Well. That was a good sign.
Burt sat down beside his son, careful not to shift the mattress too much.
Kurt’s body was beginning to heal, and the pain medications he’d been given at
the hospital kept the worst of his soreness at bay. Still, he was sensitive to
any jarring movement, and would sometimes simply move too quickly, and end up
biting back a cry of pain.
Kurt probably thought Burt didn’t notice, and Burt was content to let him go on
thinking so, to salvage what little pride his son had left.
But – Burt did notice. And every poorly-concealed wince, every softly drawn in
breath that revealed Kurt’s pain, made Burt ache, too.
He laid a gentle hand on Kurt’s shoulder. His voice was soft and carefully
level, only a slight tremor betraying his fury at what Finn had told him.
“Heard school was pretty rough today.”
Kurt abruptly curled in tighter around the space where his father sat, pressing
his face against Burt’s leg. His voice was muffled but still audible, heavy and
hoarse with shame.
“Dad,” he whimpered. “It was just – it was so humiliating…”
Burt didn’t say anything. There was nothing he could say that would fix this –
and wasn’t that a feeling he was becoming miserably used to these days – so he
just moved his hand from Kurt’s shoulder to protectively cup the back of his
head, and silently waited for him to go on.
“They all know now,” Kurt whispered, though in the stillness of the room it
wasn’t difficult to make out the words. “I – I was doing okay. Everyone had
pretty much stopped with the whispering and the staring… and I was just
starting to think… maybe it’d be okay, but… but now…”
“Yeah,” Burt acknowledged in a soft, grim voice, his thumb running slowly back
and forth through Kurt’s hair. “I’d like to track down that Ben Israel kid,” he
muttered. “Teach him good.”
Kurt raised his head a little, sniffling. He glanced up at Burt, his expression
pensive, just the slightest twitch of his lips giving away the fact that he
wasn’t quite serious.
“His home address is on his blog. You know. For the fan mail he never gets.”
Burt let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head, unsmiling. “Don’t
tempt me, kid.”
“You can’t do anything to him,” Kurt sighed, informing Burt of what he already
knew too well. “He’s a minor, and you’re a lot bigger than him, and… and you
can’t go to jail.” Kurt buried his face against Burt’s thigh again, one hand
clutching at the coarse fabric of the battered jeans Burt was wearing, and
Burt’s heart ached at the fine tremor he could feel in Kurt’s desperate grip.
“Your – your heart can’t - can’t take the stress, and…” Kurt paused, his words
hesitant as he concluded in a barely audible whisper, “… and I need you.”
Burt swallowed hard, struggling to speak past the lump in his throat, his eyes
burning with tears. “I’m right here, Kurt,” he whispered at last, his voice
hoarse and shaky. “Not going anywhere.”
Kurt was quiet for a moment, before lifting his head again, letting out a soft,
bitter laugh. “Listen to me,” he muttered, shaking his head. “So pathetic and
stupid and – and selfish. Don’t have a heart attack, Dad, not because you
shouldn’t put yourself through that, but because I need you too much…”
“Hey.” Burt put his hand back on Kurt’s shoulder, pushing back a little to get
him to sit up. “Kurt, come on. Look at me. Get up here and look at me, kiddo.”
Kurt reluctantly sat up, and it took him a moment to finally meet his father’s
eyes. Burt hated the sight of the guilt and despair he saw there. He raised a
hand to gently cup Kurt’s cheek, holding his gaze as he spoke with fervent
certainty.
“We need each other, Kurt. That’s always been true, and that hasn’t changed.
You need me to keep it together right now, for both of us, not go flying off
the handle and knocking the crap out of somebody who’s not worth going to jail
over – and Ineed you to not give up – to not let ‘em beat you, Kurt. You never
have before.”
Kurt shook his head, looking away, his voice heavy and trembling. “This is
different, Dad…”
“Don’t think I don’t know that,” Burt replied, a little more sharply than he’d
intended, and he immediately softened his voice again, not wanting Kurt to
misunderstand and think he was angry with him. “You know how hard it is for me
not to go after that little prick who posted that disgusting video? Or to… to
go out there and track down the guy that did this to you in the first place,
and just…just…”
Burt closed his eyes, swallowing hard and trying to regain control of his
emotions, which were once again threatening his fragile sense of control. Kurt
didn’t know – and couldn’t know – how many times in the last week and a half
he’d thought about how easy it’d be to go down to the nearest pawn shop and
pick up a gun. Finding the bastard would be harder, but when he did…
Burt opened his eyes, and his train of thought came to an abrupt, crashing halt
at the worried look on his son’s face. Kurt was studying him closely, wide-
eyed. Slowly, he shook his head.
“Dad,” he whispered. “Dad, you can’t…”
“I know,” Burt hurried to reassure him. “Kurt, I know. It’s just – I hate that
there’s nothing I can do about this, you know?”
Kurt was still staring up at him with troubled eyes, and Burt had to look away.
It was too much to think that right now, with everything he was going through,
the kid was worried about him.
“But Dad…” Kurt shook his head slowly. “Dad, you are doing it. Just – just
being here, just – just knowing that you… support me… it’s enough.”
“No,” Burt objected, shaking his head. “No, it’s not. I just – I just wish I
could…”
Burt couldn’t finish the sentence past the lump in his throat, tears burning
his eyes, but the words echoed his frustration in his mind.
Protect you… keep you safe… keep anything from hurting you ever again…
“Kurt…” After a moment, Burt regained enough composure to continue, “… you… you
know you don’t have to go back there, right? You can go back to Dalton if you
want, or – or we’ll do something else, but – I’m not gonna make you go back in
that place. You can stay home for a few days if you want. We’ll make it work,
whatever you need…”
“Thank you, Dad,” Kurt cut him off softly, looking down at the bed for a moment
before meeting his father’s eyes with a valiant attempt at a smile. “But… I do
have to go back. I – I don’t want to, but… I let them chase me away once. I’m –
I’m not going to run away again. If I do now, I – I might never stop.”
Burt frowned, studying Kurt’s face closely. A few minutes before, he would have
sworn that Kurt would have jumped at the chance to stay away from McKinley –
and he was pretty sure he knew his son well enough to know. Something wasn’t
right here; he was missing something.
“Kurt…”
“Nobody pushes the Hummels around… right?” Kurt persisted, his voice soft and
steady, his smile fading to something serious and determined. “You taught me
that. And – and now I have to remember it. I have to – to go in there tomorrow
morning with – with my head held high, and – let them all see that – there’s
nothing that can say to break me, or – or to make me run.” He was quiet for a
moment, staring down at the bed again and swallowing hard. When he looked up
again, there was fear mingled with determination in his eyes – and Burt
couldn’t understand how his boy could look so vulnerable, so in need of
protecting, and yet so much like a man at the same time.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Kurt said softly, with a slow, certain nod. “I have to do
this.”
***************************************************
Kurt did his best to put on a brave, confident face and reassure his father
that he was all right with going back to McKinley – and although it was touch
and go for a minute there, he was pretty sure he was convincing – and he hadto
be.
The last thing Burt needed was the stress of Kurt’s, at this point, nearly
daily histrionics, driving him to a second heart attack – one he might not
survive, this time. Kurt knew his father too well to think that he’d actually
fooled him completely, but it was the best he could manage at the moment.
At the very least, he had to try.
School the next morning was going to be sheer torture, an agony of shame and
staring and unending humiliation. Kurt tried to resign himself to it. After
all, it wasn’t so unusual these days.
He was getting used to it.
And he knew what he had to do. He’d been doing it for years – hiding his
insecurities and fears behind an icy stare, a knowing, better-than-you almost-
smile, and an absolutely fabulous outfit that made him feel amazing.
And if that fabulous outfit happened to have a couple more layers than usual,
well – the cooling fall temperatures could easily explain that away.
Kurt held his head high as he made his way through the halls from one class to
the next, his books held in front of him like a protective shield. When Finn or
Rachel or Brittany offered to walk with him, he managed to drive them all away
with sharp words and a cold demeanor.
He felt bad about it, because he knew they meant well, but he couldn’t allow
himself to appreciate the gestures at the moment. He needed to be composed and
controlled, hard – and the last thing he needed was their well-meaning
sympathy, putting cracks in his façade. To Kurt’s surprise, Finn figured it out
before Rachel, who followed him all the way down the hall to his next class,
until he actually had to askher to please go away.
Brittany fell into step with him for about thirty seconds, chattering away,
before breaking off abruptly and saying, “Well, why didn’t you just say you
wanted to be alone?” and then walking off without waiting for a response,
completely unoffended.
Kurt spent lunch in the men’s room in a locked stall, drawing his legs up in
front of him on the toilet seat whenever someone came in – preferring to hide
there rather than deal with the sympathy of his friends and the rude curiosity
of his classmates. Five minutes before his first afternoon class, Kurt left the
stall and stood in front of the mirror, inspecting his appearance.
He practiced his smile for a minute. It was cool and controlled and didn’t come
anywhere near concealing the borderline panic in his eyes, but it would have to
do. He drew in a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady his nerves. He wasn’t
visibly shaking, but he felt like he was quaking apart inside. He squared his
shoulders, steadied himself, and stepped out of the men’s room and into the
hallway.
And directly into the path of David Karofsky.
Some rational part of Kurt’s mind recognized that it could only be an accident.
He’d been in the bathroom for too long for David to have followed him there. He
knew that, saw David’s averted gaze and heard his muttered, “Sorry.”
But he didn’t register any of that.
A vivid sense memory of rough, chapped lips crushing his, a too-strong hand on
the back of his neck, preventing his attempts to pull away – cold eyes smiling
into his with the promise of pain and possibly worse if he dared to tell anyone
about that awful, stolen kiss – the cold metal end of a pistol shoved up
against his temple, the certainty that he was about to die, on his knees and
naked on his living room floor, helpless and violated…
“If you tell anyone… I’ll kill you… I’ll come back, and I’ll kill you…”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”
Karofsky’s voice was shaky and scared, and it drew Kurt out of his thoughts
enough to realize that he’d jerked back against the wall beside the bathroom
door, hard enough to crack his head against it – and his head was now
throbbing, and oh, God, Karofsky was moving towardhim, concerned and
questioning, hands extended in front him in a very deliberately nonthreatening
gesture, and even though he knew on some level that the other boy meant no
harm, his heart was racing in his throat, and he just wanted him to go away.
“D-don’t,” he gasped out, holding up his hands defensively in front of him.
“No, please, just… just…”
“Easy, Hummel. I’m not gonna – I mean, I wasn’t…” Karofsky babbled helplessly.
“Just… just calm down, it’s okay…”
“Hey!”
Kurt felt an overwhelming sense of relief just to no longer be alone with the
boy who’d focused all of his attention on making Kurt’s life hell, only a few
short weeks earlier. Still, his heart sank at the furious voice he heard from a
little ways down the hall – because he knew immediately that this could not be
good.
Finn approached the two of them at a furious pace, his long legs closing the
distance between them in a matter of moments. Puck was a few yards behind him,
not advancing quite as quickly as Finn, whose full attention was focused on the
second act of the scene unfolding in the hallway, his eyes blazing with
indignant fury.
“Karofsky!” he snarled, waiting until he’d reached them, grabbing Karofksy by
his letterman jacket and shoving him hard so that he stumbled back against the
opposite wall. “Get the hell away from my brother!”
***** Chapter 24 *****
“Get the hell away from my brother!”
Kurt didn’t have the time or the ability to form a coherent thought, let alone
to speak out and stop Finn before he reached them, grabbing Karofsky’s shirt
and shoving him away from Kurt, sending him staggering backward into the row of
lockers, a couple of feet away from where Kurt stood with his back braced
against the lockers as well.
Puck stood a few feet behind Finn, staring at Kurt, his lips parted as if he
wanted to speak, but was uncertain as to what to say. When Kurt’s eyes met his,
he looked away abruptly, a nervous swallow visible in his throat. He was
shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, his shoulders lowered in a
stance that was almost guilty, and definitely uncomfortable, and Kurt realized
in a moment of strange, ill-timed clarity that Puck had barely said two words
to him since – since…
He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, trying to bring his
thoughts back from the dangerous edge on which they were teetering, and back to
the present situation – before his brother did any real damage to David
Karofsky.
“What kind of sick creep are you?” Finn snarled in Karofsky’s face, shoving his
shoulders again in a furious challenge. “What? You heard what happened to him,
and you just couldn’t wait to get to him and terrorize him some more?”
“No!” Karofsky objected desperately, his voice low and trembling. “No, I
wasn’t…”
“You are seriously fucked up, man!” Finn’s voice was filled with contempt. He
hesitated a moment, glancing toward Kurt, who was staring back at him blankly,
trying to collect his thougths enough to speak. Finn’s jaw set with anger, and
he turned back to Karofsky, hissing coldly, “But not as fucked up as you’re
going to be…” As he spoke, he advanced on Karofsky again, his fist drawn back
in preparation to strike.
“Wait!”
When Kurt finally found his voice, it was little more than a hoarse whisper –
but it stopped Finn in his tracks. Finn turned to look at the smaller boy, but
didn’t take his hands off Karofsky’s shirt, holding him pressed against the
wall – and it occurred to Kurt that Finn probably couldn’t have done so if
David had really been trying to stop him.
“He – he wasn’t…” Kurt swallowed, trying to steady his voice. “Finn – he didn’t
– do anything. He – ran into me around the – the corner, and – it was an
accident. He didn’t…” Kurt hesitated, looking away, his face coloring with
embarrassment as he concluded weakly, “He didn’t.”
Finn frowned in confusion, glaring uncertainly between Kurt and his alleged
tormentor. At last, David took the opportunity to shrug out from under Finn’s
hands, standing up straight so that Finn had to choose between persisting in
his aggression, or backing off.
Reluctantly, Finn backed off.
“Fine,” he snapped. “But you touch him, Karofsky, and I’ll…”
“I get it, Hudson, okay?” David muttered. “God, I wasn’t going to…”
“Kurt.” Finn turned his back on Karofsky abruptly, focusing his attention on
his brother. “Are you – are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, studying Kurt’s
face closely as he moved to stand in front of him.
The bitter laugh that bubbled up in Kurt’s chest surprised no one more than
himself.
“No,” he admitted, shaking his head. “Not even close. But – but that’s not his
fault.”
A small group of students had gathered, stopping along their way to watch the
confrontation. Now, a few of them hesitantly moved on, though some lingered
just in case there would be more drama to observe, and later gossip about. Out
of the corner of his eye, Kurt saw Santana pushing her way through the
remaining onlookers to get to the front of the little scene – and he knew that
he had to establish David’s innocence, publicly and without question, before
Santana managed to get close enough to touch.
He turned toward David, who was standing a bit apart from him and Finn and
Puck, as if he wasn’t sure what to do next. There was concern behind the
awkward defiance in his eyes, as if he knew he was no longer needed here –
honestly never had been in the first place – and yet, did not want to simply
flee the scene without making sure that Kurt was okay.
Which, why he cared all of a sudden, Kurt wasn’t really sure, but he couldn’t
help but feel a pang of sympathy at the uncertainty in the other boy’s eyes –
not to mention the fact that he’d nearly gotten his ass kicked by Finn for
nothing more than trying to help. Kurt waited until David’s gaze found his to
speak again, his voice quiet and now only slightly shaking.
“David – that – that wasn’t your fault,” Kurt stated softly. “I know you were
just – just walking, and – and you tried to help, and – and I’m sorry…”
David had been glancing toward Santana, looking as if he was seriously
reconsidering his decision not to flee – but now, his gaze snapped back to
Kurt’s face, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open in shock. He shook
his head slowly in disbelief, letting out a startled laugh – but it was bitter
and mirthless, and his eyes were suspiciously shining. His words came out
choked, stricken.
“You – you’resorry? For – for…”
Abruptly, David turned on his heel, swearing under his breath and swiping
angrily at his eyes as he finally made his escape. And when he left, the
remaining observers seemed to decide that the show was over and began to move
on. The pressure and tension in the atmosphere seemed to snap like a rubber
band breaking – and apparently, that rubber band was all that was holding Kurt
together. He slid down into a crouch against the lockers behind him, covering
his face with hands that were suddenly, violently shaking.
Finn crouched beside him, placing a hand on Kurt’s shoulder – then swiftly
drawing it back when Kurt flinched away.
“Kurt…” His voice was carefully soft and level. “What can I do? I’m sorry, man.
I – I really thought he was…”
“It’s okay,” Kurt whispered, though he was anything but. “I-it’s okay. You were
– j-just trying to help…”
Finn did not seem to be the least bit relieved. “What can I do, Kurt?” he
repeated, his tone anxious and insistent. His concern was obvious, and Kurt
knew he meant well, but the pressure was just too much. He wanted to run, just
to keep going until he could find a place where he wouldn’t have to explain
anything to anyone, where he wouldn’t have to make anyone else feel better
about his suffering, where he could just breathe – but unfortunately, breathing
was a pretty vital part of the whole “running away” plan.
“Kurt?” Finn pressed gently. “Just tell me what you need, okay?”
“He needs you to back off, moron.”
Kurt looked up at the sound of Santana’s voice, watching as she put her hand on
Finn’s shoulder and pushed him back slightly. Finn was caught by surprise;
that, and the fact that he was crouched on the balls of his feet and a little
off balance nearly sent him tumbling back onto his ass. Finn let out an
indignant, startled sound as he caught himself before he could fall.
Santana didn’t seem bothered by his predicament. In fact, it only left her free
to get closer to Kurt.
“Come on,” she said in a voice that was uncharacteristically gentle, as she
placed a firm, supportive hand under Kurt’s elbow, tugging gently until he was
on his feet. “Come on, Kurt. Let’s get out of here.”
“Now wait a minute!” Finn snapped as he scrambled to his feet. “I can take care
of this. He’s my brother, Santana. He doesn’t need you to…”
“No, actually, he’s not your brother, and he doesn’t need you all up in his
grill, demanding for him to make you feel needed.” As she spoke, Santana
started to move past Finn, still holding onto Kurt’s arm – but Finn abruptly
pushed forward, blocking her path.
“I am his brother.”
His voice was low and surprisingly dangerous, and Kurt felt a rush of affection
and gratitude toward him, despite his misguided efforts, even as his heart sank
at the rising confrontation between two people he loved who were almost
literally at each other’s throats, supposedly on his behalf.
Santana raised her eyebrows, stopping to survey the situation, a slow, knowing
sneer spreading across her face. “Oh, that’s right,” she replied, taking a step
back and crossing her arms over her chest. “You failedbasic biology, right?
Because I’m pretty sure his DNA is miles above the level of your prehistoric,
mentally challenged…”
“I’m his brother,” Finn repeated, not rising to her baiting words, his voice
low and certain. “In every way that counts. And I can take care of him. We
don’t need you to take over. I’m going to make sure he’s okay – take him home
if he wants – so you can just…”
“Finn Hudson!”
Kurt looked up in surprise at the sound of Principal Figgin’s sharp voice from
the end of the hall. As he spoke, he made his way with swift, purposeful
strides toward what was left of the dramatic scene that someone had apparently
already informed him of.
“I need to see you in my office, Finn. Now.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Finn protested. “I have to take care of my brother
right now…”
“That is not what I was told,” Figgins countered, his voice warning and angry.
“Three students have already come to my office to inform me of your fighting in
the hallway with David Karofsky, who is already waiting in my office. And you
need to come with me right now.”
Finn hesitated, glancing between Figgins and Kurt, who looked up at him and
nodded, biting his lower lip.
“Go,” he said quietly. “Finn, I’m okay. I told you. Just – don’t get in any
more trouble over this, okay? Just go.”
“Now, Hudson,” Figgins snapped. “I am presently inclined to hear your side of
the story before handing out disciplinary measures. I may not be so ten seconds
from now, if you don’t come with me.”
Frustrated but defeated, Finn turned away from Santana’s satisfied smirk,
following Figgins down the hallway without another word – but the set of his
shoulder, his furious, rapid steps, were clear indications of his anger with
the entire situation, and his own helplessness to do anything about it. Kurt
watched him go for a moment before closing his eyes, covering his face with one
hand and drawing in a deep, shaky breath. How had things gone so terribly wrong
so very fast? One minute he’d had it all under control – and the next, it had
all blown up in his face, apparently taking Finn and Karofsky both down in the
explosion with him.
Because youdidn’thave it under control, a tiny voice whispered in the back of
Kurt’s mind. Never did… and never will again. You should just get out of here,
just stay away so at least your friends and family don’t have to deal with your
crazy, too.
“Come on, Kurt.” Santana’s voice broke through his hearts, momentarily pulling
him up out of the downward swirling vortex into which his thoughts were
sinking. “Let’s get out of the hall and someplace quieter.”
Still dazed and shaken, Kurt went with her as she led him to an empty classroom
a couple of halls down. The first empty desk that caught his gaze seemed to
draw Kurt like a magnet, and he made his way numbly toward it, almost stumbling
into it and clumsily sitting down as Santana closed and locked the door. Once
she was sure they would not be bothered, she returned to perch on the edge of
the desk in front of Kurt, swinging her legs idly in silence – and just
waiting.
Eventually, in the stillness and quiet, Kurt’s thoughts began to fall back into
place, and breathing became a little easier again. As the entire incident began
to come into clear focus, Kurt was surprised at the first coherent thought that
rose to his lips.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on Finn,” he pointed out, softening the words with a
sad little smile. “He’s – just trying to help.”
“But he’s not helping,” Santana pointed out, clearly irritated. “He’s getting
all up in your face and pressuring you to talk about things you don’t want to
talk about, just so that he can feel better about the shitty thing that’s
happened to you, when really none of it’s any of his business…”
“But it is,” Kurt quietly cut her off, meeting her gaze with a look that
somehow silenced her. “He is my brother, Santana. Maybe not by blood, but – but
we are brothers now. And – this isn’t just hard on me. It’s hard on my whole
family, too. He – he might not know what to do, but – neither do I. Neither
does anyone.” Kurt looked away, feeling his face heat with shame as he closed
his eyes and added, barely over a whisper, “At least he’s doing something.
Which is more than I can say.”
“Okay,” Santana agreed simply, far more simply than Kurt would have expected.
“I’ll lay off Man-boobs if you want me to. ‘Cause you know, that’s what people
should be thinking about right now, Kurt. What you need.” Santana was quiet for
a moment before adding in an unusually neutral tone, “Just what do you think
you should be doing that you’re not?”
“I don’t know.” Kurt shrugged, staring down at the floor beside the desk, arms
crossed protectively over his chest. “Talking. Something. Dealing, somehow, you
know? Because in case you didn’t notice, I’m – I’m kind of not.” His voice
shook slightly and he pressed his finger and thumb against his eyes to hold
back fresh tears.
“So, here’s the deal.” Santana’s tone was matter of fact, but firm, leaving no
room for argument. “I don’t think any two people deal with shit like this the
same way. Like, take me for example. I dealt by making sure nobody’d ever hurt
me again – or you know, some people might say – becoming the most vicious bitch
this town has ever seen.”
Despite his emotions, Kurt couldn’t quite repress a faint smile, and he
grudgingly met her eyes, listening as she went on.
“And you know – maybe that wasn’t the best way. Who knows?” Santana shrugged.
“But it works for me. And until somebody can show me a better way, they’ve got
no business telling me I did it wrong.” She paused, holding his gaze pointedly
as she added, “And they’ve got no business telling you you’re doing it wrong.”
Kurt shook his head. “Nobody’s telling me that…”
“No,” Santana agreed, shaking her head too. “They’re just telling you that you
need to hurry up and figure it out. When they haven’t got it figured out
either, and I think it’s safe to say their heads are a little clearer than
yours at the moment.”
“Thanks.” Kurt’s tone was flat, but light, and the faint smile still lingered
on his lips.
Santana returned it. “Any time.” She was quiet a moment before continuing, “All
I’m saying is, it’s great if people want to help. Whatever. But don’t let them
push you because they can’t deal. You know? I think you’ve got enough on your
plate just trying to deal for yourself. You might just need to tell people
straight up to back off and get out of your face when you need them to, even if
they’re trying to ‘help’.”
Kurt nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he agreed at last. “That makes sense.” He offered
her a wry smile as he added, “Might get me that ‘vicious bitch’ label, though,
if I do.”
“Nah.” Santana shook her head. “Not while I’m around for comparison.”
Kurt laughed, and though it sounded and felt a little strange – it also felt
good.
After a moment, Santana added brightly, “I’ll tell you one thing I can do to
help, though. You know, whenever Jacob Ben Bastard shows his greasy face at
McKinley again.”
“He wasn’t here today?” Kurt hadn’t seen him – but he hadn’t exactly been
looking, either.
“Nope.” Santana, on the other hand, apparently had. Her expression was grim,
eyes narrowed dangerously as she inspected the nails on her left hand. “Guess
he heard that pretty much all of New Directions is out for his blood right
now.” She looked up with a smile that made Kurt’s blood run cold, even knowing
that the threat was not aimed in his direction. “Some of us are a little
scarier than others, of course.”
“You shouldn’t – actually do anything to him,” Kurt told her with a heavy sigh.
“Are you saying I shouldn’t, or that you don’t want me to?” Santana countered,
studying his face closely, one eyebrow raised as her smile faded into a more
serious expression. “Because if you really don’t want me to…”
Her voice trailed away… and Kurt couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he
didn’t want her to do anything. He knew it probably wasn’t right, and that he
should advise her not to get involved, and that his brother was in the
principal’s office even as they spoke for something that he suspected was far
less than anything Santana might have planned for Jacob.
And secretly, deep down, he hoped that she did it, and that she got away with
it completely.
A slow smile crept across Santana’s lips again and she nodded slowly. “Yeah,”
she concluded. “That’s what I thought.” She hopped off the desk and nodded
toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
“There’s still half a day of school left,” Kurt pointed out, immediately
feeling a little dumb, because it wasn’t as if she didn’t know that.
“Yeah, but wedon’t have to stick around for it.” Santana paused at the door,
shrugging slightly. “Suit yourself.”
Kurt stood up as she stepped out into the hall, hesitating a moment. He knew
he’d already missed far too much school lately, and running away from his
problems wasn’t going to help anything – but if this morning was any
indication, facing them down wasn’t turning out to be that much of a success
either. He paused in the doorway, knowing that he should turn right and head
toward his one o’clock class.
Instead, he turned left, following Santana down the hall and toward the bright
sunlight and the exit doors at the end of it.
Can’t run forever, he reminded himself grimly. Have to face it. Have to deal.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them and quickened his
pace, forcibly putting his troubled thoughts out of his mind.
Have to, yeah… but not necessarily today.
***** Chapter 25 *****
“Mr. Hudson – Mr. Karofsky – this behavior is simply unacceptable.” Principal
Figgins’ voice was severe and unyielding. “Violence of any kind will not be
tolerated in McKinley’s sacred halls of learning.”
 
“Since when?” Finn muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from the
principal – but not particularly caring at the moment. “That rule must be new,
‘cause it sure as hell wasn’t around a few months ago, when this asshole was
knocking my brother around every day!”
 
“But I didn’t do anything to him today!” Karofsky interrupted, frustration in
his tone as he slammed his hand down on the armrest of his chair to punctuate
his words. “Damn it, Hudson, I was just trying to help!”
 
Finn scoffed, opening his mouth to let Karofsky know just what he thought of
that assertion.
 
“Language, boys, please,” Figgins interrupted, but his tone had softened, and
his words were accompanied by a heavy sigh, as he rubbed his eyes with his
thumb and forefinger for a moment before looking up. “I realize that this has
been a difficult time for your family, Finn. I understand that you are under a
lot of stress, and feel the need to defend your stepbrother. However, it is
unfair to jump to conclusions and accuse David of things he hasn’t done.”
 
“Recently,” Finn added darkly. “And I’m not even so sure about that.”
 
“Kurt just said in the hallway that I didn’t do anything!” Karofksy insisted.
 
“Yeah, and you’ve never made him feel threatened or scared enough that he’d
keep his mouth shut about the shit you’ve pulled with him, have you?” Finn
snapped, his voice scathing with disgust. “Except – oh, wait…”
 
“Finn,” Figgins interrupted in a sad, patient voice, “there are several
witnesses who saw the incident in the hallway, before you arrived. They, too,
claim that David was not trying to harm or frighten Kurt in any way.”
 
“I wasn’t,” Karofsky agreed, seeming to be calmed somewhat by Figgins’ words.
“I just bumped into him around the corner, and he just – freaked out, and…”
 
“He freaked out,” Finn interrupted, his voice low and furious, rising in
intensity as he continued, “because you made his life hell for the past year!
If you hadn’t done what you did to him before, then I wouldn’t have thought
anything about it, and bumping into you in the hallway wouldn’t have scared
him…”
 
“Finn, have you even looked at him lately?” Karofsky sighed in frustration,
shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “These days everything scares him.”
 
Finn nearly came out of his seat then, the urge to knock Karofsky’s teeth in
overwhelming all rational thought. “What are you doing looking at him, you
psycho?” he demanded. “You’re still fucking stalking him, aren’t you?”
 
“No!” Karofsky yelled back. “It’s just – you can’t miss it, is all. I just – I
was just trying to help…”
 
“You can help…” Finn snarled, rising from his seat and heading toward the door.
“… by staying the hell away from my brother!”
 
“Sit down, Mr. Hudson, we are not finished,” Figgins demanded, rising from his
seat and fixing Finn with a warning glare.
 
“I’m sorry, Mr. Figgins,” Finn replied, shaking his head and blinking back
furious, frustrated tears. “But – I am. Give me detention, suspend me, what –
whatever you have to do, but – but I just need to go home.”
 
And without waiting for permission, or offering any further explanation, Finn
stepped out into the hallway. He’d made it about halfway toward the exit when
Karofsky’s voice from down the hall, anguished and furious, stopped him in his
tracks.
 
“I’m sorry, okay?”
 
Finn slowly turned toward him, glaring, outraged. He knew he shouldn’t, knew he
should just go on home as he’d said, but he found himself striding back towards
Karofsky, swiftly closing the distance between them. Karofsky didn’t back down,
but his voice was more subdued as he continued, quiet and confused.
 
“I just – I didn’t know this was going to happen, you know? I couldn’t have
known…”
 
“Like if it hadn’thappened, everything you did would be okay?” Finn snapped,
disgusted and furious.
 
Karofsky shook his head, eyes downcast, visibly struggling for words. “That’s…
not what I’m saying…”
 
“He never deserved that, Karofsky. Never. He never did anything to you. But it
takes him getting…” Finn couldn’t bring himself to say aloud the awful word
screaming through his thoughts. “… a-attacked… and… and terrorized… in his own
home… for you to decide you feel bad about terrorizing him first?”
 
“I-I’m just sorry, okay?” Karofsky insisted, his tone taking on a pleading note
as he finally ventured to meet Finn’s eyes. “If there was something I could do
to – to take it back, but…”
 
“But there isn’t.” Finn’s voice was cold, disgusted, as he glared at Karofsky
in utter contempt. “All you can do now is stay the fuck away from my brother –
because if I see you within ten feet of him again…” Finn stopped, shaking his
head, unable to come up with a threat that was both strong enough, and wouldn’t
get him expelled. “Just… just stay away,” he concluded finally.
 
Karofsky offered no defense, no response at all, as Finn turned on his heel and
strode back toward the exit.
 
***********************************************
 
Kurt spent the greater part of the afternoon at The Lima Bean with Santana,
taking advantage of their free wi-fi in order to watch funny videos on YouTube
and try to forget, just for a little while, why they’d skipped out on their
afternoon classes in the first place. Once they’d taken up the same table for
nearly three hours, and the Lima Bean staff started giving them looks of
irritation, Santana finally drove Kurt home.
 
She surprised him as he was reaching for the car door handle, leaning forward
and wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.
 
“Call me later,” she suggested, drawing back and giving him a smile far more
warm and genuine than the scary, calculating ones he was used to seeing on her
face. She shrugged slightly. “You know, if you get bored. Or whatever.”
 
Kurt returned her smile, unable to conceal his gratitude, not so much for what
she had said as for what she wasn’t saying. She didn’t ask him if he was okay.
She didn’t ask him if he needed to talk. She didn’t try to tell him how to
solve a problem that neither of them had any clue how to deal with.
 
She was just – there, until he was ready to be alone again – and then, just
like that, she was gone.
 
Kurt went to his room and lay down, feeling suddenly exhausted – and for the
first time in days, he fell almost immediately into a peaceful, dreamless
sleep.
 
Perhaps if he’d been better rested, he might have been in a better frame of
mind when he was roused from sleep by the rather insistent knocking on his
bedroom door. He ignored it at first, wrapping his pillow around his head and
turning away from the door. He just wanted to be left alone. But when the
knocking didn’t stop, he finally conceded defeat and went to the door,
grumbling under his breath.
 
The fact that it was his best friend interrupting his sleep didn’t make it any
better.
 
In fact, since his best friend was Rachel Berry – it probably made it worse.
 
The open, sincere concern in her eyes when he opened the door made Kurt feel a
profound sense of irritation, and he rolled his eyes, his voice flat and hoarse
with sleep.
 
“What.”
 
He immediately tossed himself back down on his bed, burying his face in his
pillow without waiting for her response.
 
“Kurt – are you okay?” Rachel asked, sitting down on the side of his mattress.
“You weren’t in school this afternoon.”
 
Kurt reluctantly rolled over onto his side to face her, a sick feeling settling
in the pit of his stomach. “Did Finn tell you?” he guessed, not trying very
hard to keep the accusing tone out of his voice. He was feeling strangely
defensive, although he reminded himself that he had no reason to feel guilty.
It was nobody’s business but his if he wanted to skip a few classes.
 
“He didn’t say anything.” Rachel shook her head. “I don’t think – I don’t think
he was in class this afternoon, either,” she admitted, a sad uncertainty in her
eyes, and Kurt felt a bit of sympathy for her in spite of himself. “I – I
thought he might be here, but…”
 
“Well, he’s not,” Kurt sighed. “And I was sleeping, so…”
 
“Did something happen today?” Rachel asked. “Santana wasn’t around, either,
and…”
 
“That’s because she was with me,” Kurt sighed, aware of the leading nature of
her comment, but too tired to bother trying to skirt around it. “We went for
coffee and watched stupid videos and talked about nothing in particular. It was
way more fun than advanced trig.”
 
“Kurt…” Rachel hesitated, and Kurt braced himself for the lecture. “Are you –
are you sure that’s a good idea right now?”
 
“What?” Kurt retorted, raising an eyebrow at her and watching her closely.
“Skipping school – or skipping school with Santana?”
 
Rachel frowned, shaking her head slightly. “What is thatsupposed to mean?”
 
“You don’t like her, Rachel,” Kurt pointed out with a shrug, sitting up. “It’s
no secret. So maybe your problem isn’t so much that I’m skipping school as it
is that I’m hanging out with Santana.” He paused, not giving himself time to
reconsider before adding bluntly, “Instead of you.”
 
“That is absolutely not true!” Rachel insisted hotly, rising to her feet to
punctuate her indignation. A moment later, her voice softened as she ventured
to ask with an almost pleading note in her voice, “But – why areyou? I mean,
Kurt – after everything we’ve been through together, all the things we’ve
shared, I – I feel like I can talk to you about anything. And – and I know I do
a lot of talking about me and my stuff, but – all I want right now is to be
here for you,and…”
 
“I know,” Kurt interrupted with a heavy sigh, staring down at the bed and
picking idly at his blanket. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
 
“What?” Rachel shook her head, frowning. “I-I don’t understand.”
 
“Maybe I don’t want to hang out with people who can’t stop asking me every ten
minutes if I’m okay or not. Maybe I’d rather be with someone who’s okay with me
just feeling how I feel and not trying to make them feel better all the time.”
 
“And if this person also happens to be encouraging you to self-destruct?”
Rachel’s voice rose in frustration as she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Santana’s not the best example to follow, Kurt…”
 
“I don’t need an example,” Kurt snapped, standing up and facing her, mirroring
her challenging pose. “And I don’t need an amateur therapist or advice on how
to deal from people who have no idea what I’m going through!” Almost as soon as
the words left his lips, Kurt realized his mistake, how he’d very nearly let
Santana’s secret out with his own, and he swiftly, smoothly covered by adding,
“Santana doesn’t do that! She doesn’t try to tell me how to handle this, but
everybody else seems to think that’s the thing to do, even though they don’t
have a freakin’ clue, and I just wish that everybody’d just back off!”
 
“But you’re not thinking clearly right now, Kurt,” Rachel insisted. “You’re
making terrible choices, and…”
 
“One afternoon, Rachel!” Kurt realized that he was almost yelling, but felt no
desire to control his reaction. “One half of one day of missed classes is
notself-destructing! So I needed some room to breathe, one day after the entire
world finds out what happened to me! Why is that so terrible? Santana may be a
bitch, but at least she can comprehendwhy that might be something I need and
cut me a little slack, here! But my best friend, on the other hand, apparently
can’t. Well, fine. I’m not asking you to understand. I’m not asking you for
anything, except to just give me some freaking space and leave me alone!”
 
“I wouldn’t be able to call myself your friend if I didn’t tell you what I
think,” Rachel sniffed, her voice trembling and tearful. “But if you don’t want
that, then fine! If what you really want is space, then I’ll leave – but you
might want to be careful, because if you keep treating your friends this way,
pretty soon you just might have more ‘space’ than you can handle!”
 
She spun on her heel and headed for the door.
 
“Not likely!” Kurt yelled after her, kicking angrily at his bed before sitting
down on the edge of it with a frustrated huff.
 
Almost immediately, he regretted the way he’d talked to her – not that he felt
he was wrong, not really. She and Finn and the others were all crowding him,
expecting him to give them answers, when he wasn’t even sure of the questions
himself, and it was the last thing he needed, and – and she was only trying to
help, after all, wasn’t she? She was, as always, frustratingly certain of her
own rightness – but she was his best friend, and he’d brushed her off,
practically chasing her out the door as if she meant nothing to him.
 
With a heavy sigh, Kurt rose again and headed toward the door. Maybe he could
still catch her before she left. Before he could open the door, however, it
swung open inward, and Rachel was standing there, tears shining in her eyes.
 
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “Kurt, I’m so unbelievably dumb sometimes, and
this whole situation is so hard, because I just want to fix it, and I don’t
know how to help you, but I just want to so much, and – and I’m doing it again,
aren’t I? That thing where I make stuff all about me, when it’s not, it’s about
you, and I should be listening to what you need, or – or just shutting up, if
that’s what you need, and I just can’t tell you how sorry I am, Kurt, for the
way I’ve…”
 
“Rachel?”
 
She immediately stopped, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. “Yes,
Kurt?”
 
He smiled back at her through his own tears, his voice hoarse and filled with
affection that belied his words. “Shut up.” Before Rachel could react, Kurt
pulled her into a warm hug, burying his face against her shoulder. “I’m sorry,
too,” he whispered. “I know you’re trying. I – I can’t expect anybody else to
know how to handle this any better than I do. I just – it’s hard, you know?”
 
“I know,” Rachel whispered, nodding and hugging him back for a moment before
pulling away. “But you’ve made it clear you need some space right now, so I’m
going to go. If that’s still what you want. Okay?” She was so hesitant, so
cautious, and Kurt couldn’t help but appreciate the effort.
 
“Yes, please,” he sighed with an apologetic grimace. “I’m just so tired, and…
and I haven’t been sleeping, and… right now I feel like I could sleep for a
week…”
 
“Okay,” Rachel agreed. “I’ll get out of your way. And – if you don’t want to
talk about it, I – I get that. Just…” She was quiet for a moment, swallowing
hard and looking down before meeting his eyes again, solemn and pleading.
“Don’t shut me out completely, okay?”
 
“Oh, Rachel…” Fresh tears welled in Kurt’s eyes, and he leaned in to hug her
again. “Of course I won’t.”
 
“It’s just that I love you so much,” Rachel whispered tearfully. “I don’t know
what to do, but – but I just love you and want to be able to do something…”
 
“Maybe that’s… all I need you to do right now,” Kurt pointed out, drawing back
to meet her eyes ruefully. “Just – keep loving me, even when I’m – utterly
terrible. Because… I don’t know what I’m doing right now, Rachel,” he admitted
softly, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to be or feel or… or anything, and…
I just need some space, and… and time to figure it out, without… feeling like
nobody’s going to be left when I finally do.”
 
Rachel’s eyes softened with sympathy, and she replied emphatically, “I will
always be here, Kurt. You just… take whatever time you need, and if I can do
something, let me know, but… even if I can’t, and even if it takes you a while
to figure it out, whenever you do… I’m still going to be right here.”
***** Chapter 26 *****
By the time the next knock came on his bedroom door, several hours later, Kurt
actually felt rested and ready to get up – though he wasn’t sure if he wanted
to face what was waiting for him on the other side of that door.
“Kurt?”
His dad’s voice, quiet and cautious, as though trying not to wake him if he was
still sleeping soundly, came through the closed door, and Kurt had to
appreciate the fact that the door didn’t open until Kurt replied.
“Come in.”
A moment later, Burt walked in, a warm but somewhat reluctant smile on his
face. “Hey, kiddo,” he said quietly as he crossed the room to sit on the edge
of Kurt’s bed. “How’re you feeling?”
Kurt sat up a little, resting on his elbows and considering the question for a
moment before responding. “Better, now. I think I just needed some rest.”
“That’s good.” Burt nodded, looking down at his hands splayed on his knees, one
tapping in a nervous way that made it clear to Kurt that he had something more
to say, something that apparently wasn’t going to be easy. “And… how was school
today?”
Kurt looked away, swallowing hard. “Fine,” he replied.
He hated lying to his dad, almost never did it – but that particular rather
simple lie was slipping off his tongue easier and easier these days, and it
didn’t seem to matter who he was telling it to. “Fine” was just so much easier
than trying to put into words the devastating emotions that he didn’t want to
even think about, much less vocalize.
“Fine. Huh.” Burt nodded again, slowly, thoughtfully. Then he turned to look at
Kurt, waiting until Kurt finally, reluctantly met his gaze to continue calmly,
“That’s why you skipped out this afternoon?”
Kurt’s peaceful, well-rested feeling began to slip away a little. He glared up
at his dad, defensive, and maybe a little defiant. “Which one of my traitor
friends told you? It was Finn, right? Or maybe he just told Carole, and she…”
“Principal Figgins called me,” Burt sighed. “And Kurt, I’m glad he did.
Granted, I wasn’t thrilled to get the call, but I need to know about things
like this…”
“Could you ground me?” Kurt’s smile was falsely bright. “Please? Maybe for a
week or two? I don’t think I should be allowed to leave my room for a while.”
Burt looked down at his knees again, shaking his head slowly. “Kurt, if you’re
not ready to go back to school yet, that’s fine. I already told you – you don’t
have to go back until you’re ready. If you think it’d be easier for you, we can
even look into homeschooling if you want.”
Kurt didn’t want. He didn’t want at all.
As difficult as attending school at McKinley again had become, the thought of
spending every day in this house – in the same place where it had happened,
with all the dark, terrifying memories that lived there now – it made Kurt feel
like throwing up. There wouldn’t be half as many distractions, wouldn’t be any
way of escaping the constant reminder of what had happened to him.
He was certain that he would lose his mind if that happened.
“No,” he said softly. “I – I can’t do that…”
“Well, you can’t do this, either!”
Burt’s voice was suddenly sharp, and a little shaky, and Kurt jumped, looking
up at his dad, startled. His father almost never yelled at him, and had been
particularly cautious and gentle since… the incident, almost to the point of
irritating Kurt, and making him wish that his dad would just act normal around
him, instead of treating him like he was some delicate glass thing, likely to
shatter at the slightest impact.
Now, Kurt found himself abruptly wishing his dad would go back to that sort of
careful gentleness.
“Damn it, Kurt, you have no idea what I – what could have…” Burt stopped,
raising a trembling hand to cover his eyes for a moment. “I – I didn’t know
where you were, and… and I thought… you could have…”
Understanding descended on Kurt all at once – along with an overwhelming sense
of guilt, as he realized just what had prompted his dad’s angry outburst. He
swallowed hard, sitting up in the bed and edging nearer to where his father
sat, reaching out a tentative hand to rest on Burt’s leg.
“Dad, I – I’m sorry,” he whispered, with full sincerity. “I… didn’t realize…
didn’t think…”
“No, Kurt, you didn’t!” Burt snapped, but he didn’t pull away from Kurt’s hand,
and he followed the words with a heavy sigh, lowering his warm, callused hand
to rest over Kurt’s. “You’re having a hard time dealing with the morons at your
school, you wanna skip out for a day or whatever – fine. I don’t mind. I
already told you I don’t mind. Just – you gotta tell me is all, okay?”
“Yeah,” Kurt whispered, nodding quickly. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Dad…”
“You got to remember, Kurt – this is hard for me, too. It’s bad enough when
you’re at school, surrounded by people. I know you’re safe there… relatively
speaking… and still…” Burt shook his head, breaking off his words with a shaky
sigh. “Every time I don’t know where you are, Kurt, I’m gonna be… thinking…
Kurt, you just gotta tell me, all right?”
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” Kurt repeated, guilty tears slipping from his eyes as he
shifted nearer, moving in close behind his father and lowering his head onto
his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just – I wasn’t thinking about it,
and… I screwed up.”
“Yeah,” Burt replied with a little huff of laughter. “You sure did. But you
know… it’s not like I haven’t screwed up these past couple weeks.”
Kurt frowned, closing his eyes as he wrapped his arms around his dad and hugged
him. “You haven’t.”
“Don’t tell me that, kid. I’m not stupid. Neither of us really knows what we’re
doing. We’re – we’re working it out together as we go, you know? And it’ll be
okay. We just have to keep – talking about it, as these things come up. Making
sure we’re… communicating. Right?”
Kurt nodded against his dad’s shoulder, his whispered response barely audible.
“Right.”
“Good.” Burt pulled away a little, a reassuring arm around Kurt’s shoulders as
he gave him a warm smile. “Now, you might want to get up, wash your face, do
something with your hair – whatever you do when you’ve got company. There’s
someone in the living room who’s waiting to see you. I told him I’d see if you
were ready to get up.”
Kurt frowned, shaking his head and looking down at the bedspread. “I don’t want
to see anybody…”
“You might,” Burt argued mildly, waiting until Kurt looked up at him curiously
to clarify. “It’s Blaine.”
**************************************************
Finn watched the sun go down from his seat at the top of the bleachers, pulling
his jacket a little tighter around himself, as the fading light left behind
only the bitter autumn chill. He knew his mom and Burt would be beginning to
worry, especially if Figgins had called them about the incident in the hall
with Karofsky – but that was just one more reason that he couldn’t bring
himself to call home right now, or to go home, either.
The other, bigger reason was his brother.
He wasn’t the smartest guy he knew, didn’t always pick up on things as quickly
as some of his friends did, but Finn wasn’t stupid. He hadn’t missed the
frustrated tension in Kurt’s voice as he’d told him, not unkindly, to go away
and stop trying to help – while simultaneously meeting Santana’s offer of help
with gratitude and immediate acceptance.
He knew that the last thing Kurt needed right now was for his friends and
family to pull away from him, but it was difficult, facing him, while knowing
perfectly well that there was nothing he could do to make things any better for
him. Kurt’s friends could form a protective shield around him, make sure he was
safe at school and had a distraction when he wanted it – but they couldn’t keep
the nightmares away in the middle of the night, couldn’t make Kurt’s home a
safe space again.
Not as long as the monster that had hurt him was still out there, free to
return any time he chose.
“Dude… what’re you doing here?” Finn looked up at the sound of Puck’s voice,
staring straight ahead as his friend took a seat next to him and gave his
shoulder a good-natured shove. “It’s getting dark, man. And it’s getting
fucking cold.”
“I’m not ready to go yet,” Finn stated simply.
“Your folks gonna be pissed?” Puck guessed, his tone sympathetic. “Dude,
Karofsky deserved to get beat down today.” With a sharp laugh, Puck added, “He
pretty much always deserves to get beat down.”
“Maybe.” Finn was quiet for a moment. “But… he was right about one thing.”
“Yeah?” Puck sounded skeptical. “What’s that?”
“He didn’t have to do anything today, for Kurt to freak out. Kurt’s scared all
the time right now.” Finn swallowed hard, trying to ease the ache in his
throat, as he stared down at his folded, fidgeting hands. “It doesn’t matter if
the bullies give him crap, or if they leave him alone. It doesn’t matter how
much we try to help. He tries to cover it up and act like he’s okay, but he’s
freaking terrified. All the time.”
Puck was silent for a long moment. “Yeah,” he replied at last, his tone heavy
and subdued.
“And he’s gonna be,” Finn continued. “As long as that guy’s still out there.
The one that… broke into our house. The police aren’t doing shit. They don’t
seem to think they’ll be able to find him, because he wore gloves and he wore a
mask, and there’s no… DNA match, I guess… and Burt and Kurt didn’t see the tags
on his van, so… it sounds like they’ve more or less given up…”
“Fucking useless,” Puck muttered resentfully, shaking his head and looking
away.
“But… I’m thinking maybe there’s something we can do.”
Puck looked up at Finn, a single brow raised in a wordless question. Finn just
gave him a grim smile in return.
“Are you in?”
Puck frowned, shaking his head slightly in confusion. “Are you talking about…
us trying to track this guy down?”
Finn didn’t say anything, just kept looking at him expectantly.
“Dude, it’s pointless. How are we supposed to find him? It’s not like we’re
going to find evidence that the cops somehow missed. And what would we do if we
found the guy, anyway?”
“What would we do?” Finn echoed, incredulous, frustration coloring his words.
“We’d make sure he wasn’t able to ever hurt my brother again, that’s what we’d
do!”
“That guy’s a stone cold killer, man,” Puck pointed out. “And you think we’re
gonna…”
“I thought you were a badass,” Finn cut him off, his voice trembling with anger
that he knew, even as he spoke, wasn’t really fair to aim at Puck. “I thought
you were my friend.”
“I amyour friend!” Puck snapped. “But dude – you’re kind of fucking losing it,
here! This is a really bad idea…”
“I thought you of all people would like the idea…”
“Yeah, well, I don’t,” Puck interrupted sharply, standing up too, and spinning
on his heel to stride hurriedly away, muttering as he left, “I don’t have to
put up with this bullshit!”
Finn watched Puck go for a moment with a resentful glare, wondering about his
oddly hostile reaction, before zipping up his jacket and heading down the
bleachers to leave. He got into his car and sat there for a few minutes,
considering, before he finally started the engine and began to drive across
town. He was a little unsure of the exact address he was looking for. After
all, he’d only been there once or twice, for a couple of parties thrown for the
football team. He recognized the outside of the house, finally, and parked his
car, waiting a few minutes to figure out what he was going to say… and whether
or not he was really sure he wanted to do this.
Finally, Finn walked up to the porch, ringing the doorbell before he could
think himself out of it.
David Karofsky answered the door, eyes widening with shock when he saw Finn
standing there – and then narrowing defensively.
“Hudson, I got nothing left to say to you…”
“Did you mean it?” Finn cut him off, studying his face closely. “What you said
before?”
Karofsky frowned, shaking his head in confusion.
“About doing anythingyou could to make it up to Kurt?”
Karofsky stared at him for a moment, suspicion warring with hope in his eyes.
Finally, he glanced a bit uneasily back into his living room, before stepping
out onto the porch and closing the door behind him.
“Yeah,” he replied with a single, resolute nod. “I did. What did you have in
mind?”
***** Chapter 27 *****
It took Kurt nearly 45 minutes to make himself presentable enough that he felt
comfortable seeing Blaine. Even so, he found himself glaring into his mirror,
sighing with frustration at his sleepy, slightly puffy eyes and unusually pale
skin tone. It’d been a few days since he’d bothered with his usual skin care
routine, and Kurt was pretty sure it showed.
 
Behaving like a deranged mental patient is one thing… but you’re starting to
look like one.
 
Finally, in spite of his misgivings, Kurt pasted on a smile and left his room,
trying to ignore the way his heart was racing, and the self-conscious unease
settled in the pit of his stomach. Blaine was standing in the living room,
talking to Kurt’s dad with a warm, polite smile on his face – and something
resembling utter terror in his eyes.
 
Despite the rush of affectionate annoyance Kurt felt at his father’s
deliberately intimidating behavior, he realized that he suddenly felt at far
less of a disadvantage, when faced with Blaine’s desperate, “help me” look from
across the room. Kurt managed to suppress both amusement and annoyance as he
crossed the room to join his father and his friend.
 
“Hey,” he said softly.
 
“Hey,” Blaine echoed, giving Kurt a warm smile, but still visibly, acutely
aware of Burt’s very focused attention on him. “Thanks for… for letting me come
see you…”
 
Kurt looked away, not quite sure how to respond to that. “Oh. Well, thanks for…
for coming.”
 
At this point, he wasn’t sure it was quite the privilege Blaine thought it was.
 
“Want to… go somewhere where we can talk?” Kurt suggested, feeling the awkward
uncertainty creeping back in, now that the moment was at hand for him to
finally have this conversation that he wasn’t sure how to have, wasn’t sure he
wantedto have at all.
 
“Yeah.” Blaine nodded, following Kurt as he led the way toward his room.
 
“What?” Burt called after them. “You can’t talk here?”
 
Kurt smiled, but ignored his dad’s words, aware that he wasn’t really expecting
a response so much as trying to make a point. As he and Blaine descended the
stairs, he heart Burt add a light-hearted warning.
 
“Door open.”
 
“I know,” Kurt called back, glad for the full flight of stairs that made it
possible to leave his door open, and satisfy his father’s protective instincts,
while still giving him fair warning if anyone were to come near enough to
overhear his conversation with Blaine.
 
Not that he had any idea yet how said conversation was going to go.
 
He didn’t want to tell Blaine anything at all about what had happened to him,
but the thing was – the rest of the world already knew, everyone who was even
the slightest part of his life – and he did want for him and Blaine to stay
friends. A small part of him still wanted more than that, but that idea seemed
nothing more than a distant, wistful memory, now.
 
There was no way Blaine would want to be with him – not once he knew.
 
“So, your dad is… pretty intense,” Blaine remarked with a little laugh as he
tentatively sat down on the edge of Kurt’s bed, his hands tucked a bit
awkwardly into his pockets.
 
“Yeah,” Kurt sighed, rolling his eyes. He briefly considered sitting down on
the bed beside Blaine, but then thought better of it and turned his desk chair
around to face Blaine, sitting there instead. “He’s… a little on the protective
side lately. More. Than… usual.” He found himself suddenly self-conscious,
unable to quite bring himself to look Blaine in the eye.
 
Blaine stared down at his lap, nodding. “Everybody seems to be, really.”
 
Kurt’s curiosity got the better of him, and he looked up at that, a single brow
raised. “Everybody?”
 
Blaine gave a little shrug, clarifying, “Your dad, your stepmom, your brother…”
 
He looked up, smiling a little, but whatever he saw in Kurt’s eyes when they
met made his smile fade away. Blaine looked down at his lap, his hands
withdrawing from his pockets and fidgeting idly for a few moments as an awkward
silence descended. The shaky breath Blaine drew in was unnaturally loud in the
stillness, before he ventured to speak again in a small, hesitant voice.
 
“Why do I feel like there’s this… really huge piece of the story that everybody
knows about… everybody but me, and… no one is talking about it?”
 
“Well…” Kurt swallowed hard, weighing his words before replying quietly, “…
that’s probably because… that’s pretty much exactly true.”
 
A brief flash of hurt crossed Blaine’s face before he looked away again. “Oh.”
 
“But… it’s not because I didn’t want to tell you,” Kurt hurried to clarify,
then shook his head frowning. “Or… it’s not because I wanted to tell everyone
but you. I – I didn’t want to tell anyone, but… they found out anyway, and… and
now everyone knows, and… you’ve been one of my closest friends for the past few
months, and… I don’t think it’s fair for you to be in the dark when everyone
else knows what’s going on, but… I have no idea how I’m going to say this,
Blaine, because… I’ve neversaid this, not really, and… and it’s really hard.
Okay?”
 
Blaine blinked, confusion apparent in his dark eyes. “O-okay,” he replied. He
hesitated a moment before confessing softly, “I… I don’t think I understand.
Not… really, but… Kurt, you really don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t
want to. You’re not… obligatedto…”
 
“Please, Blaine.”
 
Kurt’s voice was barely over a whisper, but it stopped Blaine’s words in their
tracks. Kurt couldn’t look up, his face flushing with the heat of shame, as he
struggled to find the words he needed to make Blaine understand – words which
seemed utterly impossible in this moment. He briefly considered if it might be
easier to simply ask someone else to talk to Blaine, just to avoid the awful
humiliation of this moment – but he knew that if he did, he’d never be able to
face Blaine again, ever.
 
He had the horrible suspicion that once this was done, he might not be able to,
anyway – but the only hope for this precarious friendship now was the truth.
 
“So… you know that… my house was robbed,” Kurt began slowly.
 
“Yeah,” Blaine gently prompted him when Kurt didn’t go on for a long moment. “I
know. It must have been… terrifying.”
 
“Yeah,” Kurt whispered, his throat aching, his eyes burning as he struggled to
maintain his control. “These two guys… broke in when my dad and I were… about
to have dinner. Or… they didn’t break in, not really, because I – I let them
in, like an idiot. I just opened the door and they just walked right in, and…
they… had guns, and… masks over their faces, and… it was… terrifying, and
horrible, and… and we thought they were going to kill us, but… but they didn’t,
but… sometimes I kind of wish they had, because… because what he did do… it
changes everything, Blaine, and I don’t even know how to say it, and I don’t
know how to go back to before it happened, and I just… I can’t… I can’t…”
 
Kurt’s words trailed off, his breath so rapid that he couldn’t seem to catch up
to it, his heart racing and his stomach roiling as the mental images lingering
from that night played over in his head. He covered his face with his hands,
struggling to catch his breath, to keep the tears from falling, to somehow keep
it together so that Blaine wouldn’t see him like this, so that he could offer
the explanation that his friend deserved, but he was collapsing in on himself,
falling apart so completely, so disastrously in this moment that he had no idea
why he’d ever thought he could do this, could get through this, could survive
this…
 
“Kurt… Kurt, look at me… please, Kurt…”
 
Blaine’s voice was quiet and gentle, muffled as if coming from underwater, and
a moment after he heard it, Kurt felt Blaine’s hands on his wrists, tentatively
tugging his hands down, just a little – ready to stop at a moment’s notice if
Kurt didn’t respond. Kurt did, lowering his shaking hands into his lap, but he
kept his eyes closed, unable to bear looking at Blaine in this state. He hadn’t
really told him anything, hadn’t gotten even half of the story out – and yet
the humiliation was overwhelming.
 
Blaine must think you’re such a pathetic child, the taunting voice in his mind
berated him. A weak, stupid coward who brought this on yourself, practically
rolled out the welcome mat for them, and let them hurt you and hurt Dad and
didn’t eventry to fight back, you weak, worthless, useless little…
 
“Kurt.” Blaine’s voice was firmer, more clearly audible now, and it momentarily
shut out Kurt’s tormenting thoughts. “Hey… hey, look at me, okay?”
 
Kurt finally opened his eyes, blurry with tears, and dragged them down to meet
Blaine’s gaze, warm and concerned and far too knowing for Kurt’s comfort.
Blaine was crouched in front of Kurt’s chair, and his eyes were brimming with
tears, too, Kurt realized, as his own vision began to clear, and Blaine’s hands
shifted from Kurt’s wrists to gently, cautiously take his hands.
 
“Kurt… if you want to tell me about that night, then… I absolutely want to
listen,” Blaine said in a quiet, earnest voice. “I’m your friend, and… I want
you to feel like you can talk to me, but… I don’t want you to feel like you
have to talk to me. So… everyone else somehow managed to find out something
that’s… apparently really private.” He shook his head, a sad smile on his lips.
“That doesn’t mean you owe it to anybody else to tell them, too. Not me. Not
anyone. So… I guess what I’m saying is… don’t tell me this because you think
you have to. I don’t have to know, and it’s not going to affect our friendship.
Okay? I can still… be here for you, and… and try to help you get through this…
even if I don’t really know what ‘this’ is… right?”
 
Kurt stared at Blaine in silent disbelief, his mind slowly catching up to
Blaine’s train of thought – and the concept that he hadn’t really considered.
 
With the notable exception of Santana, every person in his life had been
asking, hinting, pushing for him to open up and talk about what had happened,
and he’d just assumed that, now that the secret was out, Blaine would expect to
be at least as informed as everyone else. It had never occurred to him that it
might simply be okay to just say nothing, and just continue their friendship as
it had been before all of this had happened – but apparently, Blaine was okay
with that.
 
And the idea filled Kurt with an immense feeling of relief.
 
He nodded, finally, freeing one of his hands in order to reach up and wipe away
the tears in his eyes.
 
“Yeah,” he whispered, a little shakily. “Yeah, that… that sounds good. Th-thank
you.”
 
“Nothing to thank me for,” Blaine insisted, shaking his head, and rising up on
his knees to wrap his arms around Kurt in an impulsive hug. “You have a right
to your privacy, and I wouldn’t be your friend if I asked you to talk about
something you’re not ready to talk about.”
 
Kurt closed his eyes again, soaking in the warm strength of Blaine’s arms
around him, his hands still tingling slightly where Blaine had touched them,
and he felt a deep sense of sadness come over him as he thought about how
elated he would have been if this had happened just a few short weeks earlier.
He would have relished the hug, the brief moments when Blaine held his hands,
and optimistically – naively – looked forward to the time when there might be
more between them.
 
Now, Kurt felt a little sick inside, a little guilty, at the thought that
Blaine was touching him, getting close to him, and didn’t know the truth about
him. The thought of Blaine kissing him, touching him more intimately, filled
Kurt with a sense of horrified dread – the idea of Blaine’s mouth, Blaine’s
hands, contaminated by the places Kurt’s rapist had touched.
 
His medical tests had all come back negative; he wasn’t sick, hadn’t caught
anything from the man who’d raped him. He’d showered again and again, several
times daily since that night, scrubbing his skin until it was red and raw and
blistered from the highest level of heat he could stand – and yet, he still
didn’t feel clean.
 
But it didn’t matter, not as far as Blaine was concerned, he told himself –
because Blaine was satisfied to simply be his friend. Yes, he’d expressed an
interest in more when he’d come by a few days ago, but Kurt knew that he
couldn’t actually let that happen. Blaine had no idea what he’d be getting into
by getting into a relationship with Kurt – but as long as Blaine was just his
friend, then he was safe. There was no reason to worry, no reason why Blaine
had to know about that night – ever.
***** Chapter 28 *****
As it turned out, police reports were a matter of public record – something
easily obtained by a trip to the Lima police station, as long as one had $10 in
hand. Finn just smiled innocently in response to the curious look the woman
behind the counter gave him, and waited for her to print off the information
that he needed. There was no law stating he had to be an adult to obtain a
police report, even if it was a little bit unusual.
 
Once the report was in his hand and he was safely in his car, Finn sent off a
quick text to Karofsky.
 
They met at the public library in a quiet corner, away from the small, private
study rooms where Lima’s high school crowd liked to congregate – not that those
McKinley students who were frequenters of the library were really in either
Finn’s or Karofsky’s social circles. Finn just didn’t want to take any chances,
to end up having to deal with questions from his friends – or God forbid, his
brother – about why he was suddenly spending time with David Karofsky.
 
And, not that he cared that much, but he was pretty sure Karofsky didn’t want
to be seen with him, either.
 
Finn made a copy of the police report he’d purchased at the library’s copy
machine, and handed it over to Karofsky. Finn sat in silence for a long time,
poring over the report and trying to find anything that he didn’t already know,
but most of it was stuff he’d already heard. It was quite a bit more –
detailed, however. Descriptions of Kurt’s injuries, what little Burt and Kurt
had had to say to the police in the days immediately following the attack –
Finn wasn’t really sure he wantedto know this much.
 
And as he glanced across the table at Karofsky, who was frowning thoughtfully
down at his own copy, Finn was suddenly, overwhelmingly sure that he didn’t
want Karofsky to know it. The thought of Kurt walking in and seeing what they
were doing made Finn abruptly, horribly sick.
 
“Damn it,” Finn muttered, dropping the papers onto the table and running a hand
through his hair before dropping his head back and closing his eyes in
frustration.
 
“What?”
 
When Finn looked up, Karofsky was frowning at him. Finn gestured vaguely at the
papers on the desk, struggling to find the words, before finally just blurting
out, “I’m… pissed off, that’s what!”
 
Karofsky looked down at his own copy of the report again. “Well, yeah.” He let
out a heavy, shaky sigh. “This shit is fucked up…”
 
“No,” Finn clarified, raising his head and glaring across the table. “I’m
pissed off at you.”
 
Karofsky looked up at him again sharply. “Excuse me?”
 
“It just – it feels wrong, you – sitting here and looking at all of this stuff,
reading about what happened to Kurt, when you – after everything you didto
him…”
 
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be reading it if you hadn’t asked me to help you with
this, Hudson,” Karofsky pointed out, looking away. There was resentment in his
voice, but he suddenly couldn’t seem to meet Finn’s eyes, so Finn knew that
there was at least some validity to how he felt about this – whether it made
sense or not. “I’m not doing this to – to invade Kurt’s privacy. I’m doing this
because… because I want to help.”
 
“Yeah, but it is invading his privacy,” Finn sighed, leaning forward and
resting his head in his hands for a moment. “And… it’s my fault, not yours. I
should never have asked you to do this with me.”
 
“I’m… I’m skipping the… the personal stuff.” Karofsky’s voice was quiet and
subdued. “I don’t see how that’ll help us find this guy, so… I’m just sort of
skimming over it and looking for stuff that might help.” Both boys were silent
for a long moment, lost in their separate, troubled thoughts. Finally, Karofsky
broke the silence, his words quiet and almost pleading. “I wouldn’t be doing
any of this if I wasn’t sorry.”
 
Finn wrestled with the anger he still felt every time Karofsky uttered those
words, the resentment and mistrust that warred against a certain sympathy –
because there’d been a time when he’d been a bully, too, though he’d never
threatened to kill anyone, and he’d never made someone as scared as Kurt had
been of Karofsky…
 
Hadhe?
 
All at once Finn’s stomach hurt, and he let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head.
“I know,” he relented. “I know. It’s just… you had him so scared. And… you
thought it was fun. To scare someone to death that can’t even fight back…”
 
“First of all,” Karofsky held up a hand to halt Finn’s words, a terse edge to
his voice as he sat up a little in his chair, “you don’t know what I thought
about it. You weren’t in my head and you don’t have the first clue why I did
it. And secondly…” He relaxed a little, a faint, sad smile crossing his lips as
he sat back again, a far off look in his eyes, “I think you’re underestimating
Hummel.” Karofsky let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “He’s a fighter, all
right.” His smile faded into something troubled and solemn as he met Finn’s
confused, questioning look. “It’s not that he can’t fight that makes him a
target, Hudson. You don’t get it. It’s… it’s that he fights so hard. He’s…
little, and… and weird, and… totally vulnerable, and yet… he still walks around
McKinley like he can take the biggest guy in any room, or… maybe just like he
doesn’t care what they do to him? And… it’s… confusing. And… maybe scary. You
know, for some people.”
 
Finn studied Karofsky closely, considering his words, and wondering at what
sort of secret motivations Karofsky might have been talking about that would
have pushed him to torment Kurt the way he had the previous year. It had never
crossed his mind that anything about Kurt could actually scare Karofsky – or
anyone else for that matter.
 
Okay, yeah, when you messed with his hair products or his clothes or tried to
sneak junk food into the house, he could be… actually pretty terrifying, like
some small, fast, screeching thing flying at your face in the dark might be
terrifying. But just… walking down the halls of McKinley? Just beingwho he was?
How could anyone find that scary? How could just that alone freak someone out
so bad that they’d want to hurt him so much?
 
Finn couldn’t make sense of it, and he was still trying to when the whole
situation went to hell.
 
“What the fuck?”
 
Finn first registered Puck’s voice, and second registered the fact that it was
far too loud for the library. He stood up, feeling guilty and caught, even
though he wasn’t doing anything wrong, even though if there was one person in
the world who’d understand what he was planning, it should be Puck. He
swallowed hard, remembering their conversation a few nights earlier, and how
spectacularly not supportive Puck had been of his idea.
 
Puck picked up the file Finn had been reading from the table, jerking it away
when Finn tried to take it from his hand. After a moment, Puck’s eyes widened
with horror, and he dropped the papers back onto the table, staring at Finn,
aghast.
 
“Dude,” he demanded, “What is this? What are you doing?” He cast a disgusted
look in Karofsky’s direction, adding contemptuously, “And… with him?”
 
“I already told you, Puck.” Finn tried to keep his tone calm, glancing uneasily
around to see that several library patrons had turned to look at the scene that
Puck was starting. “I’m going to find the guy who hurt my brother. You said you
didn’t want to help, so I… I had to…”
 
“Had to what? Pick the one person in the entire world that Kurt would last want
to know about any of this?”
 
“Everybody already knows!” Finn snapped, his defensive feelings getting the
better of him. “It’s not like it’s a secret. He can’t sleep. He can’t be at
school without freaking out. He’s scared all the time and can barely even
function, and… and if the cops won’t do anything, then I’m going to do whatever
I have to do to make sure my little brother is safe!”
 
“This won’t make him safe!” Puck yelled back. “Do you have any idea what kind
of a fucking psychoyou’re dealing with here? Not the kind you can handle,
that’s for damn sure!”
 
“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Finn retorted, his voice lowered, but
trembling with anger. “I’m the one who’s… who’s watching, every day, what
Kurt’s going through because of what he did, so I’m pretty sure I get it…”
 
“No, you really don’t,” Puck cut him off sharply, turning on his heel and
storming out, just as a frowning library employee started toward their table.
 
“I’m sorry,” Finn told her with what he hoped was a disarming, apologetic
smile. “I’m so sorry. He’s leaving, I promise.” He glanced uneasily between the
table and Puck’s swiftly retreating form for a moment before quietly addressing
Karofsky. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
 
He hurried to catch up with Puck, then held back a little, letting him get
outside the main entrance before he reached out to catch his arm and stop him.
Puck jerked away from him, glaring furiously, and Finn froze, troubled by the
suspicious gleam in his eyes, almost as if he was close to tears – but Puck
never cried, never allowed anyone to see behind his badass exterior, and… and
it wasn’t even as if he and Kurt were that close, so… what…?
 
“Dude, what is your deal?” Finn sighed. “I don’t get you at all lately. I mean,
so you think it’s stupid and you don’t wanna help. Why are you so furious at me
for doing this?”
 
“But you’re letting Karofsky help you, after everything he did to Kurt! Does
Kurt even know what you’re doing, Finn? Does he know that you’re showing the
police reports of what that bastard did to him to David Karofsky?” Puck
exploded, gesturing wildly, turning away for a moment before turning back,
waiting for Finn’s explanation.
 
Finn’s mouth felt dry, his face flushed with a sudden rush of guilty
uncertainty. “No. I – I don’t want to scare him any more than he already is…”
 
“And why would it scare him, exactly?” Puck demanded, a smile of mirthless
triumph on his lips. “Maybe because he’d know that if you manage to track this
guy down, all you’re gonna accomplish is to get yourself killed?”
 
“It’s not like I’m going to take him on myself,” Finn pointed out. “I’m just
hoping I can find him, if he’s still around. Then I’ll… I’ll call the cops so
they can take him in. I’m not an idiot, Puck.”
 
“It’s not like it’d do any good, anyway,” Puck sighed, sinking down onto the
wooden bench on the sidewalk outside the library. “The damage is done, right?
Can’t be undone, whether you find the guy or not, so… so why not just leave it
alone?”
 
Finn stared at him, indignant and aghast. “How can you say that? The guy that
did this to Kurt – the guy that’s basically ruined his life – needs to pay. I
don’t care if it fixes things or not. He deserves to spend the rest of his life
in prison for what he did. And Kurt deserves to feel safe again – to know that
the person responsible for what happened to him can’t ever hurt him again.”
 
Puck didn’t respond, just looked away, staring into space for a long moment,
before abruptly rising to his feet and walking away.
 
“Puck, wait…”
 
“Just leave it, Hudson,” Puck snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration as
he stalked away.
 
Finn just watched him go in helpless confusion for a few moments, before doing
his best to put it out of his mind and turning to go back into the library. He
didn’t have time to think about Puck and his weird issues right now.
 
He had a job to do.
 
********************************************
 
On the way home, Puck kicked a couple of trash cans, a mailbox, and in a very
ill-advised and painful move, a curb. He swore under his breath, hurrying his
pace in an attempt to walk out the pain – but there were far worse troubles on
his mind than his throbbing foot. He stormed into his house, slamming the door
and ignoring his mother’s concerned calling as he disappeared up the stairs
into the sanctuary of his room – which he promptly proceeded to thoroughly
trash, tossing books and papers and clothes off his bed and onto the floor,
clearing his desk in a single sweep of his arm before sitting down on the floor
beside his bed, leaning his back against it and closing his eyes. He was
suddenly out of breath, overwhelmed, closer to tears than he’d been in longer
than he could remember.
 
Finn was right, in a way, he knew – not about tracking down Kurt’s attacker,
because Puck knew all too well how dangerous a move that might be.
 
But… about the guy needing to pay.
 
Whether or not it did Kurt any good mentally or emotionally to have the guy
behind bars, it was what needed to happen. It was what deserved to happen to
anyone who could inflict such brutality on someone as sweet, as innocent and
idealistic and bright and unshakably, sometimes scarily strong as Kurt Hummel.
 
And what about the guy who made it possible?
 
Puck pressed his palms against his eyes, a whispered litany of curses escaping
his lips as he struggled in vain to keep back the tears.
 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
 
What would they do… what would they think… if they knew thatyou’re the one to
blame? What would they do if they knew that you’re the reason it happened… the
reason Kurt was raped and violated andbroken…
 
It’s all your fault… and there’s nothing you can ever do to make it right.
***** Chapter 29 *****
“Here’s your non-fat white chocolate mocha,” Blaine announced, setting Kurt’s
coffee down on the table in front of him. “Even though you’re model-skinny
already and could use a little fat in your system every now and then. It’s
healthy, you know.”
 
“I had butter on my dinner roll last night,” Kurt offered. “That takes me to my
weekly limit.”
 
His smile was bright and warm, and it made Blaine smile to see it – but there
was still something… distant, or off, or… missing, in Kurt’s sharp blue eyes.
 
They’d agreed to meet for coffee, and Blaine had been relieved just to be able
to spend time with Kurt at all. He knew there was a lot that Kurt wasn’t
telling him about what he’d been through the night of the robbery – and that
was okay. Blaine remembered what it felt like – being beaten, and threatened,
and really, genuinely certain beyond all doubt that your very life was in the
hands of someone malicious and scary and violent, and you were going to die
before it was over – and he also remembered how hard it’d been to relate to his
friends, after.
 
He remembered laughing and smiling with his fellow Dalton students in the weeks
following the attack. It hadn’t taken long before he made friends, became
popular, and was the center of attention in every crowded room – but the only
thought in his mind, the entire time, was the absolute certainty that he had
nothing whatsoever in common with these people. Their biggest fears were tests
they weren’t prepared for, being grounded for coming in past curfew – not
whether or not they’d make it to their destination alive, when they headed home
for the night.
 
Thing is… I do get it. I know what he’s going through, and… if he’d just talk
to me, maybe I could help, but…
 
But it has to be his choice. I hated it when my friends tried to get me to open
up and talk to them about it. They wanted to help, but all they did was remind
me of how little they understood what I was going through – how much I’d
changed – how much I’d lost.
 
The more I push Kurt, the more he’s going to pull away from me.
 
I remember that, too.
 
“So wanna go shop a little?” Blaine suggested when their coffees were about
half gone. “I don’t have a lot of extra spending money, but there’s this scarf
I saw in the window at Express…”
 
“Sure,” Kurt agreed, standing and taking his tray toward the place where it was
to be returned.
 
Blaine eyed the muffin Kurt had bought only when Blaine had begged him to get
something, so that he wouldn’t have to feel like a pig eating the giant cookie
he’d ordered all by himself – the muffin that had about a bite and a half
picked out of it when Kurt tossed it into the garbage.
 
That was another thing he remembered – the fear and confusion and irrational
self-loathing that made you just feel sick to your stomach all the time, with
no desire to eat at all, and a questionable ability to keep anything you did
eat down. He’d spent the month following the attack in an agonizing cycle of
trying to eat to appease his parents and then throwing it up, then trying to
avoid eating for as long as possible in order to prevent it from happening
again, until he was so hungry that he had to try… and of course, threw it up
again. His parents had been on the verge of sending him to a counselor for an
eating disorder.
 
So, it was another thing he’d learned that he hoped could help – distraction
could ease the constant, sick fluttering in Kurt’s stomach, could maybe help
give him a little bit of peace, just for a little while.
 
So Blaine rambled on about all the boys Kurt knew from Dalton, telling every
funny story he could remember from the past few weeks, relieved when Kurt would
smile, and taking a deep sense of satisfaction and triumph from every rare,
quiet laugh he managed to draw from Kurt’s lips. A pang of regret went through
Blaine, as he was reminded in a sort of bittersweet way of a time not so very
long ago when he wouldn’t have had to try so hard, because Kurt would have been
hanging on his every word.
 
Blaine wasn’t blind, and he considered himself to be reasonably perceptive;
he’d known long before Kurt told him that Kurt had feelings for him. He just
hadn’t been sure how he felt, at the time, and didn’t want to wreck their
friendship if it all fell apart in the end.
 
He supposed it was only fair, then, that Kurt was now the one leaving
himhanging, Blaine’s feelings just out therebetween them in the open, making
him vulnerable and uncertain while he waited for Kurt to simply acknowledge
them in some way – not that he expected that to happen anytime soon. After all,
Kurt had a lot more troubling, serious matters on his mind these days. Still,
Blaine wished that Kurt would give him some indication of whether or not he
still had feelings for Blaine at all, or if Blaine had simply waited too long.
 
Blaine tried to suppress his anxious impatience, reminding himself that his
confession of feelings for Kurt was probably simply too much to process at the
moment, given what Kurt was already dealing with – and that was more than fair.
He simply had no choice but to wait, and just be the best friend that he could
be to Kurt in the meantime – and at the moment, that meant jokes and
compliments and a constant, steady stream of every possible distraction he
could think of to keep Kurt from dwelling on the dark, troubled thoughts that
every now and then would shutter his eyes, would make Blaine feel that Kurt had
drifted away to some dark, private place where Blaine was not allowed.
 
“That’s hilarious.” Kurt smiled, but he looked tired, and Blaine began to think
it might be time to take him home. “So, where did Wes finally find the gavel?”
 
“He didn’t findit so much as it just… showed up,” Blaine explained. “On his
desk in the middle of chem class, wrapped up in a bright red…”
 
Blaine never got to finish his story, or even his sentence – because in the
next instant, another shopper bumped into Kurt’s shoulder. The bigger guy
wasn’t watching where he was going, and didn’t stop, and hit Kurt with enough
force to knock him back a step or two, stumbling. It was rude, and
inconsiderate, and Blaine glared at the guy’s back, lips parted to protest.
 
But before he could speak, movement caught Blaine’s attention out of the corner
of his eye…  and Blaine’s angry words died in his throat.
 
Kurt had gone pale and was visibly trembling, his eyes wide and panicked as he
backed up out of the walkway until his back was pressed against the wall. His
arms wrapped around his middle, one shaky hand rising to his throat as he drew
in shallow, rapid breaths, staring up at Blaine, but not seeming to really see
him.
 
“Kurt?” Blaine hurried to his side, instinctively reaching out to touch his
arm, but Kurt flinched away from the contact, and Blaine withdrew his hands
swiftly, holding them up in front of him. “Kurt, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
 
“I c-can’t…” Kurt gasped out, eyes tightly closed, clutching at his throat, “…
I can’t breathe… I can’t…”
 
Blaine’s heart sank, and he closed his eyes, pushing back his own memories and
trying to focus instead on what Kurt was experiencing now. He lowered his
voice, maneuvering his body so as to place himself between Kurt and the
multitude of shoppers passing by them, some of whom were slowing down or even
stopping to gawk at them.
 
“Kurt,” he said softly, “Kurt, you can breathe, okay? You… I think you’re
having a panic attack, but… you’re all right. You’re not hurt, and you can
breathe, or you couldn’t tell me that you can’t breathe, okay? You’re all
right. Look at me, Kurt, okay? Look at me…”
 
Finally, Kurt opened his eyes and obeyed, focusing his gaze on Blaine’s face,
and Blaine felt a rush of relief that he was at least getting through to him a
little.
 
“That’s it. Good, Kurt. Now, I want you to focus on your breathing for a
minute, okay? Just… try to breathe with me, okay? When I do. Can you do that
for me?”
 
Kurt nodded hurriedly, abruptly reaching out to grasp Blaine’s hand and pulling
him in closer. Encouraged, Blaine reached out and took Kurt’s other hand as
well.
 
“Just… focus on drawing the air in and pushing it out, okay? Slowly… with me,
okay?” Blaine instructed, keeping his voice quiet and calm. “In… and out. In…
and out.”
 
Gradually, over the next couple of minutes, Kurt’s ragged, uneven gasps fell
into pace with Blaine’s steady, measured breaths, until finally, Kurt closed
his eyes, lowering his head, and let out a shaky, shuddering sob. Blaine
cautiously reached out to put an arm around Kurt’s shoulders, pulling him
close. Blaine was the shorter of the two, but Kurt felt so fragile and small in
his arms, like a bird that might break if he held him too tightly.
 
Blaine was pretty sure Kurt wouldn’t appreciate that comparison.
 
“It’s okay,” he whispered, withdrawing a little to meet Kurt’s tearful eyes.
“It’s okay… you’re all right.”
 
“H-how…how did you know to do that?” Kurt asked, shaky and a little breathless.
“I mean… I was there when they told my dad at the hospital how to… that I
might… have… but…”
 
“I… I used to get panic attacks all the time,” Blaine confessed softly, looking
away for a moment and swallowing hard, carefully composing himself before
meeting Kurt’s eyes again over a reassuring smile. “I learned the drill pretty
well.”
 
Kurt frowned. “Why? I mean… what h-happened…?”
 
Blaine glanced around, eyeing the small group of onlookers that were lingering
in the hallway, still watching them. “Let’s get out of here,” he suggested with
a nervous little laugh. “Come on, I’ll take you home… and if you want, I’ll
tell you all about it.”
 
They were quiet during the walk to the car, but it didn’t feel awkward or
uncomfortable. Kurt seemed lost in his own thoughts, understandably, and Blaine
was going over his own memories in his mind, trying to decide how much, and
well… just how to tell Kurt about his own experience. He was apprehensive,
wondering if the story might serve to trigger Kurt’s own memories even further,
and just be more upsetting to him – but on the other hand, Blaine considered,
hearing what had happened to Blaine might help Kurt feel more comfortable
opening up and talking to him.
 
If nothing else, it would prove to Kurt that he wasn’t alone.
 
Halfway back to Kurt’s house, Kurt finally broke the silence, his voice quiet
and subdued, his gaze focused out the passenger side window.
 
“I’m sorry, Blaine,” he said softly. “I – I ruined our day.”
 
“No,” Blaine objected. “No, Kurt, you didn’t.” He reached out without thinking
to place his hand over Kurt’s on the seat between them, feeling his face flush
a little when Kurt turned to look at him sharply, but did not pull his hand
away. “I mean… I’ve been there, okay? I know… how out of control and… and scary
panic attacks can be. I’m just… I’m glad I was there with you. To help.” As
soon as he said it, Blaine cringed, shaking his head with an apologetic little
grimace. “And that came out sounding so… arrogant and like, all about me. ‘I’m
so glad I was there to be the big hero and…’ And… and that sounds even worse,
and… I’m sorry. I…”
 
“No,” Kurt cut Blaine off firmly, and Blaine sighed, giving up. “Blaine… I’m
sorry it happened, but… you… kind of were the hero. If it had to happen, I –
I’m glad you were there, too.”
 
Blaine glanced at Kurt out of the corner of his eye, startled by his words –
and then smiled a little, a warm flush creeping into his face as he tried to
focus on his driving, and not the pleasantly confused tumult of emotions evoked
by Kurt’s words.
 
When they reached Kurt’s driveway, Blaine parked the car, then suddenly
remembered that he was still holding Kurt’s hand. Awkwardly, he withdrew his
own hand, giving Kurt an apologetic look.
 
“I-I’m sorry if that was… if I crossed the line. I know you didn’t want – I
mean… I just want to be there for you, and… I wasn’t trying…”
 
“Do you want to come inside?”
 
Blaine blinked, caught off guard by Kurt’s quiet interruption, and the hopeful
uncertainty in his wide blue eyes as they searched Blaine’s face for his
response. Speechless for a moment, he tried to catch up with the turn the
conversation was taking – and just exactly what that turn might mean, beyond
the conversation.
 
“I mean… you don’t have to, if you just want to… to go home, but… there’s no
one home right now, and… after what just happened…” Kurt looked away for a
moment, his eyes betraying a shy vulnerability when he met Blaine’s gaze again
and confessed in a hushed voice, “I… don’t really want to be alone right now.”
 
“O-okay,” Blaine agreed, unfastening his seat belt. “Yeah. I’d love to.”
 
Kurt got out of the car on his side, and then waited for Blaine to come around
the car, surprising Blaine completely when he reached out and took Blaine’s
hand again and led him up the walk. Blaine wasn’t sure exactly what was
happening, or why, but he wasn’t inclined to argue or fight it at the moment.
His heart soared with a new hope as he followed Kurt to his front door,
wondering just exactly what awaited him on the other side.
***** Chapter 30 *****
As Kurt led Blaine by the hand into his empty living room, he tried to ignore
the quietly insistent voice in the back of his mind telling him that this
wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair to Blaine, not when Kurt knew both how Blaine felt
about him, and how very much he should not allow things to go anywhere between
them right then.
 
It’s not like you’redoing anything, he told himself as they settled in on the
new-used sofa, in an entirely different part of the room from where the old one
had been, and Kurt tried very hard not to picture the old one in his mind, not
to remember what had happened there the way he did every single time he walked
into this room. So you held his hand on the way inside. He held your hand in
the car and that didn’t mean anything.
 
Except that to Blaine… maybe it did. Because hewants to hold your hand, and
have it mean something. Because he likes you.
 
Because he has no idea that there’s any reason he shouldn’t.
 
And that was it, really – the reason Kurt couldn’t let Blaine leave. Most of
the time these days, being around other people was at best exhausting, and at
worst – well, at the end of most school days, Kurt just wanted to hide away in
a dark corner of his room and try to remember what it felt like to notlive with
the daily humiliation of knowing that every single person in his life knew
exactly what had happened to him.
 
Every single person… except for Blaine.
 
Blaine still looked at Kurt like he had before, if with a bit more focus, a bit
more hopeful attention in his dark eyes. Blaine looked at Kurt as if he hadn’t
been touched, by anyone – as if he was pure and bright and beautiful and… not…
 
Broken.
 
You’re ruined for him, for anyone; he just doesn’t know it yet.
 
And as selfish as it was, as much as he knew he should keep his distance, keep
Blaine’s bright, optimistic innocence from being sullied by the oppressive gray
darkness that surrounded Kurt’s life these days – Kurt simply couldn’t send him
away.
 
So instead, he turned on the television and found an old episode of Project
Runway that somehow, miraculously, neither of them had seen before. They sat in
relative silence, commenting occasionally, even sharing a laugh every now and
then, both grateful for the distraction from the stress and anxiety of the
afternoon.
 
About halfway through the episode, Kurt felt Blaine’s arm shift downward from
the back of the sofa to rest lightly around his shoulders, and his stomach
lurched slightly – although not in an entirely unpleasant way. He swallowed
hard, his mouth dry, heart racing. He knew that Blaine could feel the tension
in his body, because Blaine’s arm went slightly rigid as well – and a sudden
rush of panic came over Kurt at the thought that Blaine might rethink his
actions and remove his arm.
 
So Kurt just shifted a little closer to the other boy, settling a little deeper
into the sofa and drawing his long legs up beside him as he rested his head
casually on Blaine’s shoulder. Almost immediately, he felt Blaine relax beside
him, his arm settling comfortably around Kurt’s shoulders again as he nodded
toward the television and commented on the latest ridiculous display of what
some amateur thought qualified as fashion.
 
It was warm and close and intimate in a way that Kurt had wanted with Blaine
for as long as he could remember… and it was easy to forget all the reasons
that he shouldn’t allow himself to have it. When the show ended, Kurt turned
down the television, sitting up a little, but staying close to Blaine’s side as
he looked up to meet his eyes. Blaine smiled back at him, a little shyly, and
Kurt felt a sharp stab of guilt at the hopeful desire he saw there.
 
“So…” Kurt cleared his throat as he sat up a little more, not wanting to allow
the silence to become awkward. “What happened at the mall… you said… it used to
happen to you, too?”
 
Blaine looked away, his smile fading a little, though he didn’t seem all that
bothered by the question. He nodded slowly, his thumb running gently, idly back
and forth on Kurt’s shoulder as he spoke.
 
“Yeah. I, uh… my sophomore year, I… I took this friend to a Sadie Hawkins dance
at my school.”
 
Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Not Dalton, I take it?”
 
“No.” Blaine laughed a little as he shook his head. “This is… why I go to
Dalton, actually. I – I had just come out to my parents a couple months before,
and… they weren’t thrilled, but… they went through the whole ritual. When Tyler
came to pick me up, they invited him in and… took the standard prom pictures
and all that. It was… cheesy and silly and ridiculously awkward, but… it was
really romantic, too, and… I was sure the night was going to be amazing.”
 
“He wasn’t just a friend… was he?” Kurt asked softly, though he already knew
the answer.
 
He could see it in the softness around Blaine’s mouth as he talked about Tyler,
the sad, wistful look in his expressive dark eyes. 
 
“No,” Blaine admitted. “I’d had a crush on him for a while, and… I was trying
to work up the nerve to ask him out, and then… he asked me, so… that’s how I
knew he liked me back. It was all just so perfect, and… it felt too good to be
true, you know?” Blaine’s smile vanished as he stared down at his own hand,
fidgeting nervously with a loose thread on his jeans. “It… it was.”
 
In an instinctive display of reassurance, Kurt reached out his own hand to rest
over Blaine’s, stilling it, and Blaine looked up at him, swallowing hard, eyes
wide and wet.
 
“Everybody was… staring, and… whispering, and… it felt a little weird, but we
were just glad to be there, and together, and… nobody actually did anything…
not until… the dance was over. We were waiting outside for Tyler’s mom to pick
us up, and… these three guys… they were on the hockey team, and… one of them
had his stick, and…”
 
Blaine’s voice trailed off, and his arm left Kurt’s shoulder, his fingers
pressing against his tightly closed eyes as he swallowed, visibly struggling
for control. Kurt gently squeezed his hand, putting his arm around Blaine in a
mirror of Blaine’s gesture before, and drawing the smaller boy in close to him.
 
“Blaine,” he said softly, “you don’t have to talk about this. Not if you don’t
want to. I – I’m sorry I asked…”
 
“No,” Blaine insisted, shaking his head, sniffing loudly. “No, I – I want to
tell you, Kurt. I – want you to know this… about me, it’s just… it’s hard.”
 
“I know,” Kurt said gently, reassuringly. “I know.”
 
He hurt for Blaine, but in a twisted way that made him feel a little sick and
guilty in the pit of his stomach, this was actually a relief.
 
It felt good, for once, not to be the one in need of comfort – not to be the
weakest one in the room.
 
“They… broke my arm, and… and two ribs, and… there was some… internal damage. I
spent a few weeks in the hospital, and then a few more at home. Tyler – he was
there for six months. He was… in a coma. They didn’t think he’d… they weren’t
sure he’d wake up at all for a while. And when I was well enough to go back to
school, I – well, I wasn’t well enough. I’d see the school colors in the hall
and just… flip out.” Blaine shrugged slightly, shaking his head sadly. “Didn’t
matter who was wearing them.”
 
“So your parents sent you to Dalton,” Kurt concluded. “With their zero
tolerance no-bullying policy.”
 
“Yeah,” Blaine confirmed. “And… it got better. The guys at Dalton, they’re –
they’re just different. I guess it’s because… some of them are there for the
same reasons. Because of the no-bullying policy. I don’t know. It’s just…
better there.” Blaine was quiet for a long moment, staring down at his lap
again, and their comfortably joined hands. “I still… sometimes remember,
though.”
 
“I’m sorry,” Kurt repeated softly. “I didn’t mean to… to make you remember,
before. At the mall.”
 
“It’s not your fault,” Blaine said quietly, but his voice was thick and hoarse
with emotion. “I just… it’s hard sometimes. And… it’s stupid. I shouldn’t be
–you’re going through a lot right now, and I… I just want to be here for you,
and instead I’m… remembering…”
 
“Shh, it’s okay,” Kurt gently soothed him. “Let me help you forget…”
 
Kurt didn’t even know he was going to do it until it was done, but the next
thing he knew, his hand was on Blaine’s cheek, tilting his face toward him, and
his lips were on Blaine’s mouth, silencing his guilty words. Blaine froze under
the kiss, and Kurt’s stomach felt a little uneasy, wondering if he’d just made
a terrible mistake, if Blaine really wanted this like he seemed to, if Blaine
could somehow tell by the kiss just how damaged and dirty and wrong Kurt was
now…
 
And then, Blaine was kissing him back, his hand warm and steady at the back of
Kurt’s head, urging him in closer as Blaine slid down on the sofa so that Kurt
was over him, controlling and deepening the contact.
 
It felt good, to be in control for a change, to reach out and claim what he
wanted, to feel the sweetness of Blaine’s mouth surrendering to his and
welcoming him inside. It was a heady rush of power that Kurt hadn’t realized
he’d wanted until it was within his grasp – but now he caught it hungrily,
fingers tangling in Blaine’s hair and pulling him in close, as his other hand
slid around to Blaine’s back to run slowly up and down over the soft cotton of
Blaine’s shirt.
 
He knew it wasn’t really what either of them needed, wasn’t fair to do this to
Blaine when he wasn’t sure what he’d want ten minutes from now, when Blaine
didn’t know what had happened to Kurt, or how he was now, or any of the things
he had a right to know if they were going to be doing this, but it felt so good
and so right, and it just felt good to feel good again.
 
Kurt knew he shouldn’t be doing this – but the last thing he planned to do was
stop.
 
*********************************************
 
Across town in the Lima Public Library, Finn was meeting with David Karofsky
again, once more poring over the records on Kurt’s case.
 
So far, they didn’t have much to go on.
 
The most useful piece of information they’d found so far was Mercedes’
description of the strange van she’d seen parked outside the Hummel house when
she’d rung the doorbell, just before Kurt had managed to send her away.
 
“I wonder how hard it is to get DMV records on a vehicle like that?”
 
“No license plate number.” Dave’s voice was grim as he shook his head. “And
there’s gotta be like, a hundred white vans in the area that fit that
description.”
 
Finn sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes before resting his head in his
hands. “At this point, I’m ready to go through them all one by one. If I even
knew how.”
 
“And if the guy’s even around anymore,” Dave pointed out. “Hudson, I want to
find this guy as much as you do...”
 
“Really doubt that,” Finn muttered, but without any real venom.
 
Ignoring his words, Dave continued, “… I just don’t know if it’s possible. We
don’t have any evidence to go on. The guys wore masks, and they drove a vehicle
that’s probably the most common kind around, and… I don’t know what to do
next.”
 
“So does that mean amateur hour is over?”
 
Both boys looked up, startled by the familiar voice.
 
Santana Lopez stood beside their table, arms crossed as she gave them a
contemptuous smirk and took the empty seat that was positioned between them.
 
“Santana… what are you talking about?”
 
Finn didn’t mean to sound as irritated and unfriendly as he knew he did. No,
Santana wasn’t exactly his favorite person at the moment, especially since Kurt
seemed to prefer her company lately to that of his own brother – but he had to
grudgingly admit that she seemed to be able to help Kurt in some way that he
couldn’t even begin to understand.
 
And besides, she was scary as hell; there was no way Finn would have
intentionally tried to piss her off.
 
Thankfully, Santana didn’t seem to mind his harsh tone. “I just mean that if
you’re ready to put this investigation of yours into the hands of someone who
actually has a little experience with all things devious and underhanded – I’m
all yours.”
 
Dave frowned, suspicious. “Just what do you think you know about… uh… what
we’re doing?”
 
Santana smirked. “I think you thought for some reason that you could conspire
to take down the piece of shit who hurt Hummel, and make him pay for what he
did. Without me.” Her smirk became a sly, conspiratorial smile as she glanced
between them, making sure they were catching her meaning. “And I think you
thought wrong.”
***** Chapter 31 *****
“We didn’t ask for your help,” Finn stated, and the words came out a little
more coldly than he really meant them to. “And we don’t need it.”
 
“That’s where you’re wrong, Doughboy,” Santana retorted, eyeing her nails with
a smug, secretive smile. “Because for all the combined failure between the two
of you that I could point out if I really wanted to, there’s really just one
reason why you’ll never be able to pull this off on your own.” She looked up to
meet Finn’s eyes for a moment before giving Karofsky a strangely knowing look.
“You’re both terrible liars.”
“That’s a bad thing?” Karofsky sputtered out a nervous response, not quite
making eye contact with her across the table. “Since when is lying well
something to be proud of?”
“Since ever,” Santana replied without hesitation, “especially when you’re
trying to pull off this kind of thing. You boys need me, whether you like it or
not – me, and my years of experience in the fine arts of deception and
manipulation.”
“We’ve got this,” Finn insisted. “We know what we’re doing. We’ve already been
to the police, and we’ve talked to everyone who’s working on the case… that
they’d… let us… talk to, and we’ve got copies of all the official documents…”
“You mean, all the crap anyone with a library card can look up in the public
records?” Santana was visibly unimpressed. “If I’d have gone, I’d have twice as
much information as you have now.”
Karofsky frowned. “I don’t think that’s true…”
“You’ve never really seen me in action,” Santana interrupted, confident and
certain. “But Finn has – and he knows what I’m talking about.” She stood up
with a little shrug. “But what do I know? You guys were probably just about to
find the guy all on your own. Don’t let me stop you.” She turned as if to walk
away.
“Wait.”
Finn avoided Karofsky’s incredulous gaze, though he could still see it out of
the corner of his eye. He didn’t really want to involve Santana any more than
the other boy did, but deep down… he knew that she was right. After all, she’d
figured out what they were up to, hadn’t she? It wasn’t as if they were getting
anywhere in their investigation, anyway, so what could it hurt to have a fresh
pair of eyes on – well, everything?
And besides that, now that Santana did know about their scheme, keeping her out
of it when she clearly wanted in could be a recipe for disaster. One thing Finn
did know about Santana Lopez – she could make your life a living hell if she
wanted to, even without the kind of ammunition this knowledge would give her.
And… if she really can help somehow, then… maybe we should let her…
“Sit down,” Finn sighed. “I think – we could use your help. If you want.”
“Of course I want to help.” Santana cast a disbelieving glare across the table
at Finn as she sat back down, arms crossed in front of her. “Hummel’s my
friend, and he didn’t deserve what that creep did to him. I won’t be satisfied
until I’ve personally tracked the asshole down, chopped off his disgusting
rapist junk and set it on fire in front of him, and then and only then, gouged
the eyes out of his fucking face.”
Karofsky eyed her warily for a moment, but then slowly, reluctantly nodded.
“Okay, then.”
“But there’s one condition before we get started.” Santana’s voice was quiet
and calm, and she met Finn’s eyes with a challenge in her own. “We’re telling
Kurt exactly what we’re doing.”
“What? No!” Finn protested, abruptly panicked at the very thought.
“Yes.” Santana was unrelenting. “He has a right to know.”


“I can’t tell him,” Finn insisted. “He’ll be so pissed off!”
“Well, yeah.” Santana rolled her eyes. “If it was me, and you two were off
pulling this shit behind my back, I’d kick your asses. You better believe he’s
going to be pissed off.” She paused a moment for effect before concluding, “And
whenever you do find the guy, and this whole thing goes to trial, and he’s
dragged through court and has to tell the whole story to the entire world, and
the whole time he had no idea it was even coming, no idea what you guys were
doing… how pissed off do you think he’ll be then?”
“But he knows the policeare looking for the guy,” Karofsky pointed out. “It’s
not like when he gets caught it’s going to be some big shock…”
Santana pointedly ignored him, focusing her attention on Finn, eyes blazing
with a quiet intensity. “He trusts you,” she stated quietly. “And you knowthis
isn’t right. Not this way. You want to stomp all over that trust, fine. But he
trusts me, too, and I’m sure not going to.”
“What if he tells us to stop?” Finn’s mouth felt dry, and the words came out
weak and uncertain.
Santana shrugged. “I’m not saying you have to do exactly what he says about it.
If he tells me to stop, I’ll probably tell him, ‘Not until the psycho’s in the
ground.’ But we can’t hide it from him. He has a right to know what we’re
doing.”
Karofsky had been quiet through most of the exchange, but he pushed his chair
back abruptly, shaking his head. “I’m not going to keep going when he says no.
Which totally leaves me out of this, because no way he’s going to want my
help…”
Santana turned her steely gaze on him, clearly unimpressed. “Or you could man
up and apologize. Actually make it right to his face instead of trying to ease
your guilt by going behind his back like this. If you’re sorry, then tell him,
and let him know you really want to help.”
Karofsky didn’t reply, didn’t look up… but he didn’t stand up, either.
After a moment, Santana went on. “I have ideas,” she stated. “Connections I
think we should look into, ways we might be able to find out more than what the
police will tell us. But before we do anything else, before I get into this at
all, we need to go find Kurt, and you guys need to tell him the truth. And you
should know before you make your decision that if you don’t – I will.”
*************************************************
Kurt’s lips were soft and seeking against Blaine’s mouth, silently urging him
to deepen the kiss, as the hand not currently tangled gently in Blaine’s hair
drifted down to rest near the hem of his shirt, which at some point in the last
few minutes, Kurt had managed to free from the waistband of Blaine’s slacks.
Blaine’s flawlessly gelled hair was now a disheveled mess of barely controlled
curls, and he couldn’t help wishing that Kurt’s errant hand might venture a
little further.
When they’d met at the mall that afternoon, this was absolutely the last place
Blaine had expected things to end up.
He was so upset… this is just so fast…
“Kurt,” Blaine whispered when Kurt withdrew for breath. “Kurt, are you sure…”
“No, Blaine, my lips and hands are moving independently of my own free will,”
Kurt shot back, his voice soft and breathless, but still carrying that
unmistakable, razor-sharp Kurt-Hummel sarcasm. “God, I’m so sick of everyone
telling me what I want and what I need and could you just not? Please?”
“O-okay,” Blaine agreed, his breath catching as Kurt followed up his vaguely
frustrated words with a soft kiss against Blaine’s throat. “God, Kurt…”
For someone whose only experience with kissing consisted of a single unwilling
kiss several months earlier, Kurt was surprisingly good at this, Blaine
realized as Kurt pushed him down on the couch with eager, trembling hands,
fingers once more edging along the hem of his shirt but not quite venturing
under it. It was a delicious, thrilling tease that made Blaine want to give
himself over to it, to simply enjoy what was happening, what he’d been hoping
would happen between them, without questioning it.
He’d wanted this for so long, and it felt so good, so natural and easy and…
Maybe that was it. Maybe it was just too easy.
After all this time… me not being sure, and then Kurt not being sure, and with
everything he’s going through right now… that’s the problem...
 
Why right now?
“Kurt… wait a second…” It was difficult to get the words out, with Kurt’s mouth
half-covering his own, and Blaine pulled away a little, trying to make eye
contact. “Kurt… I just don’t understand…”
“It’s pretty simple math here.”
One eyebrow was raised in a dubious look that made Blaine feel young and silly,
and made him want to just shut up and go along with this, if only to make Kurt
stop lookingat him like that. And that was another problem, another factor
contributing to Blaine’s rising unease.
Wasn’t this supposed to feel good?
Oh, physically, it felt amazing, but emotionally, it felt… rushed and off-
center and… empty.
“I’m ready, Blaine,” Kurt insisted. “You like me, right? You said you did. And
I like you, and I’m ready for this…”
“Well… what if I’m not?”
Kurt froze, staring down at Blaine with wide eyes, and Blaine took the
opportunity to push him back enough that he could sit up on the sofa again. His
face burned under Kurt’s scrutiny, and he looked away, swallowing hard as he
adjusted his rumpled clothing and then ran a shaky hand through his messy hair.
“I-I just… I can’t help but think that… there’s some reason that you’re doing
this… now, after all this time, and that… that reason… doesn’t really have
anything to do with… with me.”
 
They weren’t touching anymore, but Blaine still felt it when Kurt tensed up,
his jaw setting in frustration, his expression becoming cold and rigid. “You
know what, Blaine?” he snapped. “I’m not a helpless victim, and I’m not a child
who doesn’t know what he wants. If I didn’t want to kiss you, I wouldn’t have,
and I don’t need you trying to tell me whether or not I should and what’s
bestfor me.” He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, the slight
tremor in his voice betrayed the uncertainty that he was trying so hard to
hide. “If you don’t want to kiss me, then why don’t you just say so?”
“I kinda think I just did!”
Blaine snapped back at Kurt without thinking, defensive, because this was just
too surreal, everything he’d hoped to have with Kurt, offered and then snatched
away in the space of a few minutes, and because he was just really confused
about what was even going on here, and because Kurt suddenly seemed to be
pissed off at him and he had no idea why.
Kurt flinched, and Blaine immediately regretted the words.
“That’s… not really what I meant,” he sighed. “Kurt, of course I want to kiss
you, but not like this, not when it’s just because you’re like… upset or
something, and tomorrow when you’re not so upset you might not be sure about…
about us, anymore, and I just… want it to be because you like me and not
because you… you need something and you think I can give it to you and…”
“Get out.”
Blaine stopped talking, his stomach lurching at the low fury in Kurt’s words,
barely over a whisper. He looked up at Kurt, wounded. “W-what?”
“I think you should go.” Kurt’s words were slow and measured, carefully calm.
“Clearly you don’t want to be here…”
Blaine shook his head in helpless frustration. “That’s not what I said…”
“My dad’s going to be home any minute,” Kurt interrupted. “If you’re refusing
to leave, he can make you leave, and if he knows you refused he’ll be pissed,
so I’d suggest you go now.”
 
That thought was enough to send the nauseous, uneasy feeling in the pit of
Blaine’s stomach into panicked overdrive. He had only met Burt Hummel once or
twice, but he’d clearly gotten the feeling that he was being sized up, his
worthiness judged and found wanting. He knew from his friendship with Kurt that
his father was fiercely protective, and also knew that at the moment, those
protective instincts would be on high alert.
Being caught here by Kurt’s father, like this, when Kurt obviously didn’t want
him here, was the absolute last thing Blaine wanted.
“O-okay,” he conceded, standing up and holding his hands out in front of him in
a gesture of surrender as he took a couple of backward steps away from Kurt.
“I’m going. I’m sorry.” He hesitated, shaking his head as he added, “I don’t
know what I did, but... I’m sorry, and… I’m going.”
************************************************
The sound of the front door slamming made Kurt flinch, and he buried his face
in his arms on the arm of the sofa, drawing in a series of deep, shaky breaths,
trying to calm his nerves. He was alone in the house now, with no obvious
threat – and yet he felt as if he was on the verge of another panic attack, his
heart racing and his palms damp, light-headed and confused.
What is wrong with you? Why did you do that? He didn’t do anything, he doesn’t
evenknow anything, and you just threw him out of here like a crazy person…
That thought was followed by another, darker realization, and Kurt shivered,
mouth dry and stomach roiling.
He doesn’t know anything… doesn’t know what happened to you… and still he could
barely stand to touch you, didn’t want to kiss you, just felt that you’re
wrong… ruined… You two are barely talking again, and you’re throwing yourself
at him like a little slut… no wonder he practically ran away screaming…
 
Something’s wrong with you that can’t ever be fixed.
 
The doorbell rang, and Kurt looked up, startled and hopeful at the same time.
Maybe he came back. Maybe you can apologize and let him know that this wasn’t
his fault and still make it right before you lose even his friendship, let
alone any chance of anything else…
Kurt got up and hurried to the door, fighting the instinctive fear he felt when
he reached it, that momentary panic at the thought that he might find a
stranger there. It was broad daylight, and Blaine had just left, and his father
would be home any moment, and it was perfectly safe…
Still, he found himself letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding
when he opened the door to find only familiar faces standing there.
 
But… a more unlikely combination of familiar faces, Kurt really couldn’t have
imagined.
Finn stood there, an apologetic grimace on his lips as he met Kurt’s eyes, and
he was accompanied by Santana… and David Karofsky.
“Hey, Kurt.” Santana was the first to speak up, her smile somehow warm and hard
as steel at the same time. “Is this a bad time?”
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