Glee fic: (Def)er
Title: (Def)er
Rating: soft R
Spoilers: None for Glee canon, through chapter 11 of (Def)inition
Warnings: Physical abuse by an individual in power, implied non-con.
Word Count: ~1,200
Summary: “Fucking uppity New York bleeding heart liberal that thinks he can just-just wave his magic fucking money wand around and make all the problems in the system go away?” An outside look at the effect of Kurt Hummel's actions in trying to pass the Defective Manumission Bill.
Author's Notes: So, the lovely hedgerose let me invade her Def-verse after reading chapter eleven and put an outside POV spin on the events of that chapter. This was the result.
------
Mr. Steele is angry when he gets home from work that day. Colin stumbles in his wake, bruises already starting to show on his wrists. Jason’s throat goes tight at the sight--his Holder hasn’t been this angry in weeks--but he falls to his knees quickly. “Welcome home, Sir.”
Steele blinks as though he’s just noticed him. “Dinner?” he asks without preamble.
Jason blinks. “I haven’t started it yet, Sir.”
Steele’s face contorts in a sneer. “It’s imbeciles and worthless dreamers like you the bastard wants to put out on the streets. The system’s all that keeps you in line. You’d be a goddamn burden on the country otherwise. At least this way you’re doing something good.”
“Sir?” Jason asks with a frown. “I’m afraid I don’t--” he misses Colin’s frantic head shakes until it’s too late.
Steele’s eyes go hard. “Did you say something?” he asks, voice quiet and dangerous.
Jason’s breath leaves his chest in an instant. “No, Sir, I--”
The slap isn’t entirely unexpected, but it still stings. Jason swallows roughly and only keeps the instinctive tears back from years of practice. When he turns to face Steele again, the Holder level with Jason.
“I apologize, Sir.”
“You’re damn right you do.”
Jason swallows thickly “I’ll get started on dinner right away. Is there anything else you need?”
Steele just stands and pushes past him, ignoring the question. Colin gives Jason a sharp look before following Steele into his office. Don’t follow me, it says. Let me do this, it says.
His hands are still shaking when Lissa comes in to watch him make dinner. “Something wrong, Jason?” she asks, six-year-old smile bright and unknowing.
Jason closes his eyes, and then forces a smile, pretending not to know what’s going on behind her father’s closed office doors. “No, Miss. Everything’s fine.”
-----
After dinner, Colin slips him the page before he follows Steele back into his office. Jason pockets it and waits until Lissa’s in bed to look at it.
The eyes staring up at him from the stark black and white ad tug at some distant part of his memory that he can’t quite place. They’re strong and beautiful and bright and he feels drawn to them without thinking. Then he reads the words.
Q.F. is a Def
Something catches in his chest--those initials are too familiar--and then three more words are standing out; mother; mentor; friend; and mother mother mother and--
It’s while he’s running a thumb below her right eye that Colin comes crashing into the room. “Fucking bastard,” he shouts, throwing something at the wall opposite Jason.
Jason swallows; “Problem?”
“Uh, yeah. Did you not see the fucking ads?”
“Language,” Jason admonishes even as his stomach churns.
“To hell with worrying about Lissa; the way Abe’s been swearing up a storm he should be fucking glad I’m only following his example in private rather than in front of her. Does he not see what he’s doing?”
“Who?”
“Fucking uppity New York bleeding heart liberal that thinks he can just-just wave his magic fucking money wand around and make all the problems in the system go away?”
“I don’t--”
“Kurt fucking Hummel thinks he can--”
Jason stops listening.
The memories he has of Kurt are indistinct and distant, but he remembers who he is, remembers Quinn’s story (Q.F.; it had never hit him until now; she’s a Def too), remembers what Kurt and his family had been through when they’d bought her contract. Jason had been at McKinley at the same time, and the story had been borderline sensational; beautiful, perfect cheerleading captain Quinn Fabray--pregnant and marked and the start-up of a Glee club that had put the money together to buy her contract. The whole school had whispered--he had too--and tried to pretend that she was less than human now, but Kurt and the rest of them hadn’t been having any of it.
She’d kept coming to school, kept coming to classes, kept wearing shirts with sleeves just short enough to leave her bracelet visible. There was always an honor guard around her, Hudson or Puckerman or Evans, keeping anyone else away from her.
And Kurt, always Kurt, who had kept his head even higher after than he had before.
It was more than that, though. It was the fierce protectiveness he had over Quinn. The way he always kept her within sight, within reach, and spoke to her as an equal. The fact that he never let anyone treat her as less than human.
The strong eyes and the bold words and the white lettering that stare back at him speak of years of the best that a Holder can offer his Def. And somewhere underneath the thrill of sheer jealousy, he’s glad that she’s still with him.
It isn’t until Colin throws his shirt down onto the bed next to Jason that he even remembers that he’s still there.
“And where does he get off thinking he knows what’s best? Shoving this into people’s faces like this isn’t going to help anyone, least of all--”
Jason opens his mouth to speak, but when his eyes catch on Colin’s newly bared torso, his throat goes dry. There are fresh bruises mottling his chest and back and upper arms, larger and more numerous than he’s ever seen. (And he’s seen a lot.) He swallows uncomfortably. “Come on,” he murmurs, getting to his feet and urging Colin to sit, “let’s have a look at you.”
He slips out into the kitchen to grab the ice packs and has to stand in there for a full minute while he fights to get his shaking under control. Sheer, blinding hope for freedom wars with the image of Colin’s bruise-darkened skin (Colin and Marie and Don and he knows what happened to the other two and he hopes that Colin will hold out a little longer; he hates himself a little for the gratitude he has that that’s never been him, that he’s never been--). He digs his nails into his palms and sucks in a long, slow breath through his nose and lets it out just as slowly. Then he straightens his back and walks back into their shared bedroom.
“I just...” Jason stops short, attentive to even the smallest shift in Colin’s tone. “What about all of us caught in the crossfire?” Colin asks helplessly, dropping his head into his hands.
Jason gives him a half-hearted smile and shrugs. “Not sure,” he says, holding one of the ice packs out like an offering. Colin looks up and gives him a half smile before accepting the gesture.
When Colin finally falls into fitful sleep in Jason’s bed (it takes three hours, and Colin is thin and small and helpless and, god, when had nineteen started to seem young), Jason still doesn’t have an answer.
-----
It’s as he’s helping Colin into his clothes and avoiding the bruises around his neck (he’d missed them last night, and that was careless of him; they’ll be hurting Colin all day at this rate) that it comes to him.
He only just stops himself from clapping Colin on the shoulders through sheer force of will (because bruises bruises bruises) and takes his hands instead.
“We hold our breath and hope,” he says quietly.
Colin looks startled, but nods with a small smile.
(After dinner that night, Jason follows Mr. Steele into the study for the first time in three years. That’s how much he believes in Kurt fucking Hummel.)
Rating: soft R
Spoilers: None for Glee canon, through chapter 11 of (Def)inition
Warnings: Physical abuse by an individual in power, implied non-con.
Word Count: ~1,200
Summary: “Fucking uppity New York bleeding heart liberal that thinks he can just-just wave his magic fucking money wand around and make all the problems in the system go away?” An outside look at the effect of Kurt Hummel's actions in trying to pass the Defective Manumission Bill.
Author's Notes: So, the lovely hedgerose let me invade her Def-verse after reading chapter eleven and put an outside POV spin on the events of that chapter. This was the result.
------
Mr. Steele is angry when he gets home from work that day. Colin stumbles in his wake, bruises already starting to show on his wrists. Jason’s throat goes tight at the sight--his Holder hasn’t been this angry in weeks--but he falls to his knees quickly. “Welcome home, Sir.”
Steele blinks as though he’s just noticed him. “Dinner?” he asks without preamble.
Jason blinks. “I haven’t started it yet, Sir.”
Steele’s face contorts in a sneer. “It’s imbeciles and worthless dreamers like you the bastard wants to put out on the streets. The system’s all that keeps you in line. You’d be a goddamn burden on the country otherwise. At least this way you’re doing something good.”
“Sir?” Jason asks with a frown. “I’m afraid I don’t--” he misses Colin’s frantic head shakes until it’s too late.
Steele’s eyes go hard. “Did you say something?” he asks, voice quiet and dangerous.
Jason’s breath leaves his chest in an instant. “No, Sir, I--”
The slap isn’t entirely unexpected, but it still stings. Jason swallows roughly and only keeps the instinctive tears back from years of practice. When he turns to face Steele again, the Holder level with Jason.
“I apologize, Sir.”
“You’re damn right you do.”
Jason swallows thickly “I’ll get started on dinner right away. Is there anything else you need?”
Steele just stands and pushes past him, ignoring the question. Colin gives Jason a sharp look before following Steele into his office. Don’t follow me, it says. Let me do this, it says.
His hands are still shaking when Lissa comes in to watch him make dinner. “Something wrong, Jason?” she asks, six-year-old smile bright and unknowing.
Jason closes his eyes, and then forces a smile, pretending not to know what’s going on behind her father’s closed office doors. “No, Miss. Everything’s fine.”
-----
After dinner, Colin slips him the page before he follows Steele back into his office. Jason pockets it and waits until Lissa’s in bed to look at it.
The eyes staring up at him from the stark black and white ad tug at some distant part of his memory that he can’t quite place. They’re strong and beautiful and bright and he feels drawn to them without thinking. Then he reads the words.
Q.F. is a Def
Something catches in his chest--those initials are too familiar--and then three more words are standing out; mother; mentor; friend; and mother mother mother and--
It’s while he’s running a thumb below her right eye that Colin comes crashing into the room. “Fucking bastard,” he shouts, throwing something at the wall opposite Jason.
Jason swallows; “Problem?”
“Uh, yeah. Did you not see the fucking ads?”
“Language,” Jason admonishes even as his stomach churns.
“To hell with worrying about Lissa; the way Abe’s been swearing up a storm he should be fucking glad I’m only following his example in private rather than in front of her. Does he not see what he’s doing?”
“Who?”
“Fucking uppity New York bleeding heart liberal that thinks he can just-just wave his magic fucking money wand around and make all the problems in the system go away?”
“I don’t--”
“Kurt fucking Hummel thinks he can--”
Jason stops listening.
The memories he has of Kurt are indistinct and distant, but he remembers who he is, remembers Quinn’s story (Q.F.; it had never hit him until now; she’s a Def too), remembers what Kurt and his family had been through when they’d bought her contract. Jason had been at McKinley at the same time, and the story had been borderline sensational; beautiful, perfect cheerleading captain Quinn Fabray--pregnant and marked and the start-up of a Glee club that had put the money together to buy her contract. The whole school had whispered--he had too--and tried to pretend that she was less than human now, but Kurt and the rest of them hadn’t been having any of it.
She’d kept coming to school, kept coming to classes, kept wearing shirts with sleeves just short enough to leave her bracelet visible. There was always an honor guard around her, Hudson or Puckerman or Evans, keeping anyone else away from her.
And Kurt, always Kurt, who had kept his head even higher after than he had before.
It was more than that, though. It was the fierce protectiveness he had over Quinn. The way he always kept her within sight, within reach, and spoke to her as an equal. The fact that he never let anyone treat her as less than human.
The strong eyes and the bold words and the white lettering that stare back at him speak of years of the best that a Holder can offer his Def. And somewhere underneath the thrill of sheer jealousy, he’s glad that she’s still with him.
It isn’t until Colin throws his shirt down onto the bed next to Jason that he even remembers that he’s still there.
“And where does he get off thinking he knows what’s best? Shoving this into people’s faces like this isn’t going to help anyone, least of all--”
Jason opens his mouth to speak, but when his eyes catch on Colin’s newly bared torso, his throat goes dry. There are fresh bruises mottling his chest and back and upper arms, larger and more numerous than he’s ever seen. (And he’s seen a lot.) He swallows uncomfortably. “Come on,” he murmurs, getting to his feet and urging Colin to sit, “let’s have a look at you.”
He slips out into the kitchen to grab the ice packs and has to stand in there for a full minute while he fights to get his shaking under control. Sheer, blinding hope for freedom wars with the image of Colin’s bruise-darkened skin (Colin and Marie and Don and he knows what happened to the other two and he hopes that Colin will hold out a little longer; he hates himself a little for the gratitude he has that that’s never been him, that he’s never been--). He digs his nails into his palms and sucks in a long, slow breath through his nose and lets it out just as slowly. Then he straightens his back and walks back into their shared bedroom.
“I just...” Jason stops short, attentive to even the smallest shift in Colin’s tone. “What about all of us caught in the crossfire?” Colin asks helplessly, dropping his head into his hands.
Jason gives him a half-hearted smile and shrugs. “Not sure,” he says, holding one of the ice packs out like an offering. Colin looks up and gives him a half smile before accepting the gesture.
When Colin finally falls into fitful sleep in Jason’s bed (it takes three hours, and Colin is thin and small and helpless and, god, when had nineteen started to seem young), Jason still doesn’t have an answer.
-----
It’s as he’s helping Colin into his clothes and avoiding the bruises around his neck (he’d missed them last night, and that was careless of him; they’ll be hurting Colin all day at this rate) that it comes to him.
He only just stops himself from clapping Colin on the shoulders through sheer force of will (because bruises bruises bruises) and takes his hands instead.
“We hold our breath and hope,” he says quietly.
Colin looks startled, but nods with a small smile.
(After dinner that night, Jason follows Mr. Steele into the study for the first time in three years. That’s how much he believes in Kurt fucking Hummel.)