It's a Bad Way (2/?)
Title: It's a Bad Way
Chapter Two: Not a Home
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Kurt, Ensemble, pairings will be later specified and tagged
Spoiler Warnings: It's an AU.
(Working) Summary: Kurt Meier is relocated from San Francisco's red light district to the house of his dead father's wife and son. He has trouble adjusting.
***
Finn is confused. He seems to be confused a lot lately. The fact that God (if God exists--he's been listening to "Losing my Religion" a lot lately) would take away his stepfather, the one he had for only a half a year, the only father he ever had, with a heart attack. (He thinks that that might be the cruelest way to die, all sudden and unexpected--he's never liked saying goodbye, but he'd never play football again if he could.) He's confused about the assignment he just got in Spanish class, because he doesn't understand Subjunctive at all and by now he really should. But right now, most of all, what his mother is telling him as she gets ready to leave for the airport is confusing him. Finn is a very confused person, most of the time.
"Burt had a kid?"
"He did, yes, but the mother left and he never found the child. He dropped off the radar, apparently, um, that's what CPS is telling me." (He doesn't know what CPS stands for but guesses he'll ask Rachel later.)
Carole knows she's leaving out a lot, but doesn't think she should go on and tell Finn everything she's been told about the boy, even though she might die from stress. By a heart attack. Like her husband--no, she's not thinking about that right now. But...how is she supposed to help raise a teen prostitute? Well, a former one.
"He's gonna live here now?"
"Yeah, they can't find anywhere else to put him."
"What about foster care?"
"Finn!"
"What'd I say?"
"Nothing, the foster system just tends to be a last resort."
"So...I'm gonna be a brother?"
"Looks that way. I didn't want to tell you right after...you know. But it was an obligation. We'll be a family, sweetheart."
And even though Finn is stupid, he's not a bad person, so even though he doesn't like the idea of having somebody join the family again so soon, just a couple of months after Burt...left, he thinks it might be okay. "Yeah, mom, we'll be a family."
***
Carole looks at the boy in front of her and tries not to wince. He's wearing a dirty red t-shirt that's a little too short for him and a little too tight, and cutoff shorts that are faded and a tad too big, just over his knees. Instead of a belt, there's a thin rope going through the loops of the shorts, tied at the end perfectly. Dirty sneakers seem to be falling apart around his feet.
He is very pale, the kind of ghost-white that she doesn't think has ever seen the sunlight, except for two patches of red on his cheeks. She wonders if he has a fever. He's skinny and rather small for a boy--Finn probably has at least half a foot on him. She has to admit it, he doesn't look much like Burt (those eyes, where did they come from?), but he's very pretty, and has her husband's hair color, though in an unruly mop.
Beside him stands a sharply dressed young woman, probably the Lima social worker assigned to his case.
She walks up to Carole, leaving the young man standing, eyes narrowed and lip curled. (He has very nice posture.)
"Hello," she holds out a hand and smiles sweetly. "How are you, Mrs. Hummel?"
"Um, Hummel-Hudson. I go by Mrs. Hummel-Hudson. And I'm doing as good as I can be, all things considered." She sneaks another look at what might be her new son and suddenly feels very tired.
"Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss. It must be stressful to have to take him in, but it's such a blessing that you did. We don't think he'd do too well in a home."
"Oh, absolutely."
"Excuse me?" The woman calls to the young man still standing with his arms crossed. "Would you come over here?"
Still with his head held high, the boy walks over reluctantly. Well, she thinks, strangely cheered, he is a teenager.
He shoves his hand towards her, and she takes it gingerly. "Angel," he says shortly, and withdraws his hand.
Her eyes almost widen at his voice, which sounds strange coming from a slightly effeminate but obviously male young man.
The social worker's smile becomes a little strained. "Don't call him Angel." She lowers her voice. "That was his street name. Kurt, meet your new guardian, Carole Hummel-Hudson. Mrs. Hummel-Hudson, meet Kurt Meier."
She raises an eyebrow at the name, and then feels stupid. Of course he'd take his mother's name. He never knew his father, and...never would. She feels a wave of tears come on and tries to blink them away. "I'm sorry, I'm a wreck lately."
He looks at her with lukewarm interest and shrugs. He figured, most people are when someone close to them dies. Natural human weakness.
"Well, um, I've signed the paper so...am I ready to take him home?"
"Yeah, I'll check up with you and his progress every two weeks or so, if that's alright?"
Carole hears Kurt snort quietly and say under his breath, "Progress of what? It's not alright at all, bitch."
She doesn't say anything to that.
***
Finn smiles widely at the smaller teenager when he arrives, but the other boy just pushes past him before he even gets a really good look--a blur of sparkly blue-green eyes and brown hair and white skin.
He stands awkwardly as the boy stands in the middle of the hallway and then turns to his mother. "Where's your shower?"
Woah, high voice. That's a dude? Yeah, totally a dude, even though he's a little girly-looking.
She directs the intruder--uh, new stepbrother, right--to the showers and he walks off without saying thank you. It's kind of rude and Finn feels warning signs go off in his brain--something's wrong.
His mother looks at him with a strained smile and says, "Well, that's Kurt Meier. He'll be living with us from now on."
"Did you, uh, adopt him?"
"No, not yet."
"Does that mean you can, like, take him back to foster care or what? Because that would be kind of mean." He wouldn't like having nowhere to go.
"No, we're not going to do that. This is Burt's son, and from now on we're going to try to make him part of the family."
"Oh. Uh...what's wrong with him?"
"What do you mean?"
"He...I don't know...there's...uh..." He can't really communicate that gut feeling of his.
"Oh, well, I guess I should tell you." She pulls him into the kitchen and says everything in a whisper. "So, Kurt's had a pretty hard time. We don't know much yet, but I do know that his mother died when he was around ten and by eleven he pretty much fell of the radar. And he was a prostitute."
"What?!"
"Shhh. Don't be judgmental."
"But, uh, that's illegal."
"Yes, but that's beyond the point right now."
"Okay. But, I mean, that's...kinda sad."
Carole suddenly feels blesses for having such a sweet young man for a son. "Yeah, it's really sad, but it's how he managed to survive all these years, so...we just have to help him out, okay?"
"Okay."
***
Kurt, finally clean, thank god, is directed by Carole to a room in the large house. A former guest room, she tells him, it's all his now.
He hasn't had a room to himself for a very long time, and it's almost strange not hearing Raven's ragged breathing next to him--they started sleeping in the same bed after Candy died, because Kurt used to sleep next to her. It's weird not hearing the other workers around him, even though they were only acquaintances--he realized after Crystal died that friends tend to leave, and thus even though he didn't break off his friendship with the other originals, he didn't run to make new friends either.
He finds that sleeping without drinking at least a couple of beers and maybe a shot of whiskey is difficult, he misses that pleasantly buzzed feeling, and even though he's tired he decides that maybe there's something in this house.
He creeps down the hall to the kitchen, and quietly marvels at the size of the place. They must have a lot of money, the house is so big. He feels out of place in it, and feels lost without the familiar--if not pleasant--smells of smoke and semen that seemed to permeate the old house he used to live in at every time. It's weird referring to his life in the past tense, because even though it was shitty, it was still his life.
Now he's here. With the widow and the son of his dead dad that don't even want him, are just obligated to take him. He feels like punching something, like screaming.
Yeah. He really needs a drink.
***
Quietly he opens another cupboard in the kitchen and then he smiles emptily. There's the liquor cabinet, and he quickly memorizes it's place, hidden away. At least these people have a good alcohol stash.
He grabs a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels, hard whiskey being exactly what would be helpful to him right about now, and is able to get off the cap with practiced fingers. He does it all silently. He's good at that, staying on the down low, learned it from stealing. He takes a few quick gulps of the liquid and it burns down his throat to his stomach. He takes the bottle from his lips and gasps silently, making a face at the way the whiskey burns before it creates a pleasant buzzing sensation.
He takes a few more swigs and then re-caps the glass bottle, which is almost empty, and puts it back in the cupboard. He knows enough to not drink anything else--he wants to be inconspicuous, after all. He likes getting wasted, but not now. (He remembers binging on alcohol soon after Crystal slit her wrists, to numb the pain. He remembers getting so scarily wasted Ice induced vomiting when he found him practically passed out, just in case.)
He goes back to the room. It isn't his room, just like it isn't in his house, and he doesn't think it'll ever be.
Chapter Two: Not a Home
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Kurt, Ensemble, pairings will be later specified and tagged
Spoiler Warnings: It's an AU.
(Working) Summary: Kurt Meier is relocated from San Francisco's red light district to the house of his dead father's wife and son. He has trouble adjusting.
***
Finn is confused. He seems to be confused a lot lately. The fact that God (if God exists--he's been listening to "Losing my Religion" a lot lately) would take away his stepfather, the one he had for only a half a year, the only father he ever had, with a heart attack. (He thinks that that might be the cruelest way to die, all sudden and unexpected--he's never liked saying goodbye, but he'd never play football again if he could.) He's confused about the assignment he just got in Spanish class, because he doesn't understand Subjunctive at all and by now he really should. But right now, most of all, what his mother is telling him as she gets ready to leave for the airport is confusing him. Finn is a very confused person, most of the time.
"Burt had a kid?"
"He did, yes, but the mother left and he never found the child. He dropped off the radar, apparently, um, that's what CPS is telling me." (He doesn't know what CPS stands for but guesses he'll ask Rachel later.)
Carole knows she's leaving out a lot, but doesn't think she should go on and tell Finn everything she's been told about the boy, even though she might die from stress. By a heart attack. Like her husband--no, she's not thinking about that right now. But...how is she supposed to help raise a teen prostitute? Well, a former one.
"He's gonna live here now?"
"Yeah, they can't find anywhere else to put him."
"What about foster care?"
"Finn!"
"What'd I say?"
"Nothing, the foster system just tends to be a last resort."
"So...I'm gonna be a brother?"
"Looks that way. I didn't want to tell you right after...you know. But it was an obligation. We'll be a family, sweetheart."
And even though Finn is stupid, he's not a bad person, so even though he doesn't like the idea of having somebody join the family again so soon, just a couple of months after Burt...left, he thinks it might be okay. "Yeah, mom, we'll be a family."
***
Carole looks at the boy in front of her and tries not to wince. He's wearing a dirty red t-shirt that's a little too short for him and a little too tight, and cutoff shorts that are faded and a tad too big, just over his knees. Instead of a belt, there's a thin rope going through the loops of the shorts, tied at the end perfectly. Dirty sneakers seem to be falling apart around his feet.
He is very pale, the kind of ghost-white that she doesn't think has ever seen the sunlight, except for two patches of red on his cheeks. She wonders if he has a fever. He's skinny and rather small for a boy--Finn probably has at least half a foot on him. She has to admit it, he doesn't look much like Burt (those eyes, where did they come from?), but he's very pretty, and has her husband's hair color, though in an unruly mop.
Beside him stands a sharply dressed young woman, probably the Lima social worker assigned to his case.
She walks up to Carole, leaving the young man standing, eyes narrowed and lip curled. (He has very nice posture.)
"Hello," she holds out a hand and smiles sweetly. "How are you, Mrs. Hummel?"
"Um, Hummel-Hudson. I go by Mrs. Hummel-Hudson. And I'm doing as good as I can be, all things considered." She sneaks another look at what might be her new son and suddenly feels very tired.
"Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss. It must be stressful to have to take him in, but it's such a blessing that you did. We don't think he'd do too well in a home."
"Oh, absolutely."
"Excuse me?" The woman calls to the young man still standing with his arms crossed. "Would you come over here?"
Still with his head held high, the boy walks over reluctantly. Well, she thinks, strangely cheered, he is a teenager.
He shoves his hand towards her, and she takes it gingerly. "Angel," he says shortly, and withdraws his hand.
Her eyes almost widen at his voice, which sounds strange coming from a slightly effeminate but obviously male young man.
The social worker's smile becomes a little strained. "Don't call him Angel." She lowers her voice. "That was his street name. Kurt, meet your new guardian, Carole Hummel-Hudson. Mrs. Hummel-Hudson, meet Kurt Meier."
She raises an eyebrow at the name, and then feels stupid. Of course he'd take his mother's name. He never knew his father, and...never would. She feels a wave of tears come on and tries to blink them away. "I'm sorry, I'm a wreck lately."
He looks at her with lukewarm interest and shrugs. He figured, most people are when someone close to them dies. Natural human weakness.
"Well, um, I've signed the paper so...am I ready to take him home?"
"Yeah, I'll check up with you and his progress every two weeks or so, if that's alright?"
Carole hears Kurt snort quietly and say under his breath, "Progress of what? It's not alright at all, bitch."
She doesn't say anything to that.
***
Finn smiles widely at the smaller teenager when he arrives, but the other boy just pushes past him before he even gets a really good look--a blur of sparkly blue-green eyes and brown hair and white skin.
He stands awkwardly as the boy stands in the middle of the hallway and then turns to his mother. "Where's your shower?"
Woah, high voice. That's a dude? Yeah, totally a dude, even though he's a little girly-looking.
She directs the intruder--uh, new stepbrother, right--to the showers and he walks off without saying thank you. It's kind of rude and Finn feels warning signs go off in his brain--something's wrong.
His mother looks at him with a strained smile and says, "Well, that's Kurt Meier. He'll be living with us from now on."
"Did you, uh, adopt him?"
"No, not yet."
"Does that mean you can, like, take him back to foster care or what? Because that would be kind of mean." He wouldn't like having nowhere to go.
"No, we're not going to do that. This is Burt's son, and from now on we're going to try to make him part of the family."
"Oh. Uh...what's wrong with him?"
"What do you mean?"
"He...I don't know...there's...uh..." He can't really communicate that gut feeling of his.
"Oh, well, I guess I should tell you." She pulls him into the kitchen and says everything in a whisper. "So, Kurt's had a pretty hard time. We don't know much yet, but I do know that his mother died when he was around ten and by eleven he pretty much fell of the radar. And he was a prostitute."
"What?!"
"Shhh. Don't be judgmental."
"But, uh, that's illegal."
"Yes, but that's beyond the point right now."
"Okay. But, I mean, that's...kinda sad."
Carole suddenly feels blesses for having such a sweet young man for a son. "Yeah, it's really sad, but it's how he managed to survive all these years, so...we just have to help him out, okay?"
"Okay."
***
Kurt, finally clean, thank god, is directed by Carole to a room in the large house. A former guest room, she tells him, it's all his now.
He hasn't had a room to himself for a very long time, and it's almost strange not hearing Raven's ragged breathing next to him--they started sleeping in the same bed after Candy died, because Kurt used to sleep next to her. It's weird not hearing the other workers around him, even though they were only acquaintances--he realized after Crystal died that friends tend to leave, and thus even though he didn't break off his friendship with the other originals, he didn't run to make new friends either.
He finds that sleeping without drinking at least a couple of beers and maybe a shot of whiskey is difficult, he misses that pleasantly buzzed feeling, and even though he's tired he decides that maybe there's something in this house.
He creeps down the hall to the kitchen, and quietly marvels at the size of the place. They must have a lot of money, the house is so big. He feels out of place in it, and feels lost without the familiar--if not pleasant--smells of smoke and semen that seemed to permeate the old house he used to live in at every time. It's weird referring to his life in the past tense, because even though it was shitty, it was still his life.
Now he's here. With the widow and the son of his dead dad that don't even want him, are just obligated to take him. He feels like punching something, like screaming.
Yeah. He really needs a drink.
***
Quietly he opens another cupboard in the kitchen and then he smiles emptily. There's the liquor cabinet, and he quickly memorizes it's place, hidden away. At least these people have a good alcohol stash.
He grabs a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels, hard whiskey being exactly what would be helpful to him right about now, and is able to get off the cap with practiced fingers. He does it all silently. He's good at that, staying on the down low, learned it from stealing. He takes a few quick gulps of the liquid and it burns down his throat to his stomach. He takes the bottle from his lips and gasps silently, making a face at the way the whiskey burns before it creates a pleasant buzzing sensation.
He takes a few more swigs and then re-caps the glass bottle, which is almost empty, and puts it back in the cupboard. He knows enough to not drink anything else--he wants to be inconspicuous, after all. He likes getting wasted, but not now. (He remembers binging on alcohol soon after Crystal slit her wrists, to numb the pain. He remembers getting so scarily wasted Ice induced vomiting when he found him practically passed out, just in case.)
He goes back to the room. It isn't his room, just like it isn't in his house, and he doesn't think it'll ever be.