Fic: Like Crenellations on a Blanket Fort
FANDOM: Glee
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Quinn pulls a Mercedes.
CATEGORY: Chock full of comfort, just a little bit of hurt. Quinn-Kurt-Mercedes friendship.
SPOILERS: Missing scene for Grilled Cheesus
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I always try for in-character and realistic, but I'll be the first to admit that this story is all about wish fulfillment. I wanted to see a little of that late-first-season Glee friendship and teamwork in this episode, so I went ahead and made some.
DISCLAIMER: On a scale of One to Not Mine, these characters are Not Mine. They belong to a lot of terribly important and official people who work for big companies and get salaries and basically aren’t me. Suing me for copyright infringement would be pointless and unprofitable, I swear. A moose once bit my sister.
LIKE CRENELLATIONS ON A BLANKET FORT
It’s not at school, so nobody’s going to find out, Quinn reminded herself, parking her car outside Kurt’s house. And it’s the right thing to do, she added, a little guiltily. She was a better person now, after the Year of Hell, and she should be showing her personal growth and increased self-awareness, or whatever.
Besides, it would be the... nice thing to do. Even if it was hard. Even if looking at Kurt, so fragile and in so much pain, made her feel like that fat pregnant loser who got jostled and slushied in the hallways, stripped of the protection of her family and her cheerleading uniform, alone to face -
Well. It was the nice thing to do, and that was that. She grabbed her English notes, got out of the car, and took a deep breath.
Do unto others. It’s your turn now, Quinnie.
She knocked.
A few moments passed. Frowning, Quinn knocked again, more loudly. There were lights on in the house and Kurt’s ludicrously overlarge car was in the driveway, so he should be home somewhere.
“What?” Kurt demanded, yanking the door open.
Quinn stared. Kurt’s normally impeccable hair was in disarray and his eyes were red and swollen. He looked exhausted.
“Kurt, are you okay? Did your father - “
“What? No, he’s okay. I mean, no change.” He sighed and shoved his hair back impatiently, leaving it standing haphazardly on end. “Look, Quinn, this isn’t really a good time.”
“I can see that,” Quinn murmured. Dear God, was he wearing a plaid flannel shirt? “You weren’t in English today so I brought you my notes.”
Kurt gave the notebook a distracted look. “Crap, homework.”
“Kurt, are you sure you’re - “
Somewhere behind Kurt, a smoke detector went off. He swore and vanished down the hallway, leaving the door open behind him.
Quinn hesitated briefly, and mostly for show, and then marched in after him.
She found him in the kitchen, angrily dumping a smoking saucepan into the kitchen sink. Quinn took a moment to locate the wailing smoke alarm - fortunately right above the counter - and was about to climb up and disable it when Kurt abandoned the saucepan, grabbed a broom from the corner by the refrigerator, and disabled it himself. Rather permanently, if the shards of plastic and dangling wires were anything to go by.
Quinn felt her eyebrows climb. Kurt could be bitchy, sure, and he could yell with the best of them if the situation called for it, but she’d never seen him do outright physical anger before.
She eyed her surroundings. The kitchen was a disaster, the dining room table was covered in papers, and from the tangle of blankets she’d seen in the living room she was pretty sure Kurt had been sleeping on the couch - for a given value of ‘sleeping’, of course. She’d never been to Kurt’s house before so she didn’t really have anything to compare it to, but given the fastidious attention to detail he showed in his clothing choices she simply couldn’t imagine that he was a closet slob.
“Kurt, seriously, you seem pretty - are you crying?”
“No!” He snapped in a choked voice, not turning to face her. “Look, Quinn, I told you it’s not really a good time right now.”
Quinn weighed her options. She could leave, and be assured that tomorrow Kurt would be outwardly put back together and that neither one of them would ever have to mention this again. She could proceed on the hope that Kurt’s dad would recover completely and they would all look back on this time with relief that it was over and had only lasted for a little while.
Or... she could pull a Mercedes, and try to build something that could hold them all together if the worst should happen.
Life, Quinn had discovered, kind of liked making the worst happen.
“Kurt? Sit,” she demanded, shoving a kitchen chair at him and putting on Head Bitch In Charge Quinn Fabray as easily as breathing. “Where’s your to-do list?”
Kurt sat immediately, and then looked annoyed at himself for it. “Why?”
Quinn gestured imperiously. Kurt scowled and pointed at a small pad on the refrigerator door. It was pretty standard - groceries, laundry, homework, bills. Quinn mentally added Tidy Up and Establish Mental Health to the end, and flipped open her phone.
“Puck? Quinn. You’re going to go grocery shopping for Kurt.”
There was some sputtering on the other end, and some from the chair behind her, but not as much as she’d expected. Interesting. She opened the refrigerator and evaluated its contents.
“Just get the basics - go for low-fat, low-sodium, as much organic as you can find. He’ll pay you back. Bring it to his house when you’re done.” She hung up.
“Puck?” Kurt wailed, horrified. “You sent Puck grocery shopping? I refuse to eat Cheez Whiz.”
Well, at least he’d stopped crying. Quinn had never really been that good with tears. “Puck’s been in charge of buying groceries for his house since he was like twelve,” she said reassuringly. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing. Now, where’s your assignment book?”
“Over there, but - “
“Great.” She located the book amongst the papers on the dining room table and flipped it open. History paper, math assignment, Spanish essay... “Do you have bio lab tomorrow?”
“Yes, but - “
Quinn dialed. “Hey Tina, it’s Quinn. You have bio with Kurt, right? Okay, great. Here’s the thing - you need to partner him tomorrow and you need to be super-prepared, because he’s not going to know what’s going on so I want you to carry him. Make him look smart if you can but don’t overdo it. Got it?”
“Absolutely!” Tina gushed. “Is he there? Tell him not to worry, I’ll take care of everything!”
“I’ll let him know,” Quinn promised, smiling. “Is Mike there? Can you put him on?”
There was a scuffling noise, a muted “Me? Why?” and then Mike was on the phone.
“Hello?” he said warily.
“Hi, Mike. I need you to give Kurt a copy of your math homework. You’re good at math, right?”
“That is such a stereotype!” Mike protested automatically.
“And?”
“Okay, yes, I am. Want me to bring it over so he can recopy it in his own handwriting?”
Quinn considered. Mike was right about the handwriting, but while he and Kurt were friendly from Glee she had a more specific group of people in mind to end up in Kurt’s actual house for the evening. “No - give it to Santana and she’ll bring it over. We’ll get it back to you at school tomorrow.”
“Okay.” He hung up.
“Quinn, you can’t make people do my homework,” Kurt protested feebly.
Quinn held up a finger. “Artie? Hey, It’s Quinn. You have history with Kurt, right? Did you finish your paper?”
“Yes, and it was hellish,” Artie said gloomily. “Tell him he’s doomed.”
“Actually, I need you to write his.”
“Really?” His voice perked up immediately. “Awesome. What’s his style?”
Quinn located Kurt’s history notebook and paged through it. “Good sense of narrative, decent spelling and grammar, but an off-topic obsession with fashion.”
“Doable, doable. I’ll have it for him before class tomorrow.”
“Great - thanks, Artie.”
“Quinn - ” Kurt said imploringly.
“One more call,” Quinn said absently. “Santana? It’s Quinn. Mike’s going to be coming by with his math homework. When he gives it to you, grab Brittany and come over to Kurt’s house.”
“Why?” Santana drawled, packing an expected amount of attitude into the one word.
“You’re going to help Kurt with his Spanish essay.”
“And by ‘help’, you mean ‘write’.” Santana sighed. “Fine, we’ll be there.”
Quinn hung up. “Yes, Kurt?” she said, sweetly.
“Quinn, you can’t just - “ he sputtered for a moment, caught somewhere between angry and appalled. “You - you - I didn’t ask for this!”
Quinn relented. “I know,” she said gently. “And you were never going to, and probably everything would have worked out fine. But Kurt, this whole week - don’t you realize that’s what everyone’s been waiting for? Even Santana and Puck just jumped at the chance to help you.”
Kurt stared at her. “It’s... I can manage. By myself.”
“We know you can,” Quinn said reassuringly. “But you don’t have to. We want to help, Kurt - it’s why everyone’s spent this whole week looking all... tragic and awkward. Have you even let Finn’s mom do anything? Because she would not put up with - “ she gestured despairingly at the house and Kurt’s general existence “ - this.”
Kurt crossed his legs and folded his hands on his knee, somehow managing to pull off haughty and disdained in an oversized flannel shirt and atrocious hair. “I’d rather not be preached at, thank you,” he said, giving Quinn a pointed look.
“You think I’m going to jump on the Cheesus bandwagon?” Quinn couldn’t quite keep the derision out of her voice.
This time it was Kurt’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
“I believe in God, Kurt. Finn’s asking a magic sandwich for three wishes. It’s insulting.”
The corner of Kurt’s mouth twitched. “Point taken.”
Quinn sighed. This whole evening would fall apart if Kurt felt defensive and on edge the whole time, and in any case forcing her beliefs on someone - while it might be totally valid in relationships and other social situations - was a pretty counterproductive way to go about making him relax. “Look. Do I wish you believed in God? Yes, I do. I would like for you to be able to get the comfort from Him that I do. But you don’t, and you can’t, and so the next best thing I can do to help you is to meet you halfway, on your terms. No proselytizing.”
The rigid set of Kurt’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Okay. I can appreciate that.” He shot her a look. “I’m still not comfortable with what you’re making everyone do, though.”
“Hmm,” Quinn considered this. She had to concede that she’d been similarly bewildered when Mercedes had offered her a place to stay, and she was even willing to admit that what she was doing right now was possibly a little more extreme than that. Still. She was Head Cheerio Quinn Fabray - it was all a matter of scale, really.
Come to think of it...
She flipped open her phone again, which made Kurt flinch, and hit speakerphone.
“Hey, Quinn.”
“Hey, Mercedes. Kurt’s letting us help him - you in?”
There was an earsplitting squeal from the phone. “Oh my God, yes yes yes! Tell him I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I’ll be there in ten minutes! Should I bring anything? Is he hungry? I bet he’s hungry, he always stops eating when he’s upset - “
“We’ve got food covered, Mercedes. Just bring yourself.”
“Are you sure? I’ve - I’ve got a really nice fuzzy blanket, it might make him feel better?”
“Why not? Go ahead and bring it,” Quinn said, smiling indulgently. “Maybe some kleenex, too,” she added, eyeing Kurt.
“I’m just tired,” Kurt sniffled.
Quinn hung up. “Would you like me to make you some tea?”
Kurt blinked. “Um, I don’t think we have any. Quinn... why are you doing this? I mean, it’s nice of you, don’t get me wrong, but...” he trailed off, shrugging.
“Well,” Quinn said, leaning back against the counter, “You guys did this for me last year, so you can think of it as karma.”
Kurt raised a skeptical eyebrow. “It doesn’t seem very head cheerleaderish.”
And okay, she kind of deserved that. Kurt would hardly be the first one in Glee to wonder which Quinn she was trying to be at any given time. Still... “Sure it is,” She said serenely, tossing her hair just a little. “I just said ‘jump’ and the entire Glee club did it without asking.”
That got her an actual laugh.
“Besides...” Quinn took a deep breath. “You guys are my friends. I may be trying to rebuild the reputation I had before Babygate, but...” she shrugged, looking away. “It would be a shame to lose all the things I learned in the process.”
There was A Moment.
“Quinn, can I give you a makeover? After all this?”
Assuming ‘all this’ would end the way everyone was hoping, of course... Quinn cut that thought off, and smiled instead. “I choose to take that as a ‘thank you’ instead of an insult, so yes, you may.” It was worth it just to see a little of Kurt’s usual energy coming back, anyway.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Puck was the first to arrive, laden down with plastic bags and attitude. He managed to keep up the air of irritation pretty well right up until he pulled a pint of organic triple chocolate brownie ice cream out of a bag and said gruffly, “Chicks dig this stuff, so I figured you’d like it too.”
For a brief moment, even Quinn liked him better.
Brittany and Santana showed up next, marching through the front door without knocking as if they’d been coming to Kurt’s house since kindergarten.
“Got the math homework,” Santana announced. “Hey, Kurt?” She rattled off a long string of Spanish.
Kurt blinked at her, and then hesitantly answered back.
Santana sniffed. “Well, that was marginally less horrific than I was expecting, at least,” she said grudgingly, and went digging for Kurt’s Spanish notebook.
“I don’t know Spanish,” Brittany said sadly. “I’ve only ever been to another planet once and they didn’t talk much.”
“That’s okay, Brittany,” Quinn said, sailing straight past Brittany’s last comment without looking twice. “I have a much more important job for you. I need you to take Kurt to the living room and give him a really good cuddle.”
“Wait, what?” Kurt yelped, even as Brittany nodded seriously and frog-marched him out of the kitchen.
Santana gave Quinn a steady look. Quinn shrugged. “I doubt he’d accept it from anyone else right now.”
There was an appalled shriek from the living room. “He’s gay, Brittany - less emphasis on the breasts,” Santana called without looking.
Mercedes arrived a few minutes later with a screech of tires. She made a beeline for the living room, only pausing long enough to give Puck and Santana a double-take and Quinn a look that clearly said I really hope you know what you’re doing.
Quinn listened carefully from the kitchen. The sounds from the living room continued to be reasonably soothing, so she nodded in satisfaction and stepped back. Santana was still scribbling in Kurt’s Spanish book, Puck was -
“What?” Quinn managed intelligently as Puck walked by her with a grilled cheese sandwich, apple slices, and a cookie on a plate.
“Food makes people feel better,” Puck insisted, carrying on towards the living room. He stopped in front of the couch and shoved the plate in Kurt’s direction. “Here.”
“Thanks,” Kurt stammered, probably only managing to catch the plate out of sheer instinct.
“Did you burn a smiley face into the sandwich?” Mercedes demanded, leaning closer.
“Shut up, I usually cook for my kid sister,” Puck snapped. “See if I ever make you one.”
“Thank you, it’s very cheerful,” Kurt said politely.
“Whatever,” Puck said, and then ruined it by adding “Let me know if you want seconds.”
Quinn stepped quietly into the living room. Kurt appeared to be making a reasonable effort to eat his sandwich, which was good, and with Mercedes and Brittany on either side of him he should be okay for the time being.
“Kurt?” she said softly. “Where’s your laundry?”
Immediately the sense of relative calm vanished. Kurt’s head snapped up, an alarmed look on his face, and Mercedes was instantly on her feet.
“Oh, hell no,” she said firmly. “Quinn, thank you for the thought, but I’ll take care of this one.”
“You do not have to do my laundry!” Kurt protested, clearly scandalized.
“Do you trust anyone else here to treat your clothes with the respect they deserve?” Mercedes demanded. “I didn’t think so. Now sit there, eat your sandwich, and chill, boy.”
“Look, I’m actually very good at laundry,” Quinn said, feeling a little offended.
“He sorts his clothes by color and fabric type and he uses four kinds of detergent on a situational and rotating basis,” Mercedes said in a low voice, patting her reassuringly on the shoulder. “Trust me - you do not want to hear the lecture. I’m not even kidding when I say he has a PowerPoint presentation on the subject.”
“Wow,” Quinn said, faintly. “That’s, um...”
“Tell me about it - my mom won’t even let him into our basement any more. You stay here and keep an eye on things.” Mercedes gave the couch a considering look. “Some cover noise in about ten minutes wouldn’t go amiss either - I think he’s nearly realised it’s okay to let go a little.”
“Why do you think I brought Santana?” Quinn murmured back. “Between her and Puck, we can pretty much guarantee that no one will hear him cry.”
Mercedes smiled at her. “It’s good to have Quinn back,” she said softly, and headed downstairs.
Quinn sucked in a deep breath. Mercedes’ last words hurt more than she was expecting them to, even though she knew Mercedes had meant them kindly. Loser-Quinn of last year might have had friends she could count on and people who loved her, but she’d also been miserable. Head-Cheerleader-Quinn might be lonely and miserable but at least she didn’t give a damn about it. Was it so wrong to want just that little bit of protection?
Quinn shook herself - Focus, Quinnie. Not about you right now - and went back to the kitchen.
Puck was just starting in on the dishes when she entered. Santana was sitting cross-legged on the counter, Kurt’s Spanish notebook balanced on one knee. She looked up.
“Just about done. What’s your plan?”
“Cover noise.”
“Got it,” Puck said, and dropped a pan with a loud clatter.
“Careful, you idiot!” Quinn snapped. “We want to make noise, not trash his house!”
“Quiet, woman!” Puck bawled. “I know what I’m doing in a kitchen!”
“No you don’t,” Quinn shouted back, taking his cue. “And - your hair is stupid!”
“Seriously, you guys?” Santana said incredulously. “You’re the worst fake-fighters ever. Also, picking a fight to make cover noise is a terrible idea.”
“You do better,” Quinn muttered. It was surprisingly hard to fight convincingly without actually going for the jugular.
“We’re in Glee club, geniuses. We sing something.”
Quinn scowled. Much as she hated to admit it, Santana was right - while the sounds of a fake fight would definitely convince Kurt they weren’t trying to listen in on him, it might also make him think he needed to get up and make sure they weren’t trying to kill each other.
“Fine,” she said. “Somebody to Love, on three.”
They sang their way through most of the Glee club standards while Puck puttered around the kitchen and the girls went through Kurt’s bills, Quinn doing the math and Santana doing a disturbingly competent job of forging Mr. Hummel’s signature on the checks. Then they worked through a few old camp songs, half a verse of Can you Feel The Love Tonight which Puck put an end to with the kitchen sink sprayer, and wound up with a surprisingly effective spur-of-the-moment mash-up of Tender Shepherd and Falling in Love Is Hard (On the Knees) before Brittany showed up in the kitchen.
“Mercedes says the coast is clear,” she recited dutifully. “Apparently it doesn’t matter that the closest ocean is in Tennessee.”
“What? No, it’s not,” Quinn said before she could stop herself.
“Tenn-e-sea, Quinn,” Brittany said earnestly.
You really asked for that one, Quinnie, Quinn reminded herself. “Thank you for letting us know, Brittany,” she said out loud, and sidled quietly up to the door.
Kurt and Mercedes were on the couch, Kurt curled up and asleep with his head in Mercedes’ lap. Mercedes, noticing Quinn’s approach, put her finger to her lips. She looked like she’d been helping Kurt out with some of that crying.
Quinn nodded and retreated to the kitchen.
“Okay, guys, mission accomplished,” she said. “I think it’s time to make an exit.”
“Are you going to stay?” Santana asked.
Quinn hesitated. On the one hand, Kurt would probably feel more comfortable with just Mercedes. On the other, he was definitely exhausted and she could probably use some help.
Besides, it would be... nice.
“Yes,” she said. “Could you swing by tomorrow with a change of clothes?”
It was a mark of the evening that Santana didn’t even roll her eyes. “Yeah, okay. All the homework’s organized, it’s on the table. Bills are done... I think that’s it.”
Puck finished tidying the kitchen and put on his jacket. “There’s dinners for a few nights in the fridge,” he said, “and lunches for all of you on the top shelf.”
Quinn was surprised to have to swallow a sudden lump in her throat. “Thanks, guys.”
“No problem.” They collected Brittany and left, tiptoeing exaggeratedly past the living room.
Quinn allowed herself a moment - just a moment - to close her eyes and lean against the counter and breathe. Then she got herself together and walked quietly into the living room, kneeling down next to Mercedes and Kurt.
“We should probably try to get him into bed,” Mercedes whispered. “I think we’ll all be more comfortable.”
Quinn nodded. “Okay. Let’s get him downstairs, then you get him to change and I’ll find us something for pajamas.”
Mercedes grinned. “Speak for yourself - I packed a bag. You might fit into Kurt’s pjs but I’ve actually got human anatomy.”
Quinn grinned back. “All right, let’s do this.”
Unsurprisingly, Kurt was difficult to wake up, and when they finally got him upright he blinked owlishly at them and had a tendency to lean heavily against the nearest person and try to go back to sleep. They managed to get him down the stairs with only one near-death experience (“What normal person lives in a basement?” Quinn snapped. “Hello, Glee,” Mercedes pointed out) and sat him down at the vanity.
Quinn dug through Kurt’s mildly terrifying closet for pajamas (deep red for Kurt and gorgeous silky blue ones for herself which she would contemplate stealing if she wasn’t absolutely certain Kurt would murder her to get them back), while Mercedes washed his face until he woke up enough to change.
“Quinn, are you wearing my pajamas?” he asked when he came out of the bathroom.
“Yes, Kurt.”
“Mkay.”
“He really must be tired,” Quinn whispered, and they both giggled. It wasn’t actually that funny, but it felt really good.
“Can we go to bed now?” Kurt asked plaintively, resting his head on Mercedes’ shoulder. He straightened up suddenly, looking panicked. “Wait, where’s my phone?”
“It’s on the bedside table, next to the house phone,” Mercedes said, soothingly. “Here, you get in the middle.”
Quinn crawled under the covers. The bed was big enough to fit all of them if they didn’t mind touching, but it was a close thing. “Kurt, sleeping with two girls at once? What will everyone at school say?”
Mercedes caught her eye over Kurt’s shoulder, and they both burst out laughing.
“Shhh,” Kurt mumbled, face already pressed into his pillow. “M’already traumatised.”
“Such a waste of hot girl time and effort,” Mercedes sighed, which set them off again.
“Augh!” Kurt complained.
“Sorry,” Mercedes giggled, kissing him on the head. “Well be quiet now. Go to sleep.”
Kurt mumbled something sleepily and settled further into the bed.
“Quinn?” Mercedes whispered, once Kurt’s breathing had evened out.
Quinn blinked, pulling herself out of the half-doze she’d settled into. “Yeah?”
“Do you need to call your mom? I told mine where I was going before I left, but you clearly weren’t ready for this - “
“No,” Quinn said, a little more sharply than she’d intended. “No. It’s okay. She won’t worry.” By the time Quinn had left the house this afternoon her mother had already been on her second bottle of after-work wine. If Quinn called now she probably wouldn’t even hear the phone.
Mercedes’ hand appeared over Kurt’s side and took hers. “You know you can always come to my house, right?”
Quinn’s fingers tightened. “I know. Thank you.”
“Do you think Kurt’s dad is going to be okay?”
Quinn sighed. “I’m not sure, Mercedes. You know him better.”
“He’ll be okay,” Mercedes said, sleep starting to creep into her voice. “He’s, like, really scary. But in a good way. He’d never leave Kurt.”
Quinn had to bite her lip against a sudden rush of tears. It was wrong to feel jealous of a boy with a father in Intensive Care, but God, she wanted that kind of certainty so badly.
As it was, she was stuck with a father who still couldn’t speak to her and a mother who lost the ability to walk in a straight line by dinner.
“Quinn?” Mercedes leaned over Kurt. “Oh, baby... it’s okay. I’m sorry I said that.”
“No, it’s all right,” Quinn said thickly, swallowing back tears. “I’m being stupid.”
“If it matters to you then it’s not stupid,” Mercedes said sternly.
Quinn found it in herself to smile a little. “Really, I’m fine.”
Mercedes gave her a doubtful look. Quinn sighed. “Can we talk about it later? If we don’t go to sleep soon we’ll be worse off than Kurt in the morning.”
“Okay,” Mercedes said reluctantly, lying back down. “But I’m going to keep holding your hand.”
“Thank you,” Quinn whispered.
“You and Kurt will both be fine,” Mercedes said fiercely into the darkness. “You’re the toughest people I know.”
They fell asleep holding hands over Kurt, and stayed that way until he woke up and freaked out at them in the morning.
Crossposted to Archive Of Our Own.
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Quinn pulls a Mercedes.
CATEGORY: Chock full of comfort, just a little bit of hurt. Quinn-Kurt-Mercedes friendship.
SPOILERS: Missing scene for Grilled Cheesus
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I always try for in-character and realistic, but I'll be the first to admit that this story is all about wish fulfillment. I wanted to see a little of that late-first-season Glee friendship and teamwork in this episode, so I went ahead and made some.
DISCLAIMER: On a scale of One to Not Mine, these characters are Not Mine. They belong to a lot of terribly important and official people who work for big companies and get salaries and basically aren’t me. Suing me for copyright infringement would be pointless and unprofitable, I swear. A moose once bit my sister.
LIKE CRENELLATIONS ON A BLANKET FORT
It’s not at school, so nobody’s going to find out, Quinn reminded herself, parking her car outside Kurt’s house. And it’s the right thing to do, she added, a little guiltily. She was a better person now, after the Year of Hell, and she should be showing her personal growth and increased self-awareness, or whatever.
Besides, it would be the... nice thing to do. Even if it was hard. Even if looking at Kurt, so fragile and in so much pain, made her feel like that fat pregnant loser who got jostled and slushied in the hallways, stripped of the protection of her family and her cheerleading uniform, alone to face -
Well. It was the nice thing to do, and that was that. She grabbed her English notes, got out of the car, and took a deep breath.
Do unto others. It’s your turn now, Quinnie.
She knocked.
A few moments passed. Frowning, Quinn knocked again, more loudly. There were lights on in the house and Kurt’s ludicrously overlarge car was in the driveway, so he should be home somewhere.
“What?” Kurt demanded, yanking the door open.
Quinn stared. Kurt’s normally impeccable hair was in disarray and his eyes were red and swollen. He looked exhausted.
“Kurt, are you okay? Did your father - “
“What? No, he’s okay. I mean, no change.” He sighed and shoved his hair back impatiently, leaving it standing haphazardly on end. “Look, Quinn, this isn’t really a good time.”
“I can see that,” Quinn murmured. Dear God, was he wearing a plaid flannel shirt? “You weren’t in English today so I brought you my notes.”
Kurt gave the notebook a distracted look. “Crap, homework.”
“Kurt, are you sure you’re - “
Somewhere behind Kurt, a smoke detector went off. He swore and vanished down the hallway, leaving the door open behind him.
Quinn hesitated briefly, and mostly for show, and then marched in after him.
She found him in the kitchen, angrily dumping a smoking saucepan into the kitchen sink. Quinn took a moment to locate the wailing smoke alarm - fortunately right above the counter - and was about to climb up and disable it when Kurt abandoned the saucepan, grabbed a broom from the corner by the refrigerator, and disabled it himself. Rather permanently, if the shards of plastic and dangling wires were anything to go by.
Quinn felt her eyebrows climb. Kurt could be bitchy, sure, and he could yell with the best of them if the situation called for it, but she’d never seen him do outright physical anger before.
She eyed her surroundings. The kitchen was a disaster, the dining room table was covered in papers, and from the tangle of blankets she’d seen in the living room she was pretty sure Kurt had been sleeping on the couch - for a given value of ‘sleeping’, of course. She’d never been to Kurt’s house before so she didn’t really have anything to compare it to, but given the fastidious attention to detail he showed in his clothing choices she simply couldn’t imagine that he was a closet slob.
“Kurt, seriously, you seem pretty - are you crying?”
“No!” He snapped in a choked voice, not turning to face her. “Look, Quinn, I told you it’s not really a good time right now.”
Quinn weighed her options. She could leave, and be assured that tomorrow Kurt would be outwardly put back together and that neither one of them would ever have to mention this again. She could proceed on the hope that Kurt’s dad would recover completely and they would all look back on this time with relief that it was over and had only lasted for a little while.
Or... she could pull a Mercedes, and try to build something that could hold them all together if the worst should happen.
Life, Quinn had discovered, kind of liked making the worst happen.
“Kurt? Sit,” she demanded, shoving a kitchen chair at him and putting on Head Bitch In Charge Quinn Fabray as easily as breathing. “Where’s your to-do list?”
Kurt sat immediately, and then looked annoyed at himself for it. “Why?”
Quinn gestured imperiously. Kurt scowled and pointed at a small pad on the refrigerator door. It was pretty standard - groceries, laundry, homework, bills. Quinn mentally added Tidy Up and Establish Mental Health to the end, and flipped open her phone.
“Puck? Quinn. You’re going to go grocery shopping for Kurt.”
There was some sputtering on the other end, and some from the chair behind her, but not as much as she’d expected. Interesting. She opened the refrigerator and evaluated its contents.
“Just get the basics - go for low-fat, low-sodium, as much organic as you can find. He’ll pay you back. Bring it to his house when you’re done.” She hung up.
“Puck?” Kurt wailed, horrified. “You sent Puck grocery shopping? I refuse to eat Cheez Whiz.”
Well, at least he’d stopped crying. Quinn had never really been that good with tears. “Puck’s been in charge of buying groceries for his house since he was like twelve,” she said reassuringly. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing. Now, where’s your assignment book?”
“Over there, but - “
“Great.” She located the book amongst the papers on the dining room table and flipped it open. History paper, math assignment, Spanish essay... “Do you have bio lab tomorrow?”
“Yes, but - “
Quinn dialed. “Hey Tina, it’s Quinn. You have bio with Kurt, right? Okay, great. Here’s the thing - you need to partner him tomorrow and you need to be super-prepared, because he’s not going to know what’s going on so I want you to carry him. Make him look smart if you can but don’t overdo it. Got it?”
“Absolutely!” Tina gushed. “Is he there? Tell him not to worry, I’ll take care of everything!”
“I’ll let him know,” Quinn promised, smiling. “Is Mike there? Can you put him on?”
There was a scuffling noise, a muted “Me? Why?” and then Mike was on the phone.
“Hello?” he said warily.
“Hi, Mike. I need you to give Kurt a copy of your math homework. You’re good at math, right?”
“That is such a stereotype!” Mike protested automatically.
“And?”
“Okay, yes, I am. Want me to bring it over so he can recopy it in his own handwriting?”
Quinn considered. Mike was right about the handwriting, but while he and Kurt were friendly from Glee she had a more specific group of people in mind to end up in Kurt’s actual house for the evening. “No - give it to Santana and she’ll bring it over. We’ll get it back to you at school tomorrow.”
“Okay.” He hung up.
“Quinn, you can’t make people do my homework,” Kurt protested feebly.
Quinn held up a finger. “Artie? Hey, It’s Quinn. You have history with Kurt, right? Did you finish your paper?”
“Yes, and it was hellish,” Artie said gloomily. “Tell him he’s doomed.”
“Actually, I need you to write his.”
“Really?” His voice perked up immediately. “Awesome. What’s his style?”
Quinn located Kurt’s history notebook and paged through it. “Good sense of narrative, decent spelling and grammar, but an off-topic obsession with fashion.”
“Doable, doable. I’ll have it for him before class tomorrow.”
“Great - thanks, Artie.”
“Quinn - ” Kurt said imploringly.
“One more call,” Quinn said absently. “Santana? It’s Quinn. Mike’s going to be coming by with his math homework. When he gives it to you, grab Brittany and come over to Kurt’s house.”
“Why?” Santana drawled, packing an expected amount of attitude into the one word.
“You’re going to help Kurt with his Spanish essay.”
“And by ‘help’, you mean ‘write’.” Santana sighed. “Fine, we’ll be there.”
Quinn hung up. “Yes, Kurt?” she said, sweetly.
“Quinn, you can’t just - “ he sputtered for a moment, caught somewhere between angry and appalled. “You - you - I didn’t ask for this!”
Quinn relented. “I know,” she said gently. “And you were never going to, and probably everything would have worked out fine. But Kurt, this whole week - don’t you realize that’s what everyone’s been waiting for? Even Santana and Puck just jumped at the chance to help you.”
Kurt stared at her. “It’s... I can manage. By myself.”
“We know you can,” Quinn said reassuringly. “But you don’t have to. We want to help, Kurt - it’s why everyone’s spent this whole week looking all... tragic and awkward. Have you even let Finn’s mom do anything? Because she would not put up with - “ she gestured despairingly at the house and Kurt’s general existence “ - this.”
Kurt crossed his legs and folded his hands on his knee, somehow managing to pull off haughty and disdained in an oversized flannel shirt and atrocious hair. “I’d rather not be preached at, thank you,” he said, giving Quinn a pointed look.
“You think I’m going to jump on the Cheesus bandwagon?” Quinn couldn’t quite keep the derision out of her voice.
This time it was Kurt’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
“I believe in God, Kurt. Finn’s asking a magic sandwich for three wishes. It’s insulting.”
The corner of Kurt’s mouth twitched. “Point taken.”
Quinn sighed. This whole evening would fall apart if Kurt felt defensive and on edge the whole time, and in any case forcing her beliefs on someone - while it might be totally valid in relationships and other social situations - was a pretty counterproductive way to go about making him relax. “Look. Do I wish you believed in God? Yes, I do. I would like for you to be able to get the comfort from Him that I do. But you don’t, and you can’t, and so the next best thing I can do to help you is to meet you halfway, on your terms. No proselytizing.”
The rigid set of Kurt’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Okay. I can appreciate that.” He shot her a look. “I’m still not comfortable with what you’re making everyone do, though.”
“Hmm,” Quinn considered this. She had to concede that she’d been similarly bewildered when Mercedes had offered her a place to stay, and she was even willing to admit that what she was doing right now was possibly a little more extreme than that. Still. She was Head Cheerio Quinn Fabray - it was all a matter of scale, really.
Come to think of it...
She flipped open her phone again, which made Kurt flinch, and hit speakerphone.
“Hey, Quinn.”
“Hey, Mercedes. Kurt’s letting us help him - you in?”
There was an earsplitting squeal from the phone. “Oh my God, yes yes yes! Tell him I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I’ll be there in ten minutes! Should I bring anything? Is he hungry? I bet he’s hungry, he always stops eating when he’s upset - “
“We’ve got food covered, Mercedes. Just bring yourself.”
“Are you sure? I’ve - I’ve got a really nice fuzzy blanket, it might make him feel better?”
“Why not? Go ahead and bring it,” Quinn said, smiling indulgently. “Maybe some kleenex, too,” she added, eyeing Kurt.
“I’m just tired,” Kurt sniffled.
Quinn hung up. “Would you like me to make you some tea?”
Kurt blinked. “Um, I don’t think we have any. Quinn... why are you doing this? I mean, it’s nice of you, don’t get me wrong, but...” he trailed off, shrugging.
“Well,” Quinn said, leaning back against the counter, “You guys did this for me last year, so you can think of it as karma.”
Kurt raised a skeptical eyebrow. “It doesn’t seem very head cheerleaderish.”
And okay, she kind of deserved that. Kurt would hardly be the first one in Glee to wonder which Quinn she was trying to be at any given time. Still... “Sure it is,” She said serenely, tossing her hair just a little. “I just said ‘jump’ and the entire Glee club did it without asking.”
That got her an actual laugh.
“Besides...” Quinn took a deep breath. “You guys are my friends. I may be trying to rebuild the reputation I had before Babygate, but...” she shrugged, looking away. “It would be a shame to lose all the things I learned in the process.”
There was A Moment.
“Quinn, can I give you a makeover? After all this?”
Assuming ‘all this’ would end the way everyone was hoping, of course... Quinn cut that thought off, and smiled instead. “I choose to take that as a ‘thank you’ instead of an insult, so yes, you may.” It was worth it just to see a little of Kurt’s usual energy coming back, anyway.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Puck was the first to arrive, laden down with plastic bags and attitude. He managed to keep up the air of irritation pretty well right up until he pulled a pint of organic triple chocolate brownie ice cream out of a bag and said gruffly, “Chicks dig this stuff, so I figured you’d like it too.”
For a brief moment, even Quinn liked him better.
Brittany and Santana showed up next, marching through the front door without knocking as if they’d been coming to Kurt’s house since kindergarten.
“Got the math homework,” Santana announced. “Hey, Kurt?” She rattled off a long string of Spanish.
Kurt blinked at her, and then hesitantly answered back.
Santana sniffed. “Well, that was marginally less horrific than I was expecting, at least,” she said grudgingly, and went digging for Kurt’s Spanish notebook.
“I don’t know Spanish,” Brittany said sadly. “I’ve only ever been to another planet once and they didn’t talk much.”
“That’s okay, Brittany,” Quinn said, sailing straight past Brittany’s last comment without looking twice. “I have a much more important job for you. I need you to take Kurt to the living room and give him a really good cuddle.”
“Wait, what?” Kurt yelped, even as Brittany nodded seriously and frog-marched him out of the kitchen.
Santana gave Quinn a steady look. Quinn shrugged. “I doubt he’d accept it from anyone else right now.”
There was an appalled shriek from the living room. “He’s gay, Brittany - less emphasis on the breasts,” Santana called without looking.
Mercedes arrived a few minutes later with a screech of tires. She made a beeline for the living room, only pausing long enough to give Puck and Santana a double-take and Quinn a look that clearly said I really hope you know what you’re doing.
Quinn listened carefully from the kitchen. The sounds from the living room continued to be reasonably soothing, so she nodded in satisfaction and stepped back. Santana was still scribbling in Kurt’s Spanish book, Puck was -
“What?” Quinn managed intelligently as Puck walked by her with a grilled cheese sandwich, apple slices, and a cookie on a plate.
“Food makes people feel better,” Puck insisted, carrying on towards the living room. He stopped in front of the couch and shoved the plate in Kurt’s direction. “Here.”
“Thanks,” Kurt stammered, probably only managing to catch the plate out of sheer instinct.
“Did you burn a smiley face into the sandwich?” Mercedes demanded, leaning closer.
“Shut up, I usually cook for my kid sister,” Puck snapped. “See if I ever make you one.”
“Thank you, it’s very cheerful,” Kurt said politely.
“Whatever,” Puck said, and then ruined it by adding “Let me know if you want seconds.”
Quinn stepped quietly into the living room. Kurt appeared to be making a reasonable effort to eat his sandwich, which was good, and with Mercedes and Brittany on either side of him he should be okay for the time being.
“Kurt?” she said softly. “Where’s your laundry?”
Immediately the sense of relative calm vanished. Kurt’s head snapped up, an alarmed look on his face, and Mercedes was instantly on her feet.
“Oh, hell no,” she said firmly. “Quinn, thank you for the thought, but I’ll take care of this one.”
“You do not have to do my laundry!” Kurt protested, clearly scandalized.
“Do you trust anyone else here to treat your clothes with the respect they deserve?” Mercedes demanded. “I didn’t think so. Now sit there, eat your sandwich, and chill, boy.”
“Look, I’m actually very good at laundry,” Quinn said, feeling a little offended.
“He sorts his clothes by color and fabric type and he uses four kinds of detergent on a situational and rotating basis,” Mercedes said in a low voice, patting her reassuringly on the shoulder. “Trust me - you do not want to hear the lecture. I’m not even kidding when I say he has a PowerPoint presentation on the subject.”
“Wow,” Quinn said, faintly. “That’s, um...”
“Tell me about it - my mom won’t even let him into our basement any more. You stay here and keep an eye on things.” Mercedes gave the couch a considering look. “Some cover noise in about ten minutes wouldn’t go amiss either - I think he’s nearly realised it’s okay to let go a little.”
“Why do you think I brought Santana?” Quinn murmured back. “Between her and Puck, we can pretty much guarantee that no one will hear him cry.”
Mercedes smiled at her. “It’s good to have Quinn back,” she said softly, and headed downstairs.
Quinn sucked in a deep breath. Mercedes’ last words hurt more than she was expecting them to, even though she knew Mercedes had meant them kindly. Loser-Quinn of last year might have had friends she could count on and people who loved her, but she’d also been miserable. Head-Cheerleader-Quinn might be lonely and miserable but at least she didn’t give a damn about it. Was it so wrong to want just that little bit of protection?
Quinn shook herself - Focus, Quinnie. Not about you right now - and went back to the kitchen.
Puck was just starting in on the dishes when she entered. Santana was sitting cross-legged on the counter, Kurt’s Spanish notebook balanced on one knee. She looked up.
“Just about done. What’s your plan?”
“Cover noise.”
“Got it,” Puck said, and dropped a pan with a loud clatter.
“Careful, you idiot!” Quinn snapped. “We want to make noise, not trash his house!”
“Quiet, woman!” Puck bawled. “I know what I’m doing in a kitchen!”
“No you don’t,” Quinn shouted back, taking his cue. “And - your hair is stupid!”
“Seriously, you guys?” Santana said incredulously. “You’re the worst fake-fighters ever. Also, picking a fight to make cover noise is a terrible idea.”
“You do better,” Quinn muttered. It was surprisingly hard to fight convincingly without actually going for the jugular.
“We’re in Glee club, geniuses. We sing something.”
Quinn scowled. Much as she hated to admit it, Santana was right - while the sounds of a fake fight would definitely convince Kurt they weren’t trying to listen in on him, it might also make him think he needed to get up and make sure they weren’t trying to kill each other.
“Fine,” she said. “Somebody to Love, on three.”
They sang their way through most of the Glee club standards while Puck puttered around the kitchen and the girls went through Kurt’s bills, Quinn doing the math and Santana doing a disturbingly competent job of forging Mr. Hummel’s signature on the checks. Then they worked through a few old camp songs, half a verse of Can you Feel The Love Tonight which Puck put an end to with the kitchen sink sprayer, and wound up with a surprisingly effective spur-of-the-moment mash-up of Tender Shepherd and Falling in Love Is Hard (On the Knees) before Brittany showed up in the kitchen.
“Mercedes says the coast is clear,” she recited dutifully. “Apparently it doesn’t matter that the closest ocean is in Tennessee.”
“What? No, it’s not,” Quinn said before she could stop herself.
“Tenn-e-sea, Quinn,” Brittany said earnestly.
You really asked for that one, Quinnie, Quinn reminded herself. “Thank you for letting us know, Brittany,” she said out loud, and sidled quietly up to the door.
Kurt and Mercedes were on the couch, Kurt curled up and asleep with his head in Mercedes’ lap. Mercedes, noticing Quinn’s approach, put her finger to her lips. She looked like she’d been helping Kurt out with some of that crying.
Quinn nodded and retreated to the kitchen.
“Okay, guys, mission accomplished,” she said. “I think it’s time to make an exit.”
“Are you going to stay?” Santana asked.
Quinn hesitated. On the one hand, Kurt would probably feel more comfortable with just Mercedes. On the other, he was definitely exhausted and she could probably use some help.
Besides, it would be... nice.
“Yes,” she said. “Could you swing by tomorrow with a change of clothes?”
It was a mark of the evening that Santana didn’t even roll her eyes. “Yeah, okay. All the homework’s organized, it’s on the table. Bills are done... I think that’s it.”
Puck finished tidying the kitchen and put on his jacket. “There’s dinners for a few nights in the fridge,” he said, “and lunches for all of you on the top shelf.”
Quinn was surprised to have to swallow a sudden lump in her throat. “Thanks, guys.”
“No problem.” They collected Brittany and left, tiptoeing exaggeratedly past the living room.
Quinn allowed herself a moment - just a moment - to close her eyes and lean against the counter and breathe. Then she got herself together and walked quietly into the living room, kneeling down next to Mercedes and Kurt.
“We should probably try to get him into bed,” Mercedes whispered. “I think we’ll all be more comfortable.”
Quinn nodded. “Okay. Let’s get him downstairs, then you get him to change and I’ll find us something for pajamas.”
Mercedes grinned. “Speak for yourself - I packed a bag. You might fit into Kurt’s pjs but I’ve actually got human anatomy.”
Quinn grinned back. “All right, let’s do this.”
Unsurprisingly, Kurt was difficult to wake up, and when they finally got him upright he blinked owlishly at them and had a tendency to lean heavily against the nearest person and try to go back to sleep. They managed to get him down the stairs with only one near-death experience (“What normal person lives in a basement?” Quinn snapped. “Hello, Glee,” Mercedes pointed out) and sat him down at the vanity.
Quinn dug through Kurt’s mildly terrifying closet for pajamas (deep red for Kurt and gorgeous silky blue ones for herself which she would contemplate stealing if she wasn’t absolutely certain Kurt would murder her to get them back), while Mercedes washed his face until he woke up enough to change.
“Quinn, are you wearing my pajamas?” he asked when he came out of the bathroom.
“Yes, Kurt.”
“Mkay.”
“He really must be tired,” Quinn whispered, and they both giggled. It wasn’t actually that funny, but it felt really good.
“Can we go to bed now?” Kurt asked plaintively, resting his head on Mercedes’ shoulder. He straightened up suddenly, looking panicked. “Wait, where’s my phone?”
“It’s on the bedside table, next to the house phone,” Mercedes said, soothingly. “Here, you get in the middle.”
Quinn crawled under the covers. The bed was big enough to fit all of them if they didn’t mind touching, but it was a close thing. “Kurt, sleeping with two girls at once? What will everyone at school say?”
Mercedes caught her eye over Kurt’s shoulder, and they both burst out laughing.
“Shhh,” Kurt mumbled, face already pressed into his pillow. “M’already traumatised.”
“Such a waste of hot girl time and effort,” Mercedes sighed, which set them off again.
“Augh!” Kurt complained.
“Sorry,” Mercedes giggled, kissing him on the head. “Well be quiet now. Go to sleep.”
Kurt mumbled something sleepily and settled further into the bed.
“Quinn?” Mercedes whispered, once Kurt’s breathing had evened out.
Quinn blinked, pulling herself out of the half-doze she’d settled into. “Yeah?”
“Do you need to call your mom? I told mine where I was going before I left, but you clearly weren’t ready for this - “
“No,” Quinn said, a little more sharply than she’d intended. “No. It’s okay. She won’t worry.” By the time Quinn had left the house this afternoon her mother had already been on her second bottle of after-work wine. If Quinn called now she probably wouldn’t even hear the phone.
Mercedes’ hand appeared over Kurt’s side and took hers. “You know you can always come to my house, right?”
Quinn’s fingers tightened. “I know. Thank you.”
“Do you think Kurt’s dad is going to be okay?”
Quinn sighed. “I’m not sure, Mercedes. You know him better.”
“He’ll be okay,” Mercedes said, sleep starting to creep into her voice. “He’s, like, really scary. But in a good way. He’d never leave Kurt.”
Quinn had to bite her lip against a sudden rush of tears. It was wrong to feel jealous of a boy with a father in Intensive Care, but God, she wanted that kind of certainty so badly.
As it was, she was stuck with a father who still couldn’t speak to her and a mother who lost the ability to walk in a straight line by dinner.
“Quinn?” Mercedes leaned over Kurt. “Oh, baby... it’s okay. I’m sorry I said that.”
“No, it’s all right,” Quinn said thickly, swallowing back tears. “I’m being stupid.”
“If it matters to you then it’s not stupid,” Mercedes said sternly.
Quinn found it in herself to smile a little. “Really, I’m fine.”
Mercedes gave her a doubtful look. Quinn sighed. “Can we talk about it later? If we don’t go to sleep soon we’ll be worse off than Kurt in the morning.”
“Okay,” Mercedes said reluctantly, lying back down. “But I’m going to keep holding your hand.”
“Thank you,” Quinn whispered.
“You and Kurt will both be fine,” Mercedes said fiercely into the darkness. “You’re the toughest people I know.”
They fell asleep holding hands over Kurt, and stayed that way until he woke up and freaked out at them in the morning.
Crossposted to Archive Of Our Own.