FIC: In My Veins (22/?)
Title: In My Veins 22/?
Rating: eventual NC-17
Warnings: AU, stepcest, language
Summary: He’d only introduced Carole to his father so that he could get closer to Sebastian - it was just a simple crush at first. He didn’t expect to become his stepbrother. And he certainly didn’t expect to actually fall in love. Kurt/Sebastian and Kurt/Blaine.
Notes: Sorry, no Sebastian in this part - but he’ll definitely play a larger part next time, as I’m sure you’ll see.
---
“If you stare at that book any harder, you’re going to burn a hole in it.”
Mercedes gives a start and looks at Kurt wide-eyed. “Sorry, you scared me.” She pauses, putting the book back in her locker. “How’s your dad doing?”
“Well, his heart was still beating this morning when I asked Carole to check in on him. I consider that a good sign,” he answers, taking another small step forward. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
She’s got this look on her face like she knows what she’s about to hear and she’s too afraid to listen. “Kurt, about your dad - we shouldn’t have gone behind your back, I know that. But we just wanted - ”
“I know,” he cuts her off, waving a hand impatiently, and then he grimaces at the rude tone he’d used. Softer, he goes on, “I know that. And I’m sorry I lost my temper. I shouldn’t be pushing my friends away when they just want to help.”
Mercedes gives him a reluctant smile, but when that fades away, she’s still looking at him a little awed, maybe a little wistful, and Kurt wonders if he’s missing something. Before he can ask, she adds, “So you really don’t believe?” like the very concept of it is hard to grasp.
He has to consciously reel in his kneejerk reaction of ‘of course not, only idiots believe.’ Wasn’t the unrestrained expression of that sentiment what got him in trouble in the first place? The last thing he wants is to jump right back into behavior that he’d only just apologized for. He gives a wry smile and gently shakes his head. “I don’t.”
“No, I mean - maybe not in a higher power or whatever, but in something?”
“Mercedes...” he sighs, and she reaches for him, lacing their fingers together, and the effect is oddly calming.
“I know you don’t believe in God, and that’s fine - to each their own. But you’ve gotta believe in something, Kurt. Something that you can’t see, hear, or touch - cause life’s too hard to go through alone. Even if it’s not God - even if it’s just the support of your friends or the love of your family, you’ve gotta believe in that, at least.”
She’s definitely got a point. He may not be into the whole god thing, but when taking into consideration all the other people in his life - and his connection with them - he’s actually been pretty lucky. Carole’s been an absolute angel about the hospitalization, and it’s probably been just as hard on her as it’s been on Kurt - and regret makes his chest ache when he remembers how quickly he’d dismissed her and Sebastian as part of Friday night dinner ritual.
Because that’s what it is - a ritual. It’s important and it’s... sacred. He just wishes he could have realized it sooner.
But there’s nothing he can do about that now. All he can do is sit by his dad’s side and just be there - at least, he’d do that if he didn’t have two more classes to sit through. Burt wouldn’t want him skipping classes for his sake - so he’ll plow through, but he’ll need a little extra strength today. He gives Mercedes a watery smile and links arms with her, and she gets it.
“Lunch?” she asks gently. “I say we eat in my car today.”
“Please.”
---
“You never could dress yourself,” he laughs quietly, buttoning up the sleeves on his dad’s hospital gown. “Mom always used to tease you for it. I guess that’s one more thing I share with her.”
His dad says nothing - he’s still comatose, but even in the silence Kurt’s knees feel suddenly weak. Maybe it was a bad idea to bring up the subject of his mom while seeing his dad like this - he’s dangerously close to thinking what it would be like if he lost both parents, and that - well, he’s already explored that thought before, and it’s never any less depressing.
Instead of entertaining that further, he pulls up a chair to Burt’s bed and grasps his dad’s hand firmly. “So I got a stern talking-to from Sebastian. Mercedes, too. And I ended up doing a bit of thinking. About you, and me, and Mom - and Carole and Sebastian and how we all fit together in this thing, this strange and messy relationship we call family. I thought about friends too.”
He shifts forward in his chair, frowning. “I’m sorry, Dad. I should have let those guys pray for you. This wasn’t about me, it was about you, and... It was nice. I wish I hadn’t disregarded Friday night dinner either - who knows, maybe you’d still be awake if I’d agreed to stay home.” He pauses, swallowing thickly. “Do you remember our first Friday night dinner after Mom died?”
He pictures it clearly. Burt had insisted on carrying out those dinners to continue with some semblance of normalcy. They’d gone all out, too. Turkey, potatoes, stuffing - it was almost like Thanksgiving, as if they wanted to make up for Liz not being there. By the time seven o’clock hit, their mouths were watering, and when Burt pulled the bird out of the oven and cut into the crispy golden skin - the inside was still completely raw.
He doesn’t remember who it was that started laughing first - might have been him. Maybe it didn’t matter - they laughed so hard their stomachs hurt and their eyes teared up at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation - and they considered how Liz would have been horrified at the turkey.
And just like that, they’d stopped laughing, succumbing to the deeply-buried feelings of guilt at the bottom of their bellies.
It was too soon, right? They’d just put her in the ground last week. There was no reason to be smiling quite yet.
Then the scene changes. It’s the same house, same dinner table, only the walls are a little more yellowed and the table a little more worn-down. This memory is even easier to conjure.
Burt had been sitting at the table, avidly discussing the game-changing homer in the bottom of the ninth the previous night while Sebastian was setting out plates and utensils.
Kurt set the quiche down in the center of the table, and Sebastian halted conversation for a bit - even after their whole ‘dad and sports and jealousy’ conversation, he looked a little uneasy to be talking sports with Burt while Kurt was right there -
But Kurt just smiled and shrugged as if to say ‘if I can’t share his excitement, someone else has to.’ Carole brought out the Arnold Palmers and started slicing up the quiche and asked Kurt to plate the salad.
It wasn’t what Kurt was used to. It wasn’t the warm, familiar smell of his mother’s cooking. But it was still familiar in its own way, and it was comforting all the same. It felt like belonging, like they each had a place at that table - together.
When Kurt comes back to himself, he sees that his dad’s fingertips have turned pink, so he loosens his grip and sucks in a deep breath. Friday night dinner had come surprisingly easy to the four of them - even to Kurt, who was used to those dinners featuring just him and Burt and Liz. The shift in the dynamic to Carole-and-Sebastian dinners wasn’t unwelcome - it would have done no good if those dinners worked too hard to imitate (or worse, replace) the ones Kurt and Burt had with Liz. But the changes had been subtle, almost unnoticeable, and they’d continued that way until the morning of the argument - the morning when Kurt had consciously noticed those changes and subsequently rejected them. In a way, his awareness had been the only real problem.
And in an ideal world, his newfound acceptance of those changes - his acceptance of them as ritual - would wake Burt from his coma. Kurt is far from an idealist - but he needs to say this anyway.
“I don’t believe in God, Dad. But I believe in you, and I believe in us. I believe in family, just like you do.”
The tears start to burn the back of his eyes as the doubt sinks in again. He’s still unresponsive. What if he never wakes up? “I can’t hold on to Mom forever - I can’t wish for her to come back. I realize that now. Carole and Sebastian are - they’re not the same, but that’s okay. They can’t replace Mom, but they can create new memories with us. Just because this new family isn’t the one we’re used to doesn’t make it any less sacred - that’s what you were trying to say, right?”
He pauses again, voice cracking. “I get it now. Whatever’s sacred to you is sacred to me too, Dad. And I’m so, so sorry that I never had the chance to tell you that.”
Again, no response. Seeing his dad lying motionless on this bed, maybe unconsciously hearing this but being unable to listen - that breaks Kurt’s heart all over again. There’s so much more he wants to say - no, needs to say, but his voice is about to give out completely and there’s only so much strength he can feign. Instead he grips Burt’s hand tighter and looks down at his lap, allowing the tears to roll down his cheeks.
He hasn’t completely given up hope yet - but sometimes he thinks it might be easier if he did, and the guilt from those thoughts is enough to make him sick to his stomach.
Then he feels it. At first he thinks he might be imagining things - but he stares down at their joined hands, and yes - his father’s fingers definitely curl around his own. They squeeze his hand - week, but it’s more of a response than anything else he’s gotten in the past ten days.
“Nancy!” he calls out frantically to the nurse’s station, eagerly jumping to his feet, moving still closer but never breaking his grip. “I’m right here, Dad. I’m not going anywhere.”
Burt’s head rolls slowly to the side, as if following the sound of Kurt’s voice, and when his eyelids begin to flutter open, it takes every ounce of Kurt’s willpower not to cheer or shout. Instead he waits, all of his nerves thrummed with anticipation and relief and the unmistakable feeling of home.
---
Burt finally comes home after several days of testing and observations. The doctors have prescribed a couple of heart medications along with a strict diet regimen. He can’t enjoy his favored breakfast of two Slimjims and a Coke anymore (good riddance, thinks Kurt), and yes, he’s had a few grumblings about that, but he’s alive and mostly well and that’s what really matters.
Kurt has taken full reign over Burt’s diet, fixing all of his meals. When he’s unable to do that, he makes sure to give Carole the diet guidelines card he’d received from the hospital - they can’t take any chances by being careless with something as simple as food.
Which is why Friday night finds Kurt in the kitchen rubbing spices into salmon fillets.
Burt stops on his way to the fridge, confused. “What day is it?”
“Friday,” Kurt replies, pausing briefly to swipe at his nose with the back of his wrist. “I didn’t want to wake Carole by asking for help with dinner - she’s working tonight, right? And I got a text from Sebastian. He just got out of practice; he should be coming home soon.”
“Gotcha,” is all Burt says at first, and then he continues on to the fridge, staring at the contents and trying to decide on beverage choice.
“Water, Dad,” Kurt reminds him sternly. “At least for now. You’ve been home for barely a week.”
He can practically hear his dad rolling his eyes, but thankfully when he turns around, Burt’s got a bottle of water in his hand.
“Dinner looks great,” Burt offers, and though he looks a little put-off by having to give up soda and beer for a while, his eyes are warm. “I’m proud of you, Kurt.”
The words are heavy but welcome, and Kurt smiles so wide his cheeks hurt before turning back to the fillets.
Dinner goes off without a hitch that night, and for a while, it seems like everything is looking up - or at the very least, back to normal.
---
Well, relatively normal.
As for glee club - he’s never quite sure what to expect with that group. They welcome a new member - an artificially blonde boy named Sam who pings hard on Kurt’s gaydar but is (shockingly) straight and apparently has something going on with Quinn.
The latest festivities include Mr. Schue’s misguided attempts at trying to woo Ms. Pillsbury by putting on a production of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. The last thing he wants to do is get involved with Mr. Schue’s love life (because god, that sounds disgusting no matter how he words it) but the costumes are fun, and it reminds him a little bit of the theatricality lesson from last year, so he won’t judge his choir director too harshly for this one.
He gets caught up with the rest of the club in choir room performances, homework, ensuring that his dad is eating right and continuing with the wedding plans (two weeks behind schedule is two weeks too many) and life goes on just like before -
- and that includes a slushie to the face on Monday morning.
Kurt stands there shock-still before slowly wiping purple ice from his eyes and mouth. He wonders if he’d given Karofsky too much credit when he thought that he would actually lay off the bullying for a while because of Burt’s heart attack. He’s no doubt heard about it - gossip spreads like the plague at McKinley.
Definitely too much credit, he decides with a sort of bitter acceptance. And definitely back to normal.
---
“I take it we have a lot of sweater trains to look forward to this season?” Tina asks cheerfully, and Kurt smiles in response.
“Of course. I’ve got to jazz it up somehow, and - ”
Without warning, a pair of thick, heavy hands shoves him forward. He crashes into the lockers. Karofsky shoots him a dirty look as he saunters away - and Kurt winces, rubbing his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Tina says - more out of politeness than anything else - anyone who endures weekly locker shoves from that Neanderthal never really has a positive response to that question. Her concern is nice anyway.
“I’m fine,” he answers, frowning in the direction Karofsky went, determinedly ignoring the slow, steady throbbing from his right shoulder. “Let’s just go. We’re going to be late.”
He must still be wearing a scowl on his face, because Mercedes starts to give him that familiar pitying look as soon as he steps into the choir room. When he sits down next to her, she pats his thigh in a reassuring gesture. Again it doesn’t do much but it's - well, it’s something.
“All right guys, are you ready for this?” Mr. Schue grins, holding up a seemingly innocent sheet of paper. “Drumroll, Finn?”
Finn Hudson plays an impromptu drum solo on top of his textbook.
“I have in my hand our competition for this year’s Sectionals! We’ve got a couple of new challenges this time around.”
Kurt raises an eyebrow, intrigued. Did Ohio’s show choir world manage to conjure up something even more outlandish than delinquent girls or a deaf choir this year?
“First up is the all male a cappella choir from Westerville - ”
Kurt's stomach flips. A navy blazer and striped tie flash into his mind - It can’t be.
“ - the Dalton Academy Warblers!”
Mercedes turns to him sharply and grabs his elbow. “Hey, isn’t that...”
He doesn’t reply right away. It takes several moments of shocked silence and Mercedes’ fingernails digging into his arm before he finally nods, suddenly all too grateful to be sitting. “Sebastian’s school.”
Next
Rating: eventual NC-17
Warnings: AU, stepcest, language
Summary: He’d only introduced Carole to his father so that he could get closer to Sebastian - it was just a simple crush at first. He didn’t expect to become his stepbrother. And he certainly didn’t expect to actually fall in love. Kurt/Sebastian and Kurt/Blaine.
Notes: Sorry, no Sebastian in this part - but he’ll definitely play a larger part next time, as I’m sure you’ll see.
---
“If you stare at that book any harder, you’re going to burn a hole in it.”
Mercedes gives a start and looks at Kurt wide-eyed. “Sorry, you scared me.” She pauses, putting the book back in her locker. “How’s your dad doing?”
“Well, his heart was still beating this morning when I asked Carole to check in on him. I consider that a good sign,” he answers, taking another small step forward. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
She’s got this look on her face like she knows what she’s about to hear and she’s too afraid to listen. “Kurt, about your dad - we shouldn’t have gone behind your back, I know that. But we just wanted - ”
“I know,” he cuts her off, waving a hand impatiently, and then he grimaces at the rude tone he’d used. Softer, he goes on, “I know that. And I’m sorry I lost my temper. I shouldn’t be pushing my friends away when they just want to help.”
Mercedes gives him a reluctant smile, but when that fades away, she’s still looking at him a little awed, maybe a little wistful, and Kurt wonders if he’s missing something. Before he can ask, she adds, “So you really don’t believe?” like the very concept of it is hard to grasp.
He has to consciously reel in his kneejerk reaction of ‘of course not, only idiots believe.’ Wasn’t the unrestrained expression of that sentiment what got him in trouble in the first place? The last thing he wants is to jump right back into behavior that he’d only just apologized for. He gives a wry smile and gently shakes his head. “I don’t.”
“No, I mean - maybe not in a higher power or whatever, but in something?”
“Mercedes...” he sighs, and she reaches for him, lacing their fingers together, and the effect is oddly calming.
“I know you don’t believe in God, and that’s fine - to each their own. But you’ve gotta believe in something, Kurt. Something that you can’t see, hear, or touch - cause life’s too hard to go through alone. Even if it’s not God - even if it’s just the support of your friends or the love of your family, you’ve gotta believe in that, at least.”
She’s definitely got a point. He may not be into the whole god thing, but when taking into consideration all the other people in his life - and his connection with them - he’s actually been pretty lucky. Carole’s been an absolute angel about the hospitalization, and it’s probably been just as hard on her as it’s been on Kurt - and regret makes his chest ache when he remembers how quickly he’d dismissed her and Sebastian as part of Friday night dinner ritual.
Because that’s what it is - a ritual. It’s important and it’s... sacred. He just wishes he could have realized it sooner.
But there’s nothing he can do about that now. All he can do is sit by his dad’s side and just be there - at least, he’d do that if he didn’t have two more classes to sit through. Burt wouldn’t want him skipping classes for his sake - so he’ll plow through, but he’ll need a little extra strength today. He gives Mercedes a watery smile and links arms with her, and she gets it.
“Lunch?” she asks gently. “I say we eat in my car today.”
“Please.”
---
“You never could dress yourself,” he laughs quietly, buttoning up the sleeves on his dad’s hospital gown. “Mom always used to tease you for it. I guess that’s one more thing I share with her.”
His dad says nothing - he’s still comatose, but even in the silence Kurt’s knees feel suddenly weak. Maybe it was a bad idea to bring up the subject of his mom while seeing his dad like this - he’s dangerously close to thinking what it would be like if he lost both parents, and that - well, he’s already explored that thought before, and it’s never any less depressing.
Instead of entertaining that further, he pulls up a chair to Burt’s bed and grasps his dad’s hand firmly. “So I got a stern talking-to from Sebastian. Mercedes, too. And I ended up doing a bit of thinking. About you, and me, and Mom - and Carole and Sebastian and how we all fit together in this thing, this strange and messy relationship we call family. I thought about friends too.”
He shifts forward in his chair, frowning. “I’m sorry, Dad. I should have let those guys pray for you. This wasn’t about me, it was about you, and... It was nice. I wish I hadn’t disregarded Friday night dinner either - who knows, maybe you’d still be awake if I’d agreed to stay home.” He pauses, swallowing thickly. “Do you remember our first Friday night dinner after Mom died?”
He pictures it clearly. Burt had insisted on carrying out those dinners to continue with some semblance of normalcy. They’d gone all out, too. Turkey, potatoes, stuffing - it was almost like Thanksgiving, as if they wanted to make up for Liz not being there. By the time seven o’clock hit, their mouths were watering, and when Burt pulled the bird out of the oven and cut into the crispy golden skin - the inside was still completely raw.
He doesn’t remember who it was that started laughing first - might have been him. Maybe it didn’t matter - they laughed so hard their stomachs hurt and their eyes teared up at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation - and they considered how Liz would have been horrified at the turkey.
And just like that, they’d stopped laughing, succumbing to the deeply-buried feelings of guilt at the bottom of their bellies.
It was too soon, right? They’d just put her in the ground last week. There was no reason to be smiling quite yet.
Then the scene changes. It’s the same house, same dinner table, only the walls are a little more yellowed and the table a little more worn-down. This memory is even easier to conjure.
Burt had been sitting at the table, avidly discussing the game-changing homer in the bottom of the ninth the previous night while Sebastian was setting out plates and utensils.
Kurt set the quiche down in the center of the table, and Sebastian halted conversation for a bit - even after their whole ‘dad and sports and jealousy’ conversation, he looked a little uneasy to be talking sports with Burt while Kurt was right there -
But Kurt just smiled and shrugged as if to say ‘if I can’t share his excitement, someone else has to.’ Carole brought out the Arnold Palmers and started slicing up the quiche and asked Kurt to plate the salad.
It wasn’t what Kurt was used to. It wasn’t the warm, familiar smell of his mother’s cooking. But it was still familiar in its own way, and it was comforting all the same. It felt like belonging, like they each had a place at that table - together.
When Kurt comes back to himself, he sees that his dad’s fingertips have turned pink, so he loosens his grip and sucks in a deep breath. Friday night dinner had come surprisingly easy to the four of them - even to Kurt, who was used to those dinners featuring just him and Burt and Liz. The shift in the dynamic to Carole-and-Sebastian dinners wasn’t unwelcome - it would have done no good if those dinners worked too hard to imitate (or worse, replace) the ones Kurt and Burt had with Liz. But the changes had been subtle, almost unnoticeable, and they’d continued that way until the morning of the argument - the morning when Kurt had consciously noticed those changes and subsequently rejected them. In a way, his awareness had been the only real problem.
And in an ideal world, his newfound acceptance of those changes - his acceptance of them as ritual - would wake Burt from his coma. Kurt is far from an idealist - but he needs to say this anyway.
“I don’t believe in God, Dad. But I believe in you, and I believe in us. I believe in family, just like you do.”
The tears start to burn the back of his eyes as the doubt sinks in again. He’s still unresponsive. What if he never wakes up? “I can’t hold on to Mom forever - I can’t wish for her to come back. I realize that now. Carole and Sebastian are - they’re not the same, but that’s okay. They can’t replace Mom, but they can create new memories with us. Just because this new family isn’t the one we’re used to doesn’t make it any less sacred - that’s what you were trying to say, right?”
He pauses again, voice cracking. “I get it now. Whatever’s sacred to you is sacred to me too, Dad. And I’m so, so sorry that I never had the chance to tell you that.”
Again, no response. Seeing his dad lying motionless on this bed, maybe unconsciously hearing this but being unable to listen - that breaks Kurt’s heart all over again. There’s so much more he wants to say - no, needs to say, but his voice is about to give out completely and there’s only so much strength he can feign. Instead he grips Burt’s hand tighter and looks down at his lap, allowing the tears to roll down his cheeks.
He hasn’t completely given up hope yet - but sometimes he thinks it might be easier if he did, and the guilt from those thoughts is enough to make him sick to his stomach.
Then he feels it. At first he thinks he might be imagining things - but he stares down at their joined hands, and yes - his father’s fingers definitely curl around his own. They squeeze his hand - week, but it’s more of a response than anything else he’s gotten in the past ten days.
“Nancy!” he calls out frantically to the nurse’s station, eagerly jumping to his feet, moving still closer but never breaking his grip. “I’m right here, Dad. I’m not going anywhere.”
Burt’s head rolls slowly to the side, as if following the sound of Kurt’s voice, and when his eyelids begin to flutter open, it takes every ounce of Kurt’s willpower not to cheer or shout. Instead he waits, all of his nerves thrummed with anticipation and relief and the unmistakable feeling of home.
---
Burt finally comes home after several days of testing and observations. The doctors have prescribed a couple of heart medications along with a strict diet regimen. He can’t enjoy his favored breakfast of two Slimjims and a Coke anymore (good riddance, thinks Kurt), and yes, he’s had a few grumblings about that, but he’s alive and mostly well and that’s what really matters.
Kurt has taken full reign over Burt’s diet, fixing all of his meals. When he’s unable to do that, he makes sure to give Carole the diet guidelines card he’d received from the hospital - they can’t take any chances by being careless with something as simple as food.
Which is why Friday night finds Kurt in the kitchen rubbing spices into salmon fillets.
Burt stops on his way to the fridge, confused. “What day is it?”
“Friday,” Kurt replies, pausing briefly to swipe at his nose with the back of his wrist. “I didn’t want to wake Carole by asking for help with dinner - she’s working tonight, right? And I got a text from Sebastian. He just got out of practice; he should be coming home soon.”
“Gotcha,” is all Burt says at first, and then he continues on to the fridge, staring at the contents and trying to decide on beverage choice.
“Water, Dad,” Kurt reminds him sternly. “At least for now. You’ve been home for barely a week.”
He can practically hear his dad rolling his eyes, but thankfully when he turns around, Burt’s got a bottle of water in his hand.
“Dinner looks great,” Burt offers, and though he looks a little put-off by having to give up soda and beer for a while, his eyes are warm. “I’m proud of you, Kurt.”
The words are heavy but welcome, and Kurt smiles so wide his cheeks hurt before turning back to the fillets.
Dinner goes off without a hitch that night, and for a while, it seems like everything is looking up - or at the very least, back to normal.
---
Well, relatively normal.
As for glee club - he’s never quite sure what to expect with that group. They welcome a new member - an artificially blonde boy named Sam who pings hard on Kurt’s gaydar but is (shockingly) straight and apparently has something going on with Quinn.
The latest festivities include Mr. Schue’s misguided attempts at trying to woo Ms. Pillsbury by putting on a production of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. The last thing he wants to do is get involved with Mr. Schue’s love life (because god, that sounds disgusting no matter how he words it) but the costumes are fun, and it reminds him a little bit of the theatricality lesson from last year, so he won’t judge his choir director too harshly for this one.
He gets caught up with the rest of the club in choir room performances, homework, ensuring that his dad is eating right and continuing with the wedding plans (two weeks behind schedule is two weeks too many) and life goes on just like before -
- and that includes a slushie to the face on Monday morning.
Kurt stands there shock-still before slowly wiping purple ice from his eyes and mouth. He wonders if he’d given Karofsky too much credit when he thought that he would actually lay off the bullying for a while because of Burt’s heart attack. He’s no doubt heard about it - gossip spreads like the plague at McKinley.
Definitely too much credit, he decides with a sort of bitter acceptance. And definitely back to normal.
---
“I take it we have a lot of sweater trains to look forward to this season?” Tina asks cheerfully, and Kurt smiles in response.
“Of course. I’ve got to jazz it up somehow, and - ”
Without warning, a pair of thick, heavy hands shoves him forward. He crashes into the lockers. Karofsky shoots him a dirty look as he saunters away - and Kurt winces, rubbing his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Tina says - more out of politeness than anything else - anyone who endures weekly locker shoves from that Neanderthal never really has a positive response to that question. Her concern is nice anyway.
“I’m fine,” he answers, frowning in the direction Karofsky went, determinedly ignoring the slow, steady throbbing from his right shoulder. “Let’s just go. We’re going to be late.”
He must still be wearing a scowl on his face, because Mercedes starts to give him that familiar pitying look as soon as he steps into the choir room. When he sits down next to her, she pats his thigh in a reassuring gesture. Again it doesn’t do much but it's - well, it’s something.
“All right guys, are you ready for this?” Mr. Schue grins, holding up a seemingly innocent sheet of paper. “Drumroll, Finn?”
Finn Hudson plays an impromptu drum solo on top of his textbook.
“I have in my hand our competition for this year’s Sectionals! We’ve got a couple of new challenges this time around.”
Kurt raises an eyebrow, intrigued. Did Ohio’s show choir world manage to conjure up something even more outlandish than delinquent girls or a deaf choir this year?
“First up is the all male a cappella choir from Westerville - ”
Kurt's stomach flips. A navy blazer and striped tie flash into his mind - It can’t be.
“ - the Dalton Academy Warblers!”
Mercedes turns to him sharply and grabs his elbow. “Hey, isn’t that...”
He doesn’t reply right away. It takes several moments of shocked silence and Mercedes’ fingernails digging into his arm before he finally nods, suddenly all too grateful to be sitting. “Sebastian’s school.”
Next