Fic: Songbird
Title: Songbird
Author: gameboycolor
Pairing: Klaine
Spoilers: none
Warnings: Dark!Kurt, allusions to violence, minor character death
Rating: strong PG-13
Length: ~1200
Summary: Kurt is eight, and his brightest star is fading away. That's the only part of the story that ever stays the same.
A/N: So behind on fandom, but this wouldn't leave my head after a week of throwing myself in some non-fandom reading. Apologies to my SF readers. Personal things have come up, and I haven't had time to fix up what I have left to post. I'd like to thank blueb1rd and dazzlebug for your encouragement.
Kurt is eight, and his brightest star is fading away. That's the only part of the story that ever stays the same.
-
A botched robbery.
Eggs smash against the wooden floor of the entryway, mixing with the blood that gushes from her wounds.
Kurt’s school bus doesn’t pull in until well after they’re gone. Burt finds him later, sitting on the back of the ambulance. He had insisted that they check out Kurt, if only to distract him from the white covered gurney carrying her mother out of the house.
“Are you... okay?” It seems ridiculous to ask, but he has to.
The look in his big, blue eyes is distant. “The yellow dress was always her favorite.”
Burt tries not to think about yellow stained with varying shades of red, his son’s arms covered in blood all the way up to the elbow. Bile rises. Stays. He is unable to purge this feeling, the sharp ache of loss and anger.
Later the cops will catch the would-be robbers, remind him that nothing was taken from the house.
But everything was, he thinks.
-
Kurt asks for a paint set for his ninth birthday. It’s a relief to Burt. It’s so normal, so unlike Kurt’s current obsession with the deaths of young starlets. He doesn’t even know where he finds the newspaper clippings, but he lines his closet with them. Young women taken in their prime. Smiling headshots accompanying the dark details of their demises.
But painting. Burt can handle painting.
He finds a craft store in town and picks out every color he can think of. Paper. Brushes. He doesn’t even care if it makes a mess. His entire home in a mess. The rug in the entryway feels like it might as well be see-through.
-
His teacher calls home. Kurt’s been telling the kids in his class that his mother went out to Hollywood. She’s going to be a star.
It’s not that Elizabeth wasn’t beautiful, because she was. But she was tired in that way women get after having children. Especially ones that tended to hold their breaths and scream when they didn’t get their way.
-
Burt finds Kurt painting on the walls of his closet, the newspaper clippings taken down in favor of vibrant reds. Every shade of red imaginable lines the walls. Darker ones, brighter ones. Clumps of paint stick to certain spots, giving the impression of coagulated blood.
He shuts the door, leaving Kurt to his work.
Lost. He feels lost. He stands in the entryway as if some wisp of a ghost might answer his call.
He tries not to think about the lost boy with the newspaper clippings and paintbrushes.
-
The eggs were for the cupcakes she had planned to make with Kurt.
On Kurt’s eleventh birthday, Burt wonders if he even remembers.
-
Liar.
Storyteller, Kurt always corrects.
The stories about Elizabeth chasing fame on the West coast pop up every once in awhile, but when middle school hits, it’s all about Kurt’s girlfriend from summer camp. The summer camp he never went to, the girl who doesn’t exist. One of his teachers confiscates a note during study hall. It’s full of words that Burt didn’t even know Kurt knew.
It’s signed with a lipstick kiss.
Burt thinks about the old dresser, the one he hasn’t had the heart to empty. He found the lipstick there, probably. He hasn’t had the heart to open a single drawer himself.
He thinks about how every time Kurt tells the story about his mother’s death, it has some new twist. Never the same old tale of a botched robbery and terrible timing.
The newspaper clippings.
It’s likely Kurt needs it to be something fantastic. If it’s ordinary, he will have to deal with his grief. At least, that’s what the overpriced child psychologist keeps telling Burt during their meetings. That’s all he tells him, of course. Anything else is confidential. Unless Kurt plans to hurt others or himself, it isn’t any of Burt’s business.
-
There are little moleskin notebooks of pressed flowers painted with red all over Kurt’s bedroom. He doesn’t know what they mean, but they always leave Burt feeling unsettled.
-
He knows school isn’t easy for Kurt. He’s an odd kid who likes to make up stories and dress up in fancy clothes. These things make him an easy target for bullies.
Burt tries, just like he always has. But the summer before ninth grade, Kurt moves into the basement. Who knew that having a mere floor between them would put up such a barrier? He feels like they’re on different planets.
-
Glee club doesn’t look like a miracle at first. At the start, Burt finds himself woken up at odd hours to the sound of Kurt singing in the shower. Trying to hit notes that have Burt wanting to check the windows for cracks.
But then the friends parade in. Mostly girls. They hang out in Kurt’s room, singing and dancing. Kurt puts a girl named Quinn in some of Elizabeth’s old dresses, and he overhears him quietly explaining that they lost his mother to cancer.
It’s another story, but at least it’s a more realistic one.
Besides, slipping away from illness sounds so much more settling than a life ended abruptly by violence. Maybe Kurt has finally found his way of grieving, all these years later.
-
Kurt comes out.
The first thing Burt feels is relief, and he can’t figure out why.
-
There is a boy named Blaine, he goes to a private school a few towns over. From the way Kurt describes their meeting, Burt swears that it’s another one of his stories.
If only he were so lucky.
It turns out that the boy in the blazer is very much real. He shows up with his polite words and enough ‘yes sirs’ to make Burt convinced that he’s covering up for gangs or drugs. The kid can’t be real.
-
“It’s a coping mechanism,” Dr. Andrews tells Burt a few days before Kurt’s seventeenth birthday. “He makes up stories when his real life becomes too difficult.”
-
“I made the whole thing up in my head.” Burt isn’t trying to eavesdrop. He was just doing laundry, honest. Kurt’s in the kitchen, on the phone with someone. “I can’t believe I made the entire thing up. He doesn’t... Ugh.”
Burt can believe it.
He hears the sound of mixing bowls and unnecessary slamming of cookware and he is reminded of the little boy who would hold his breath in checkout lines.
-
Kurt was eight and knew to call 911, just like his parents had taught him. They say that Elizabeth was still alive when he found her, likely unconscious. Kurt claims that she sang to him as the life drained from her body, but the paramedics who arrived on scene don’t think it was even possible. The blood loss was too great for her to remain conscious.
Burt wonders now if he had been singing to himself. Maybe that’s why he sings.
He sounds so wounded sometimes, when he’s pouring his heart into some Broadway hit that doesn’t make a lick of sense to Burt. It’s almost like he’s in another place.
That’s because he probably is.
Author: gameboycolor
Pairing: Klaine
Spoilers: none
Warnings: Dark!Kurt, allusions to violence, minor character death
Rating: strong PG-13
Length: ~1200
Summary: Kurt is eight, and his brightest star is fading away. That's the only part of the story that ever stays the same.
A/N: So behind on fandom, but this wouldn't leave my head after a week of throwing myself in some non-fandom reading. Apologies to my SF readers. Personal things have come up, and I haven't had time to fix up what I have left to post. I'd like to thank blueb1rd and dazzlebug for your encouragement.
Kurt is eight, and his brightest star is fading away. That's the only part of the story that ever stays the same.
-
A botched robbery.
Eggs smash against the wooden floor of the entryway, mixing with the blood that gushes from her wounds.
Kurt’s school bus doesn’t pull in until well after they’re gone. Burt finds him later, sitting on the back of the ambulance. He had insisted that they check out Kurt, if only to distract him from the white covered gurney carrying her mother out of the house.
“Are you... okay?” It seems ridiculous to ask, but he has to.
The look in his big, blue eyes is distant. “The yellow dress was always her favorite.”
Burt tries not to think about yellow stained with varying shades of red, his son’s arms covered in blood all the way up to the elbow. Bile rises. Stays. He is unable to purge this feeling, the sharp ache of loss and anger.
Later the cops will catch the would-be robbers, remind him that nothing was taken from the house.
But everything was, he thinks.
-
Kurt asks for a paint set for his ninth birthday. It’s a relief to Burt. It’s so normal, so unlike Kurt’s current obsession with the deaths of young starlets. He doesn’t even know where he finds the newspaper clippings, but he lines his closet with them. Young women taken in their prime. Smiling headshots accompanying the dark details of their demises.
But painting. Burt can handle painting.
He finds a craft store in town and picks out every color he can think of. Paper. Brushes. He doesn’t even care if it makes a mess. His entire home in a mess. The rug in the entryway feels like it might as well be see-through.
-
His teacher calls home. Kurt’s been telling the kids in his class that his mother went out to Hollywood. She’s going to be a star.
It’s not that Elizabeth wasn’t beautiful, because she was. But she was tired in that way women get after having children. Especially ones that tended to hold their breaths and scream when they didn’t get their way.
-
Burt finds Kurt painting on the walls of his closet, the newspaper clippings taken down in favor of vibrant reds. Every shade of red imaginable lines the walls. Darker ones, brighter ones. Clumps of paint stick to certain spots, giving the impression of coagulated blood.
He shuts the door, leaving Kurt to his work.
Lost. He feels lost. He stands in the entryway as if some wisp of a ghost might answer his call.
He tries not to think about the lost boy with the newspaper clippings and paintbrushes.
-
The eggs were for the cupcakes she had planned to make with Kurt.
On Kurt’s eleventh birthday, Burt wonders if he even remembers.
-
Liar.
Storyteller, Kurt always corrects.
The stories about Elizabeth chasing fame on the West coast pop up every once in awhile, but when middle school hits, it’s all about Kurt’s girlfriend from summer camp. The summer camp he never went to, the girl who doesn’t exist. One of his teachers confiscates a note during study hall. It’s full of words that Burt didn’t even know Kurt knew.
It’s signed with a lipstick kiss.
Burt thinks about the old dresser, the one he hasn’t had the heart to empty. He found the lipstick there, probably. He hasn’t had the heart to open a single drawer himself.
He thinks about how every time Kurt tells the story about his mother’s death, it has some new twist. Never the same old tale of a botched robbery and terrible timing.
The newspaper clippings.
It’s likely Kurt needs it to be something fantastic. If it’s ordinary, he will have to deal with his grief. At least, that’s what the overpriced child psychologist keeps telling Burt during their meetings. That’s all he tells him, of course. Anything else is confidential. Unless Kurt plans to hurt others or himself, it isn’t any of Burt’s business.
-
There are little moleskin notebooks of pressed flowers painted with red all over Kurt’s bedroom. He doesn’t know what they mean, but they always leave Burt feeling unsettled.
-
He knows school isn’t easy for Kurt. He’s an odd kid who likes to make up stories and dress up in fancy clothes. These things make him an easy target for bullies.
Burt tries, just like he always has. But the summer before ninth grade, Kurt moves into the basement. Who knew that having a mere floor between them would put up such a barrier? He feels like they’re on different planets.
-
Glee club doesn’t look like a miracle at first. At the start, Burt finds himself woken up at odd hours to the sound of Kurt singing in the shower. Trying to hit notes that have Burt wanting to check the windows for cracks.
But then the friends parade in. Mostly girls. They hang out in Kurt’s room, singing and dancing. Kurt puts a girl named Quinn in some of Elizabeth’s old dresses, and he overhears him quietly explaining that they lost his mother to cancer.
It’s another story, but at least it’s a more realistic one.
Besides, slipping away from illness sounds so much more settling than a life ended abruptly by violence. Maybe Kurt has finally found his way of grieving, all these years later.
-
Kurt comes out.
The first thing Burt feels is relief, and he can’t figure out why.
-
There is a boy named Blaine, he goes to a private school a few towns over. From the way Kurt describes their meeting, Burt swears that it’s another one of his stories.
If only he were so lucky.
It turns out that the boy in the blazer is very much real. He shows up with his polite words and enough ‘yes sirs’ to make Burt convinced that he’s covering up for gangs or drugs. The kid can’t be real.
-
“It’s a coping mechanism,” Dr. Andrews tells Burt a few days before Kurt’s seventeenth birthday. “He makes up stories when his real life becomes too difficult.”
-
“I made the whole thing up in my head.” Burt isn’t trying to eavesdrop. He was just doing laundry, honest. Kurt’s in the kitchen, on the phone with someone. “I can’t believe I made the entire thing up. He doesn’t... Ugh.”
Burt can believe it.
He hears the sound of mixing bowls and unnecessary slamming of cookware and he is reminded of the little boy who would hold his breath in checkout lines.
-
Kurt was eight and knew to call 911, just like his parents had taught him. They say that Elizabeth was still alive when he found her, likely unconscious. Kurt claims that she sang to him as the life drained from her body, but the paramedics who arrived on scene don’t think it was even possible. The blood loss was too great for her to remain conscious.
Burt wonders now if he had been singing to himself. Maybe that’s why he sings.
He sounds so wounded sometimes, when he’s pouring his heart into some Broadway hit that doesn’t make a lick of sense to Burt. It’s almost like he’s in another place.
That’s because he probably is.