Fic: Mad World, Chapter 7 (First Half)
In here, there's much reflection on Kurt's stay in the hospital, many visits from friends (both old and new), and a father's thoughts on whether not things will ever be normal again.
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Chapter 7: Drown My Sorrow (Previous: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6)
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Burt was watching his son.
Kurt was asleep on the couch, hardly moving, but clearly breathing.
Burt had been doing that a lot for the past couple days, starting in the hospital room, and now that his kid was home - watching Kurt, being around Kurt, not capable of stepping away for more than the few minutes it took him to go to the bathroom or take a shower. To get him a glass of water. To grab his painkillers.
Carole was sitting opposite Burt on the loveseat, watching both him and his son. Her eyes did that gleaming thing they did whenever they looked Kurt's way. She had cried for hours after Burt had called her from the hospital; she'd shown up and fussed over Finn, tears still pouring down her face. And she'd been angry too. Extremely so.
Something he and everyone who knew Kurt had in common.
How could this happen? Who let it happen? Why did it happen at all?
Mercedes came into the room, holding a mug of hot tea and sitting back down in her previous position with Kurt's huge feet in her lap. She smiled at both Burt and Carole. Finn came in next, holding a plate of cookies. Just for him, Burt thought, amused. Carole was already munching on a bowl of popcorn and Burt couldn't have any more sugary crap. Wonderful sugary crap. Even just one, apparently.
"No, Burt," Carole said softly from across the room. Mercedes snorted into her hand as Burt shot his girlfriend a plaintive look.
Finn sat down on the floor, next to Mercedes' legs, and started eating the cookies, oblivious. The movie, A Philadelphia Story, was playing, the volume so low it was practically muted. Kurt had fallen asleep less than half way through and, for some reason, none of them bothered to turn it off. They just let it go on, half watching the screen, half watching Kurt dozing. Mostly watching Kurt.
Mercedes was tenderly stroking her best friend's legs, sipping on her tea, eyes glazed over as she turned to the screen.
The first person Burt had bumped into at the hospital had been Mercedes, and she had been a mess, possessed in equal parts by anger and grief.
Burt ripped into that place fast enough to frighten the crap out of two orderlies hanging around the emergency room doors - they practically fell over as he breezed past them, a blur of panic. He was opening his mouth, preparing to yell for his son, for anyone who might know where he was, when another equally, if not faster blur ran into him.
"Oh God, Mr. Hummel, oh, Kurt." Then there was crying and Burt's arms were coming up, hugging Mercedes tightly for a brief moment before pulling her back and bending to look her in the eye.
"Mercedes, tell me, tell me what happened! Is he okay?"
It took a minute for her to calm down enough to speak, and in the meantime her cries were incomprehensible, a jumble of words and noises. He waited with all the patience he could muster.
"He's . . . he's alive, and stable." Mercedes breathed in deeply. "But the doctors say that they won't talk to anyone but you and . . ."
"Okay," he said, and that was a start, but not nearly enough to satisfy him. He caught sight of a desk, surrounded by nurses and other staff, and started to march over to it.
"Mr. Hummel." Mercedes grabbed onto his arm, squeezing tightly. "He . . ." She swallowed hard, but the tears kept pouring down her face, "He was unconscious and there was blood, and I'm sorry, I know you're freaking out right now, but I just . . . he's my best friend and can I just . . . can I be with you when you go see the doctor? Please. I can't . . ." The girl was wheezing by this point, as if her throat was closing up. "It's too much and I can't stand another second of not knowing. Please."
Burt wrapped his hand around hers, tugging her along. "Let's go, Mercedes."
He walked up to the nurses and asked for his son, and as he saw them whip into action to track down the doctor responsible for Kurt, he turned to the girl, asking lowly, "The person or people who did this to him?"
"That girl who saved him - the cops are talking to her right now - she said it was just one . . . Azimio." Her voice went ice cold, shaking like she was, but oddly detached too. "He better pray the cops find him first, Mr. Hummel, 'cause with all due respect to you and your shotgun, I want to take him apart. Nice and slow. And I've got about a dozen other people who want a piece of him."
The rage in her eyes was almost frightening - no teenager should know that level of anger. Or sadness. Burt couldn't find it in him to be intimidated or worried by her, because given half a chance, he would do the same. He would do things these kids couldn't even fathom to the piece of crap that dared hurt his child.
"We're gonna take care of Kurt first, Mercedes," he said softly. And then we'll rip into the little bastard that did this, he promised himself darkly. Whether or not it would happen was inconsequential - the rage kept him from breaking into tears, kept him from falling to his knees and begging any and all deities to spare his son any more pain, to keep Kurt alive and whole.
Burt watched the girl now as she sipped her drink and cast a searching eye on Kurt every few seconds. The rage in her had dimmed once she knew that Kurt was going to be fine; she had been sitting, content and calm, in the back of the SUV with his son as they drove back from the hospital early that morning. Mercedes filled the silence, chattering away about this celebrity or that red-carpet outfit. Kurt had been smiling a little and making small one-sentence comments here and there. Burt was so grateful to this amazing teenager - this amazing young woman who so loved his son.
"Hey, uh, mom, do you think Kurt will care if I finish off those cookies you made him?" Finn said, looking up from a now empty plate. Burt couldn't help making a face - as great as Carole was at baking, he firmly believed in high sugar content when it came to cookies and cakes, otherwise, what was the point?
"Go on, Finn." Carole exchanged a fond smile with Burt over her son's head. "I can always make more."
Finn leapt to his feet at that announcement, pausing to ask if Mercedes wanted some too. She shook her head as he walked around the couch to head towards the kitchen. He took a second on his way to tuck the blanket around Kurt a little higher up, to just under the boy's chin.
Burt was grinning ear to ear, and Carole was too, while wiping discretely at a stray tear.
When Burt had come upon Finn (and the rest of Kurt's glee club) at the hospital, it had been the one thing that could distract him from the doctor's description of his son's injuries.
It took Burt a long time to calm down after Dr. Macaulay described every bit of suffering his son was going through - the hypothermia (what the hell?), the head injury, the cracked ribs, and the details pertaining to each one. All the anger, fear and grief had mixed into a lead ball of nausea and he couldn't, just could not deal with it. He'd forgotten about Mercedes at his side, who was crying again, cursing between sobs and praying when she managed to calm herself down once more.
After the doctor's reassurances that Kurt would likely be okay (though it depended on when and how he woke up), that soon he could go into the room and sit with his kid, Burt managed to slowly come back to the real world - enough to actually take in his surroundings.
Which included various police officers and paramedics - and at least half, no, wait, all of the Glee club. He spotted Finn, who was sitting in a corner, fuming, with an officer . . . standing guard?
"Finn?" He approached the boy, Finn's head whipping up, apparently seeing Burt for the first time.
"Burt!" He jumped to his feet, the officer next to him saying nothing, but still keeping an evaluating stare on him as Burt came to stand in front of the tall teenager. He took stock of the black eye, the bruised and bleeding knuckles, the tape around his wrist and his stiff posture.
"Jesus, I thought that it was just Kurt." Burt reached out, putting a careful hand on Finn's shoulder. "You okay, buddy?"
Finn shook his head, dismissing Burt's concern, but he covered the hand on his shoulder with his own. "I'm fine, forget about me, how's Kurt?"
"He'll be okay, the doctor says." Burt was trying to reassure himself even as he was reassuring Finn. "But, c'mon now, you haven't told me what happened."
"I don't know exactly what happened to Kurt, but when the police and the ambulance showed up . . . The teachers tried to keep us in class, but we went to the hallway anyway, and then they were keeping everyone away from the locker room, and first they wheeled this girl out, and she was crying and stuff. And then . . ." Finn mouthed wordlessly, staring over Burt's shoulder. "Then came Kurt. And we all just freaked out. Mercedes wouldn't let them take him, she just kept screaming 'who did this?' and that girl, she started screaming at a few of the guys on the football team - she said Azimio had done it and they were all denying that Azimio would do something like this. I just . . . I couldn't stop staring at the blood. And how white he was."
Finn was looking green at this, and Burt could relate - he didn't think he would ever be able to get rid of the sick feeling in his stomach. "I saw Karofsky, and he's like, Azimio's best friend, and he tortures Kurt just as bad, and I . . . I lost it. I threw the first punch. And then everything just exploded."
"It was actually pretty awesome, Mr. Hummel."
Burt turned to see Artie being wheeled over by Brittany, who looked a little the worse for the wear herself. Artie was sporting a bruise high on his forehead, and he was squinting - his glasses were missing.
"Finn starts whaling on Karofsky and a bunch of the guys on the football team and some hockey jocks were either trying to stop him, or hitting him. When we all tried to help, it was like the whole school got in on it."
"I broke Adam Silverman's nose," Brittany announced. "And then I told him Kurt was a better kisser than him. Which is true. And he has duck-fat soft baby hands. But I didn't get to tell Adam that. Puck tackled him before I could."
A curtain whipped open somewhere further down from them, and a male nurse was complaining, "You need to sit down! That -"
"My head is fine, dude," Puck growled - Burt saw the mohawk before he saw the blood-splattered shirt. "I didn't even black out. Unlike that douchebag that I -"
"Shut the fuck up, Puckerman." Now it was that Latina cheerleader, coming around a corner, tugging her jacket up over her shoulders, a few bruises dotting the right side of her face. As she got closer, Burt saw she was also sporting bloodstained clothes, and her face had smudges of it around and on her lips. "There are a bunch of cops around, you moron."
She smiled winningly at a couple of the officers staring at Mokawk Boy suspiciously. "He's babbling nonsense - head injury." The cops found somewhere else to stare. Burt figured it was the fact that the blood smeared on her mouth was somewhat off putting, especially considering she had no split lip or missing teeth or bloody nose.
He took further stock of his surroundings. He saw the new blonde kid - Sam - getting his knuckles looked at, the doctor disinfecting the deep scrapes that covered them. Quinn was at his side - her lip was split and bleeding but she seemed fine otherwise. There was Mike Chang, with Tina standing by him, and a doctor checking his wrist and shoulder, before telling him he'd dislocated the shoulder; Burt couldn't help but wincing, because that was going to hurt like a bitch, and then some.
The police milling around seemed to be keeping an eye on all the kids, including a few Burt didn't recognize, as they weren't part of the Glee club, and so were likely either the jock side of this battle or collateral damage. Finn was the only one who had his own personal escort, though, which didn't sit well with him.
He faced the cop. "Look, this boy here is my responsibility - any reason why you can't leave him with me?"
The officer shifted uncomfortably under Burt's stare. "He may or may not be charged with assault. The boy he attacked is still unconscious and here at the hospital -"
"That . . . boy," Burt managed not to say 'bastard', but only just, "may be an accomplice in my son's assault. Finn here is good friends with my kid and I'm dating his mom, so he's practically family too. I think you can understand his reaction now. I'll take care of him - he won't be skipping town or nothing if that . . . boy's . . . parents want to press charges."
Mercedes had been silent up until this point, but she snorted incredulously at that. "Karofsky press charges? After all the crap he's put Kurt through and Finn giving him his just desserts and now he -" She broke off, growling angrily. Burt nodded along, putting a hand on her shoulder. She smiled briefly at him before crossing her arms and glaring at the cop.
That's when he noticed her bruised knuckles.
It made him grin suddenly. Finn caught his eye, and then glanced pointedly at Mercedes and back again. He was grinning too, and mouthing something over her head: 'Really damn scary.'
Burt pulled her to his side and led Finn away from the officer without another word. The glee club fell in line or at least those that weren't under the charge of nurses or doctors. Mercedes started to ramble about how Finn had totally kicked Karofsky's ass - no contest - and how most of the school had taken their side - the loser side - and completely dominated the jocks. Finn broke in now and again with Figgins' reaction. Schuester apparently was in another part of the hospital, getting stitches put in his head after one jock didn't respond kindly to being restrained and shoved the man hard against an open locker, slicing his temple.
The ringing of the doorbell jerked Burt out of his reminiscing. He immediately looked towards Kurt, but his kid was still passed out; he didn't do more than make a disgruntled noise and turn to face the back of the couch. Mercedes winced as one of his feet jabbed her in the side, but once he stilled she just resettled herself, resuming her even strokes.
Finn stood up to answer the door and while he did that, Burt glanced up at the clock - it was only two in the afternoon. They'd brought Kurt home from the hospital at around nine that morning and Burt, despite several hours of being back in his own house, everyone present and accounted for, couldn't quite make peace with the idea that the worst was over with. Some part of his mind kept to that plain white room, with his unconscious son. He didn't think he'd ever be able to shake that off - not ever. That lead ball was still in his belly and even glancing over at his slumbering boy every few seconds didn't ease the ever-present nausea in him. Not with those bruises colouring Kurt's face, the nasty cut on his temple, and the slight twitches when he jostled his injured ribs.
"Hello, Mr. Hummel, Mrs. Hudson," came a soft, polite tone from over his shoulder.
Burt turned in his armchair to see Finn leading Blaine into the living room. The boy was out of uniform, dressed in jeans and a fancy sweater, sort of like a few of the tamer ones that Kurt owned. He was also shifting a bit on his feet, his eyes flicking to each person in the room, a charming half-smile for all of them, and a slightly wider one for Mercedes.
Finn pointed towards the couch and Blaine leaned up onto the balls of his feet to see Kurt sprawled there, asleep. Burt saw both guilt and relief twist the boy's features; it was an odd combination, but then again, Blaine did seem to feel that this was all his fault somehow - something Burt saw in the other Glee kids too. Burt had heard more apologies in the past two days than he figured a Catholic priest heard in a year.
Burt gestured towards Carole, who was patting the seat next to her and closest to Kurt without sitting on the floor, like Finn was doing. Burt had to smile as he watched Finn resuming his steady consumption of his not-really-cookie cookies.
Blaine shot her a grateful look, taking his seat and casting a vaguely interested glance towards the screen, his own smile returning as he watched Katherine Hepburn and Jimmy Stewart swaying drunkenly to music.
"Kurt and I had a debate about which movie was better - this one, or the musical remake with Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly," Blaine said quietly.
"Kurt probably liked this one better." Carole offered some of her popcorn to Blaine, who took a few kernels.
He leaned back onto the cushions. "Yeah, but he never got around to telling me why."
Carole grinned. "Because Jimmy Stewart was one of his first crushes - he was a goner the first time he saw It's a Wonderful Life, he told me. I think he's on the look-out for a guy who can lasso the moon for him."
Burt gave a muted chuckle as Blaine's eyes crinkled with a hidden smile, shooting his sleeping son an adoring look that Burt had, up until now, only seen on the faces of Kurt's best friends, and Carole on occasion.
Whether it was based on just a simple, platonic liking of his son, or if it was more, he couldn't tell . . . But considering how incredibly freaked out the kid had been on Friday, so much the opposite of this self-possessed boy sitting in his living room right now? Burt was willing to bet his share of the garage that Blaine was feeling more for his son than friendship - even if he didn't fully realize it yet.
Mercedes had been sitting next to him, silent and no longer shaking. Carole was sitting on his other side, clutching his hand and clenching her jaw periodically. He'd called her less than fifteen minutes before, and she'd shown up, worried out of her mind for her son and Kurt, crying and trying not to at the same time as she wrapped Finn up in her arms, and then, when Burt had choked out what had happened to Kurt, at least what little he knew . . .
"Are you serious? That's unacceptable - how in the hell could Figgins let things get this far?" she had hissed. "No, we need to call a lawyer, right now, because there is no way the bastard that did this to Kurt can get away with it! Figgins and the school board need to be held accountable. Those stupid assholes need to -"
Burt had never been more in love with the woman than he had been right then. He grabbed her and held her close, breathing in harshly, holding back tears again. Mercedes had interrupted the tender embrace with an abrupt gasp.
They both jerked apart, looking towards her questioningly. She waved Kurt's phone at them.
The police had given it to Burt not too long ago. It had been tossed in a garbage can outside the locker room, and apparently they had noted it in their report but weren't going to keep it as evidence. The officer who had handed it to him had been fuzzy on the details; Burt had the feeling the man was bending some rules for him, so he'd smiled gratefully and accepted the iPhone, then promptly handed it to Mercedes for safe-keeping because he knew he'd likely forget it somewhere, his mind scattered as it was.
"Sorry," the girl apologized, clutching Kurt's cell tightly. "I just turned it on and, um, there's like a billion messages from Blaine, so I'm going to -"
"Blaine?" Burt gave her a blank look, "Who's Blaine?"
Mercedes lifted a hand to her mouth. "Oh . . . uh, Kurt didn't mention him to you?"
Burt shook his head, lifting an eyebrow as Mercedes bit her lip, avoiding his gaze while fiddling with Kurt's phone.
"Should he have?"
Mercedes lifted the phone to her ear, still not meeting his eyes. "He's . . . a new friend of Kurt's from Dalton."
"That all-boy place? The one he was 'spying' on?"
Mercedes nodded, but just as she opened her mouth to say something more, the faint sound of someone answering on the other end of the line cut her off.
"No, Blaine - I'm Mercedes." She smiled briefly at the floor in response to whatever the boy said. "Yeah, I'm his best girl. But . . . no. That's not it. Blaine, Kurt." Her voice thickened, and Burt and Carole reached out simultaneously to comfort her. She received the hands on her shoulders with closed eyes. "He's in the hospital. Someone hurt him and - what? What did you - St. Anne's Hospital. But, Blaine -" Mercedes pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the screen. "I think he's actually on his way."
Burt felt only faint curiousity at this announcement. That his son hadn't mentioned a friend he'd made barely a week ago didn't really register in his 'Top Five Things to Be Worried About'. It didn't even break his Top Ten. He settled into a chair with Carole right next to him, Mercedes close on his left, and wondered why the hell the doctor was taking so damn long.
Burt became a little more curious about Blaine when the boy burst into their area not twenty minutes later, disheveled and frantic.
"Blaine!" Mercedes had jumped up to greet him, and soon Burt wasn't alone in his interest - Finn and Carole were both eying the boy, and the rest of the Glee club was jerking up from naps or day dreams, all eyes on him as Mercedes made her way over.
He grabbed her upper arms as soon as she was within reach. "Oh God, tell me what happened - is he okay? Is it bad?"
Mercedes was quick to answer. "He's going to be fine. The doctor said they need to wait until he wakes up to know more, but -"
"Wakes up?" Blaine sagged, eyes shutting tightly. He dropped his hands from her, lifting them to cover his face. "God, was it Karofsky? Because I need to talk to -"
"No, it was a friend of his - well, we don't actually know for sure, but it looks like Azimio was the one who did the beating."
Blaine dragged his hands down his cheeks, before letting them fall listlessly to his sides. "I can't believe it. No, that's a lie. I can, I just . . . Kurt -" He opened his eyes, looking about as guilty and distraught as all of Kurt's fellow Glee club members.
Mercedes snatched one hand in her own. "I know."
"He's not . . . no one in the world deserves to be treated like this, but of all . . . I told him to stand up to those douchebags, God." Blaine was shaking his head. "What if that's what happened? He's been taking my advice and getting assaulted and threatened, and I didn't know it was this bad until a few days ago, but I should've said something, made him leave that damn place and -"
"Blaine?" Burt stepped forward, holding his hand out. "I'm Burt Hummel, Kurt's father."
Blaine's mouth snapped shut, his eyes widening. Mercedes took a step back, but she kept a grip on Blaine's hand. Blaine reached over with his free hand to shake Burt's, his grip loose, then firm, then loose again before letting go.
"Oh. Mr. Hummel, sir, I, I'm so sorry, about Kurt. Really, I think I can honestly take the blame for -"
"Kid, the only thing you should feel responsible for is the huge smile on my son's face when he talks about that fancy school of yours," Burt said with a wry smile. "And for helping him out when he wouldn't even talk to me about what was happening."
"I . . . appreciate that, sir, but he wasn't exactly telling me everything either . . . not that I'm blaming him!" He rushed to add, eyes huge in his face. Burt could hear one of the girls giggling somewhere behind him, and a choked off laugh that sounded a bit like Finn. "He's amazing, your son and . . ."
"Blaine, relax," Burt said soothingly, taking a few steps away from the other Glee kids and Carole. Mercedes was tugging Blaine along to follow him. "The only person I'm blaming is the bastard who did this."
"And you're sure it wasn't Karofsky? I mean, I want to believe the guy is just confused and lashing out, because who wants to believe that there are people who are capable of being such total pricks for no other reason than . . . because they're pricks? To hate someone for something beyond their control? Someone like Kurt, who's so . . ."
"Amazing?" Burt was trying very hard to hold back a grin because it felt really inappropriate, but even though his heart was in pieces for the second time in his life, he couldn't help but be amused by this boy.
Blaine's jaw hung open for a second, then he ran a hand through his hair, wincing as he messed up his gelled curls - his hand came away with a noticeable shine. He wiped it on the jacket he was wearing over his school blazer. "I'm sorry, I'm not usually this . . . incoherent. Or inarticulate. Which I suppose could be the same thing. And I could leave, if you would please just call me when -"
"Blaine." Burt shoved him down into a chair a ways from everyone, speaking in a low tone, "You're sticking around as long as you need to and I'm sure Kurt's gonna be real glad you came. But I need to ask you - you're the one who tried to talk to that . . . Karofsky, after what he did to Kurt, right?"
Burt didn't elaborate further, and he was presuming that Mercedes knew about the whole . . . kiss thing - Kurt hadn't mentioned if she did, but he figured that after finally telling his father, he would tell his best friend, if she hadn't known already. Mercedes didn't look curious or confused in the slightest, just kept her focus on Blaine, so he took that to mean that she knew exactly what he was talking about.
Blaine nodded. "I should have made him tell somebody, I assumed . . . I should have realized that things were so much worse than he was telling me. I got the feeling after I met the guy myself. He's big and scared - and angry. But you said it wasn't him who did this?"
"No, no it was his friend," Mercedes repeated. "This asshole named Azimio - but Karofsky might've had something to do with it. There's a girl who saw it all, who called the cops and everything. She's in the hospital right now, talking with some officers, so we'll know soon. I kinda wanna talk to her myself, if she'll let me."
Blaine let out a long breath. "Right. Okay. I'm going to stay, and maybe come by tomorrow, too?" He looked up with a questioning gaze at Burt, who nodded.
"Yeah, c'mon by, in the afternoon would be best. I know it's gonna be a Saturday, but I want you to do something for me tomorrow morning. I need you to get me forms - applications to Dalton. Drop them off at my house, I'll make sure that someone's there to let you in, since I'll be here. Kurt's not going back to McKinley."
Mercedes gasped. "Mr. Hummel -"
"I know, Mercedes, I know. But he isn't safe. I should've done this the first time those jackasses threw him in a dumpster." Blaine flinched at that, surprise flitting across his features. Kurt really hadn't told him too many details, had he? "Now, I know for him to transfer a few months into -"
Blaine was shaking his head. "No sir, there's special admission standards for stuff like this, I know there are. I'll figure it out, and get all the info to you. Kurt's brilliant at everything, so there's bound to be some scholarships and the like, since tuition is probably going to be a bit much for you . . . oh, not that - I don't mean to assume . . . That is -"
Burt couldn't help it, he had to chuckle, rolling eyes as he tried to calm the boy down. "Blaine, I get what you're saying, and I really appreciate you doing this for me. For Kurt."
"Anything, anytime, Mr. Hummel," Blaine said earnestly. His eyes were brightening and he couldn't quite disguise the grin that was overtaking his features. "Kurt's going to fit in so well at Dalton - and it'll afford him so many opportunities, not to mention that he'd be great as a Warbler. I mean, based on that incredible Cheerios' performance at Nationals -"
Mercedes raised her eyebrows. "Kurt told you about that? No, wait, I bet you looked it up, right?"
"It was on ESPN and Sue Sylvester is a local celebrity - a friend of mine found it on YouTube!" Blaine tried to defend himself. Mercedes coughed out something about 'cheerleading uniforms' and Blaine was turning his head, pressing his lips together hard as a pink flush covered his cheeks.
Burt felt his protective father instincts creeping up, but he couldn't help but like this kid - he had been scared that it would be some older, college guy Kurt would drag home as his first boyfriend, or a too-smooth jock, or any other number of guys who seemed the type to take advantage . . . but this guy seemed to be the real deal. Seemed to like his son for who he was and probably didn't even get that he was developing a crush.
"Mr. Hummel?"
Burt blinked, staring at the DVD menu screen, and then turning to face Blaine. Carole was up and heading toward the kitchen with her empty bowl, Mercedes' half-finished tea and Finn's empty plate. Mercedes was dozing lightly and Kurt remained completely passed out. Finn had stood up, stretching, as his cell phone rang with a phone call from Rachel - he excused himself, taking the call in his own room as Rachel demanded in a clear, loud voice an update on Kurt's condition.
Blaine was flicking his gaze back and forth between Burt and Kurt. "I want to thank you for inviting me to your home, even though you don't really know me beyond what Mercedes has told you."
Burt waved off the gratitude. "I trust that girl more than I do most people - if she says you're good people, then I believe it. You gonna hang around for a while longer?"
"If you don't mind - but I can't stay too late, it's a school night and my parents let me have the car with the stipulation that I be back by nine, the latest, so . . . I was hoping that he'd wake up . . . but I don't want to disturb him. I'll probably be coming back throughout the week, if that's all right with you?"
Burt nodded. "Come on by as often as you want, Kurt could really use the cheering up. He's going to be at home for a week, doc's orders. And I still need to straighten out his admission to Dalton - he'll need people around to keep him from going stir crazy. Few years back, when he had the chicken pox, he actually managed to rearrange all the furniture in the house and bedazzle half my clothes out of boredom."
Blaine covered his mouth to smother a loud snort of laughter. He shot a quick, worried look towards Kurt, but the boy didn't even stir.
Burt knew that this exhaustion was normal, and his pain meds made him sleepy on top of that, but it had been almost six hours since he'd heard his son's voice. As if reading his mind, Kurt turned in his sleep, eyes fluttering, then opening, slowly blinking. "Dad?" It was little more than a croak, but it was enough to soothe some of Burt's concern.
"Yeah, kiddo? You still tired? You can keep sleeping if you want to."
"Thought . . . what time is it?" Kurt ran his tongue over his teeth, grimacing. "Ugh, I feel gross."
"It's almost three," Blaine said, causing Kurt to jerk, titling his head in an upside-down way to see over the arm of the couch.
His hair was practically standing on end in some places, and matted down in others. He seemed to realize this after another minute, a hand jumping up to comb through the brown locks. "Blaine!" He sounded nearly distraught, though there was an edge of surprised happiness to his voice.
"I told you I would come by today." Blaine smiled widely, taking in Kurt's sleep ruffled appearance with a subtly roving gaze. Burt chose to ignore that. "Mercedes called me when you got home - she told me you were in and out of sleep so I decided to wait before driving over. How are you doing?"
Kurt swallowed hard, rubbing at his eyes as he sat up, carefully lifting his feet off his sleeping best friend. "I . . . I'm okay. Just ridiculously drowsy thanks to the painkillers. And clearly unmoisturized, unshowered, and a general slovenly disaster to behold."
"No one wakes up at their best," Blaine said cheerily. "And your worst bed-head is nowhere near mine! You should see this" - he pointed at his heavily styled hair - "first thing in the morning. It's like some kind of monster from a B horror movie. Bet I beat you in time spent in front of mirrors."
Burt snorted. "I'd like to take that bet. There's a reason why the kid has his own bathroom."
Kurt glared at his father, with all the power of a fluffed up and irritated kitten. Burt sat up straight in his armchair, crossing his arms. "Am I lying? What time do you get up every morning, kiddo, just to mess with your hair? C'mon, let's hear it."
Kurt turned a deaf ear to him and focused on his new friend, a little less self-conscious in the face of Blaine's self-deprecating humour. "When did you get here?"
"About an hour ago. Watched the last bit of A Philadelphia Story. Carole told me all about your love of Jimmy Stewart."
Kurt groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Less than an hour and already the embarrassing stories come out." He peeked between his fingers at Burt. "If you brought out the albums from my kindergarten years, I'll have to disown you, father."
"Haven't had the time, but now that you mention it . . ."
Kurt whined high in his throat. "I should've stayed asleep." He slumped down, accidentally jostling Mercedes, who also took her time in waking up.
She shifted towards Kurt, opening her eyes and reaching out to pat his hair, and Burt thought it was way too funny that the first words out of her mouth were: "You wanna head down to your bathroom, honey?" She yawned, stretching out the kinks in her back and legs. "We'll get you all prettied up before your hair attacks me."
Blaine laughed out loud at Kurt's indignant expression. "Your best friend is way more awesome than mine. Oh, that reminds me." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small envelope. "Wes and David told me to give this to you."
Kurt blinked. "What?"
"Wes? David? They were -"
"I remember who they are," Kurt interrupted, licking his dry lips. "I just . . . for me?"
Blaine handed him the envelope. "Well, yeah, Kurt. I told them yesterday what happened - they were the ones who helped get all the admission and scholarship information for your dad. David's dad is pretty tight with a lot of Dalton alumni and administrators. I haven't read what they wrote though, they made me promise not to."
Kurt was opening the envelope, pulling out a plain, dark blue card that had 'Thinking of You' written across the front in simple gold lettering. He opened it and read for a moment before a small smile tugged at his lips. He handed the card over to Mercedes, who had been nudging him to get a look at it. She giggled when she read it, and then she was passing it over to Burt. Blaine was eying their expressions and the card somewhat apprehensively. Burt took it, seeing the two different sets of handwriting:
Kurt,
Blaine has essentially told us your life's story, or at least what he knows about you based on your own tales, and what Google had to offer (which was a rather astounding fourteen minutes of French-singing and cartwheels) so we feel like we've gotten to know you vicariously through him.
Which is why we're worried about you, angry about what happened, and completely on board with you transferring over here. We promise that you're going to love our school and we'll make damn sure you join the Warblers, because you've got talent (despite your lackluster spy skills).
Welcome to Dalton, future Warbler-Kurt,
Wes and David
P.S. Blaine isn't some kind of freaky stalker. He Googles everyone - it's one of his go-to boredom cures. However, I think that cheerleading video went from fifty thousand to a hundred thousand views from the number of times he watched it.
Please, don't show him this card - he'll get incredibly annoyed and that may compromise his rehearsals for Sectionals.
Burt was feeling even more comfortable with his decision to send his son to this school; Kurt already had a group of friends he could hang out with, and they seemed to be just as . . . interesting as his Glee club, though he knew Kurt was, and would likely remain, ripped up about missing his McKinley friends, particularly Mercedes. He put the card on the coffee table, watching the three teenagers interact. Kurt was laughing at something Blaine was saying, and Mercedes was jumping into the conversation, winking at Kurt when Blaine was focused elsewhere, causing Kurt to either roll his eyes or pointedly not look at her.
The doorbell rang again, and this time Burt was the one to volunteer to get it. He didn't want to interrupt Kurt's time with his friends; this was the first time in forty-eight hours he'd seen his son smile without it seeming forced or a cover for something else.
He opened the door, and there was the girl - Eva? Ana? - the one who'd saved his son's life. She was leaning heavily on a pair of crutches, and chewing on her lower lip nervously.
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Next: Chapter 7 (Second Half)
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Chapter 7: Drown My Sorrow (Previous: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6)
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Burt was watching his son.
Kurt was asleep on the couch, hardly moving, but clearly breathing.
Burt had been doing that a lot for the past couple days, starting in the hospital room, and now that his kid was home - watching Kurt, being around Kurt, not capable of stepping away for more than the few minutes it took him to go to the bathroom or take a shower. To get him a glass of water. To grab his painkillers.
Carole was sitting opposite Burt on the loveseat, watching both him and his son. Her eyes did that gleaming thing they did whenever they looked Kurt's way. She had cried for hours after Burt had called her from the hospital; she'd shown up and fussed over Finn, tears still pouring down her face. And she'd been angry too. Extremely so.
Something he and everyone who knew Kurt had in common.
How could this happen? Who let it happen? Why did it happen at all?
Mercedes came into the room, holding a mug of hot tea and sitting back down in her previous position with Kurt's huge feet in her lap. She smiled at both Burt and Carole. Finn came in next, holding a plate of cookies. Just for him, Burt thought, amused. Carole was already munching on a bowl of popcorn and Burt couldn't have any more sugary crap. Wonderful sugary crap. Even just one, apparently.
"No, Burt," Carole said softly from across the room. Mercedes snorted into her hand as Burt shot his girlfriend a plaintive look.
Finn sat down on the floor, next to Mercedes' legs, and started eating the cookies, oblivious. The movie, A Philadelphia Story, was playing, the volume so low it was practically muted. Kurt had fallen asleep less than half way through and, for some reason, none of them bothered to turn it off. They just let it go on, half watching the screen, half watching Kurt dozing. Mostly watching Kurt.
Mercedes was tenderly stroking her best friend's legs, sipping on her tea, eyes glazed over as she turned to the screen.
The first person Burt had bumped into at the hospital had been Mercedes, and she had been a mess, possessed in equal parts by anger and grief.
Burt ripped into that place fast enough to frighten the crap out of two orderlies hanging around the emergency room doors - they practically fell over as he breezed past them, a blur of panic. He was opening his mouth, preparing to yell for his son, for anyone who might know where he was, when another equally, if not faster blur ran into him.
"Oh God, Mr. Hummel, oh, Kurt." Then there was crying and Burt's arms were coming up, hugging Mercedes tightly for a brief moment before pulling her back and bending to look her in the eye.
"Mercedes, tell me, tell me what happened! Is he okay?"
It took a minute for her to calm down enough to speak, and in the meantime her cries were incomprehensible, a jumble of words and noises. He waited with all the patience he could muster.
"He's . . . he's alive, and stable." Mercedes breathed in deeply. "But the doctors say that they won't talk to anyone but you and . . ."
"Okay," he said, and that was a start, but not nearly enough to satisfy him. He caught sight of a desk, surrounded by nurses and other staff, and started to march over to it.
"Mr. Hummel." Mercedes grabbed onto his arm, squeezing tightly. "He . . ." She swallowed hard, but the tears kept pouring down her face, "He was unconscious and there was blood, and I'm sorry, I know you're freaking out right now, but I just . . . he's my best friend and can I just . . . can I be with you when you go see the doctor? Please. I can't . . ." The girl was wheezing by this point, as if her throat was closing up. "It's too much and I can't stand another second of not knowing. Please."
Burt wrapped his hand around hers, tugging her along. "Let's go, Mercedes."
He walked up to the nurses and asked for his son, and as he saw them whip into action to track down the doctor responsible for Kurt, he turned to the girl, asking lowly, "The person or people who did this to him?"
"That girl who saved him - the cops are talking to her right now - she said it was just one . . . Azimio." Her voice went ice cold, shaking like she was, but oddly detached too. "He better pray the cops find him first, Mr. Hummel, 'cause with all due respect to you and your shotgun, I want to take him apart. Nice and slow. And I've got about a dozen other people who want a piece of him."
The rage in her eyes was almost frightening - no teenager should know that level of anger. Or sadness. Burt couldn't find it in him to be intimidated or worried by her, because given half a chance, he would do the same. He would do things these kids couldn't even fathom to the piece of crap that dared hurt his child.
"We're gonna take care of Kurt first, Mercedes," he said softly. And then we'll rip into the little bastard that did this, he promised himself darkly. Whether or not it would happen was inconsequential - the rage kept him from breaking into tears, kept him from falling to his knees and begging any and all deities to spare his son any more pain, to keep Kurt alive and whole.
Burt watched the girl now as she sipped her drink and cast a searching eye on Kurt every few seconds. The rage in her had dimmed once she knew that Kurt was going to be fine; she had been sitting, content and calm, in the back of the SUV with his son as they drove back from the hospital early that morning. Mercedes filled the silence, chattering away about this celebrity or that red-carpet outfit. Kurt had been smiling a little and making small one-sentence comments here and there. Burt was so grateful to this amazing teenager - this amazing young woman who so loved his son.
"Hey, uh, mom, do you think Kurt will care if I finish off those cookies you made him?" Finn said, looking up from a now empty plate. Burt couldn't help making a face - as great as Carole was at baking, he firmly believed in high sugar content when it came to cookies and cakes, otherwise, what was the point?
"Go on, Finn." Carole exchanged a fond smile with Burt over her son's head. "I can always make more."
Finn leapt to his feet at that announcement, pausing to ask if Mercedes wanted some too. She shook her head as he walked around the couch to head towards the kitchen. He took a second on his way to tuck the blanket around Kurt a little higher up, to just under the boy's chin.
Burt was grinning ear to ear, and Carole was too, while wiping discretely at a stray tear.
When Burt had come upon Finn (and the rest of Kurt's glee club) at the hospital, it had been the one thing that could distract him from the doctor's description of his son's injuries.
It took Burt a long time to calm down after Dr. Macaulay described every bit of suffering his son was going through - the hypothermia (what the hell?), the head injury, the cracked ribs, and the details pertaining to each one. All the anger, fear and grief had mixed into a lead ball of nausea and he couldn't, just could not deal with it. He'd forgotten about Mercedes at his side, who was crying again, cursing between sobs and praying when she managed to calm herself down once more.
After the doctor's reassurances that Kurt would likely be okay (though it depended on when and how he woke up), that soon he could go into the room and sit with his kid, Burt managed to slowly come back to the real world - enough to actually take in his surroundings.
Which included various police officers and paramedics - and at least half, no, wait, all of the Glee club. He spotted Finn, who was sitting in a corner, fuming, with an officer . . . standing guard?
"Finn?" He approached the boy, Finn's head whipping up, apparently seeing Burt for the first time.
"Burt!" He jumped to his feet, the officer next to him saying nothing, but still keeping an evaluating stare on him as Burt came to stand in front of the tall teenager. He took stock of the black eye, the bruised and bleeding knuckles, the tape around his wrist and his stiff posture.
"Jesus, I thought that it was just Kurt." Burt reached out, putting a careful hand on Finn's shoulder. "You okay, buddy?"
Finn shook his head, dismissing Burt's concern, but he covered the hand on his shoulder with his own. "I'm fine, forget about me, how's Kurt?"
"He'll be okay, the doctor says." Burt was trying to reassure himself even as he was reassuring Finn. "But, c'mon now, you haven't told me what happened."
"I don't know exactly what happened to Kurt, but when the police and the ambulance showed up . . . The teachers tried to keep us in class, but we went to the hallway anyway, and then they were keeping everyone away from the locker room, and first they wheeled this girl out, and she was crying and stuff. And then . . ." Finn mouthed wordlessly, staring over Burt's shoulder. "Then came Kurt. And we all just freaked out. Mercedes wouldn't let them take him, she just kept screaming 'who did this?' and that girl, she started screaming at a few of the guys on the football team - she said Azimio had done it and they were all denying that Azimio would do something like this. I just . . . I couldn't stop staring at the blood. And how white he was."
Finn was looking green at this, and Burt could relate - he didn't think he would ever be able to get rid of the sick feeling in his stomach. "I saw Karofsky, and he's like, Azimio's best friend, and he tortures Kurt just as bad, and I . . . I lost it. I threw the first punch. And then everything just exploded."
"It was actually pretty awesome, Mr. Hummel."
Burt turned to see Artie being wheeled over by Brittany, who looked a little the worse for the wear herself. Artie was sporting a bruise high on his forehead, and he was squinting - his glasses were missing.
"Finn starts whaling on Karofsky and a bunch of the guys on the football team and some hockey jocks were either trying to stop him, or hitting him. When we all tried to help, it was like the whole school got in on it."
"I broke Adam Silverman's nose," Brittany announced. "And then I told him Kurt was a better kisser than him. Which is true. And he has duck-fat soft baby hands. But I didn't get to tell Adam that. Puck tackled him before I could."
A curtain whipped open somewhere further down from them, and a male nurse was complaining, "You need to sit down! That -"
"My head is fine, dude," Puck growled - Burt saw the mohawk before he saw the blood-splattered shirt. "I didn't even black out. Unlike that douchebag that I -"
"Shut the fuck up, Puckerman." Now it was that Latina cheerleader, coming around a corner, tugging her jacket up over her shoulders, a few bruises dotting the right side of her face. As she got closer, Burt saw she was also sporting bloodstained clothes, and her face had smudges of it around and on her lips. "There are a bunch of cops around, you moron."
She smiled winningly at a couple of the officers staring at Mokawk Boy suspiciously. "He's babbling nonsense - head injury." The cops found somewhere else to stare. Burt figured it was the fact that the blood smeared on her mouth was somewhat off putting, especially considering she had no split lip or missing teeth or bloody nose.
He took further stock of his surroundings. He saw the new blonde kid - Sam - getting his knuckles looked at, the doctor disinfecting the deep scrapes that covered them. Quinn was at his side - her lip was split and bleeding but she seemed fine otherwise. There was Mike Chang, with Tina standing by him, and a doctor checking his wrist and shoulder, before telling him he'd dislocated the shoulder; Burt couldn't help but wincing, because that was going to hurt like a bitch, and then some.
The police milling around seemed to be keeping an eye on all the kids, including a few Burt didn't recognize, as they weren't part of the Glee club, and so were likely either the jock side of this battle or collateral damage. Finn was the only one who had his own personal escort, though, which didn't sit well with him.
He faced the cop. "Look, this boy here is my responsibility - any reason why you can't leave him with me?"
The officer shifted uncomfortably under Burt's stare. "He may or may not be charged with assault. The boy he attacked is still unconscious and here at the hospital -"
"That . . . boy," Burt managed not to say 'bastard', but only just, "may be an accomplice in my son's assault. Finn here is good friends with my kid and I'm dating his mom, so he's practically family too. I think you can understand his reaction now. I'll take care of him - he won't be skipping town or nothing if that . . . boy's . . . parents want to press charges."
Mercedes had been silent up until this point, but she snorted incredulously at that. "Karofsky press charges? After all the crap he's put Kurt through and Finn giving him his just desserts and now he -" She broke off, growling angrily. Burt nodded along, putting a hand on her shoulder. She smiled briefly at him before crossing her arms and glaring at the cop.
That's when he noticed her bruised knuckles.
It made him grin suddenly. Finn caught his eye, and then glanced pointedly at Mercedes and back again. He was grinning too, and mouthing something over her head: 'Really damn scary.'
Burt pulled her to his side and led Finn away from the officer without another word. The glee club fell in line or at least those that weren't under the charge of nurses or doctors. Mercedes started to ramble about how Finn had totally kicked Karofsky's ass - no contest - and how most of the school had taken their side - the loser side - and completely dominated the jocks. Finn broke in now and again with Figgins' reaction. Schuester apparently was in another part of the hospital, getting stitches put in his head after one jock didn't respond kindly to being restrained and shoved the man hard against an open locker, slicing his temple.
The ringing of the doorbell jerked Burt out of his reminiscing. He immediately looked towards Kurt, but his kid was still passed out; he didn't do more than make a disgruntled noise and turn to face the back of the couch. Mercedes winced as one of his feet jabbed her in the side, but once he stilled she just resettled herself, resuming her even strokes.
Finn stood up to answer the door and while he did that, Burt glanced up at the clock - it was only two in the afternoon. They'd brought Kurt home from the hospital at around nine that morning and Burt, despite several hours of being back in his own house, everyone present and accounted for, couldn't quite make peace with the idea that the worst was over with. Some part of his mind kept to that plain white room, with his unconscious son. He didn't think he'd ever be able to shake that off - not ever. That lead ball was still in his belly and even glancing over at his slumbering boy every few seconds didn't ease the ever-present nausea in him. Not with those bruises colouring Kurt's face, the nasty cut on his temple, and the slight twitches when he jostled his injured ribs.
"Hello, Mr. Hummel, Mrs. Hudson," came a soft, polite tone from over his shoulder.
Burt turned in his armchair to see Finn leading Blaine into the living room. The boy was out of uniform, dressed in jeans and a fancy sweater, sort of like a few of the tamer ones that Kurt owned. He was also shifting a bit on his feet, his eyes flicking to each person in the room, a charming half-smile for all of them, and a slightly wider one for Mercedes.
Finn pointed towards the couch and Blaine leaned up onto the balls of his feet to see Kurt sprawled there, asleep. Burt saw both guilt and relief twist the boy's features; it was an odd combination, but then again, Blaine did seem to feel that this was all his fault somehow - something Burt saw in the other Glee kids too. Burt had heard more apologies in the past two days than he figured a Catholic priest heard in a year.
Burt gestured towards Carole, who was patting the seat next to her and closest to Kurt without sitting on the floor, like Finn was doing. Burt had to smile as he watched Finn resuming his steady consumption of his not-really-cookie cookies.
Blaine shot her a grateful look, taking his seat and casting a vaguely interested glance towards the screen, his own smile returning as he watched Katherine Hepburn and Jimmy Stewart swaying drunkenly to music.
"Kurt and I had a debate about which movie was better - this one, or the musical remake with Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly," Blaine said quietly.
"Kurt probably liked this one better." Carole offered some of her popcorn to Blaine, who took a few kernels.
He leaned back onto the cushions. "Yeah, but he never got around to telling me why."
Carole grinned. "Because Jimmy Stewart was one of his first crushes - he was a goner the first time he saw It's a Wonderful Life, he told me. I think he's on the look-out for a guy who can lasso the moon for him."
Burt gave a muted chuckle as Blaine's eyes crinkled with a hidden smile, shooting his sleeping son an adoring look that Burt had, up until now, only seen on the faces of Kurt's best friends, and Carole on occasion.
Whether it was based on just a simple, platonic liking of his son, or if it was more, he couldn't tell . . . But considering how incredibly freaked out the kid had been on Friday, so much the opposite of this self-possessed boy sitting in his living room right now? Burt was willing to bet his share of the garage that Blaine was feeling more for his son than friendship - even if he didn't fully realize it yet.
Mercedes had been sitting next to him, silent and no longer shaking. Carole was sitting on his other side, clutching his hand and clenching her jaw periodically. He'd called her less than fifteen minutes before, and she'd shown up, worried out of her mind for her son and Kurt, crying and trying not to at the same time as she wrapped Finn up in her arms, and then, when Burt had choked out what had happened to Kurt, at least what little he knew . . .
"Are you serious? That's unacceptable - how in the hell could Figgins let things get this far?" she had hissed. "No, we need to call a lawyer, right now, because there is no way the bastard that did this to Kurt can get away with it! Figgins and the school board need to be held accountable. Those stupid assholes need to -"
Burt had never been more in love with the woman than he had been right then. He grabbed her and held her close, breathing in harshly, holding back tears again. Mercedes had interrupted the tender embrace with an abrupt gasp.
They both jerked apart, looking towards her questioningly. She waved Kurt's phone at them.
The police had given it to Burt not too long ago. It had been tossed in a garbage can outside the locker room, and apparently they had noted it in their report but weren't going to keep it as evidence. The officer who had handed it to him had been fuzzy on the details; Burt had the feeling the man was bending some rules for him, so he'd smiled gratefully and accepted the iPhone, then promptly handed it to Mercedes for safe-keeping because he knew he'd likely forget it somewhere, his mind scattered as it was.
"Sorry," the girl apologized, clutching Kurt's cell tightly. "I just turned it on and, um, there's like a billion messages from Blaine, so I'm going to -"
"Blaine?" Burt gave her a blank look, "Who's Blaine?"
Mercedes lifted a hand to her mouth. "Oh . . . uh, Kurt didn't mention him to you?"
Burt shook his head, lifting an eyebrow as Mercedes bit her lip, avoiding his gaze while fiddling with Kurt's phone.
"Should he have?"
Mercedes lifted the phone to her ear, still not meeting his eyes. "He's . . . a new friend of Kurt's from Dalton."
"That all-boy place? The one he was 'spying' on?"
Mercedes nodded, but just as she opened her mouth to say something more, the faint sound of someone answering on the other end of the line cut her off.
"No, Blaine - I'm Mercedes." She smiled briefly at the floor in response to whatever the boy said. "Yeah, I'm his best girl. But . . . no. That's not it. Blaine, Kurt." Her voice thickened, and Burt and Carole reached out simultaneously to comfort her. She received the hands on her shoulders with closed eyes. "He's in the hospital. Someone hurt him and - what? What did you - St. Anne's Hospital. But, Blaine -" Mercedes pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the screen. "I think he's actually on his way."
Burt felt only faint curiousity at this announcement. That his son hadn't mentioned a friend he'd made barely a week ago didn't really register in his 'Top Five Things to Be Worried About'. It didn't even break his Top Ten. He settled into a chair with Carole right next to him, Mercedes close on his left, and wondered why the hell the doctor was taking so damn long.
Burt became a little more curious about Blaine when the boy burst into their area not twenty minutes later, disheveled and frantic.
"Blaine!" Mercedes had jumped up to greet him, and soon Burt wasn't alone in his interest - Finn and Carole were both eying the boy, and the rest of the Glee club was jerking up from naps or day dreams, all eyes on him as Mercedes made her way over.
He grabbed her upper arms as soon as she was within reach. "Oh God, tell me what happened - is he okay? Is it bad?"
Mercedes was quick to answer. "He's going to be fine. The doctor said they need to wait until he wakes up to know more, but -"
"Wakes up?" Blaine sagged, eyes shutting tightly. He dropped his hands from her, lifting them to cover his face. "God, was it Karofsky? Because I need to talk to -"
"No, it was a friend of his - well, we don't actually know for sure, but it looks like Azimio was the one who did the beating."
Blaine dragged his hands down his cheeks, before letting them fall listlessly to his sides. "I can't believe it. No, that's a lie. I can, I just . . . Kurt -" He opened his eyes, looking about as guilty and distraught as all of Kurt's fellow Glee club members.
Mercedes snatched one hand in her own. "I know."
"He's not . . . no one in the world deserves to be treated like this, but of all . . . I told him to stand up to those douchebags, God." Blaine was shaking his head. "What if that's what happened? He's been taking my advice and getting assaulted and threatened, and I didn't know it was this bad until a few days ago, but I should've said something, made him leave that damn place and -"
"Blaine?" Burt stepped forward, holding his hand out. "I'm Burt Hummel, Kurt's father."
Blaine's mouth snapped shut, his eyes widening. Mercedes took a step back, but she kept a grip on Blaine's hand. Blaine reached over with his free hand to shake Burt's, his grip loose, then firm, then loose again before letting go.
"Oh. Mr. Hummel, sir, I, I'm so sorry, about Kurt. Really, I think I can honestly take the blame for -"
"Kid, the only thing you should feel responsible for is the huge smile on my son's face when he talks about that fancy school of yours," Burt said with a wry smile. "And for helping him out when he wouldn't even talk to me about what was happening."
"I . . . appreciate that, sir, but he wasn't exactly telling me everything either . . . not that I'm blaming him!" He rushed to add, eyes huge in his face. Burt could hear one of the girls giggling somewhere behind him, and a choked off laugh that sounded a bit like Finn. "He's amazing, your son and . . ."
"Blaine, relax," Burt said soothingly, taking a few steps away from the other Glee kids and Carole. Mercedes was tugging Blaine along to follow him. "The only person I'm blaming is the bastard who did this."
"And you're sure it wasn't Karofsky? I mean, I want to believe the guy is just confused and lashing out, because who wants to believe that there are people who are capable of being such total pricks for no other reason than . . . because they're pricks? To hate someone for something beyond their control? Someone like Kurt, who's so . . ."
"Amazing?" Burt was trying very hard to hold back a grin because it felt really inappropriate, but even though his heart was in pieces for the second time in his life, he couldn't help but be amused by this boy.
Blaine's jaw hung open for a second, then he ran a hand through his hair, wincing as he messed up his gelled curls - his hand came away with a noticeable shine. He wiped it on the jacket he was wearing over his school blazer. "I'm sorry, I'm not usually this . . . incoherent. Or inarticulate. Which I suppose could be the same thing. And I could leave, if you would please just call me when -"
"Blaine." Burt shoved him down into a chair a ways from everyone, speaking in a low tone, "You're sticking around as long as you need to and I'm sure Kurt's gonna be real glad you came. But I need to ask you - you're the one who tried to talk to that . . . Karofsky, after what he did to Kurt, right?"
Burt didn't elaborate further, and he was presuming that Mercedes knew about the whole . . . kiss thing - Kurt hadn't mentioned if she did, but he figured that after finally telling his father, he would tell his best friend, if she hadn't known already. Mercedes didn't look curious or confused in the slightest, just kept her focus on Blaine, so he took that to mean that she knew exactly what he was talking about.
Blaine nodded. "I should have made him tell somebody, I assumed . . . I should have realized that things were so much worse than he was telling me. I got the feeling after I met the guy myself. He's big and scared - and angry. But you said it wasn't him who did this?"
"No, no it was his friend," Mercedes repeated. "This asshole named Azimio - but Karofsky might've had something to do with it. There's a girl who saw it all, who called the cops and everything. She's in the hospital right now, talking with some officers, so we'll know soon. I kinda wanna talk to her myself, if she'll let me."
Blaine let out a long breath. "Right. Okay. I'm going to stay, and maybe come by tomorrow, too?" He looked up with a questioning gaze at Burt, who nodded.
"Yeah, c'mon by, in the afternoon would be best. I know it's gonna be a Saturday, but I want you to do something for me tomorrow morning. I need you to get me forms - applications to Dalton. Drop them off at my house, I'll make sure that someone's there to let you in, since I'll be here. Kurt's not going back to McKinley."
Mercedes gasped. "Mr. Hummel -"
"I know, Mercedes, I know. But he isn't safe. I should've done this the first time those jackasses threw him in a dumpster." Blaine flinched at that, surprise flitting across his features. Kurt really hadn't told him too many details, had he? "Now, I know for him to transfer a few months into -"
Blaine was shaking his head. "No sir, there's special admission standards for stuff like this, I know there are. I'll figure it out, and get all the info to you. Kurt's brilliant at everything, so there's bound to be some scholarships and the like, since tuition is probably going to be a bit much for you . . . oh, not that - I don't mean to assume . . . That is -"
Burt couldn't help it, he had to chuckle, rolling eyes as he tried to calm the boy down. "Blaine, I get what you're saying, and I really appreciate you doing this for me. For Kurt."
"Anything, anytime, Mr. Hummel," Blaine said earnestly. His eyes were brightening and he couldn't quite disguise the grin that was overtaking his features. "Kurt's going to fit in so well at Dalton - and it'll afford him so many opportunities, not to mention that he'd be great as a Warbler. I mean, based on that incredible Cheerios' performance at Nationals -"
Mercedes raised her eyebrows. "Kurt told you about that? No, wait, I bet you looked it up, right?"
"It was on ESPN and Sue Sylvester is a local celebrity - a friend of mine found it on YouTube!" Blaine tried to defend himself. Mercedes coughed out something about 'cheerleading uniforms' and Blaine was turning his head, pressing his lips together hard as a pink flush covered his cheeks.
Burt felt his protective father instincts creeping up, but he couldn't help but like this kid - he had been scared that it would be some older, college guy Kurt would drag home as his first boyfriend, or a too-smooth jock, or any other number of guys who seemed the type to take advantage . . . but this guy seemed to be the real deal. Seemed to like his son for who he was and probably didn't even get that he was developing a crush.
"Mr. Hummel?"
Burt blinked, staring at the DVD menu screen, and then turning to face Blaine. Carole was up and heading toward the kitchen with her empty bowl, Mercedes' half-finished tea and Finn's empty plate. Mercedes was dozing lightly and Kurt remained completely passed out. Finn had stood up, stretching, as his cell phone rang with a phone call from Rachel - he excused himself, taking the call in his own room as Rachel demanded in a clear, loud voice an update on Kurt's condition.
Blaine was flicking his gaze back and forth between Burt and Kurt. "I want to thank you for inviting me to your home, even though you don't really know me beyond what Mercedes has told you."
Burt waved off the gratitude. "I trust that girl more than I do most people - if she says you're good people, then I believe it. You gonna hang around for a while longer?"
"If you don't mind - but I can't stay too late, it's a school night and my parents let me have the car with the stipulation that I be back by nine, the latest, so . . . I was hoping that he'd wake up . . . but I don't want to disturb him. I'll probably be coming back throughout the week, if that's all right with you?"
Burt nodded. "Come on by as often as you want, Kurt could really use the cheering up. He's going to be at home for a week, doc's orders. And I still need to straighten out his admission to Dalton - he'll need people around to keep him from going stir crazy. Few years back, when he had the chicken pox, he actually managed to rearrange all the furniture in the house and bedazzle half my clothes out of boredom."
Blaine covered his mouth to smother a loud snort of laughter. He shot a quick, worried look towards Kurt, but the boy didn't even stir.
Burt knew that this exhaustion was normal, and his pain meds made him sleepy on top of that, but it had been almost six hours since he'd heard his son's voice. As if reading his mind, Kurt turned in his sleep, eyes fluttering, then opening, slowly blinking. "Dad?" It was little more than a croak, but it was enough to soothe some of Burt's concern.
"Yeah, kiddo? You still tired? You can keep sleeping if you want to."
"Thought . . . what time is it?" Kurt ran his tongue over his teeth, grimacing. "Ugh, I feel gross."
"It's almost three," Blaine said, causing Kurt to jerk, titling his head in an upside-down way to see over the arm of the couch.
His hair was practically standing on end in some places, and matted down in others. He seemed to realize this after another minute, a hand jumping up to comb through the brown locks. "Blaine!" He sounded nearly distraught, though there was an edge of surprised happiness to his voice.
"I told you I would come by today." Blaine smiled widely, taking in Kurt's sleep ruffled appearance with a subtly roving gaze. Burt chose to ignore that. "Mercedes called me when you got home - she told me you were in and out of sleep so I decided to wait before driving over. How are you doing?"
Kurt swallowed hard, rubbing at his eyes as he sat up, carefully lifting his feet off his sleeping best friend. "I . . . I'm okay. Just ridiculously drowsy thanks to the painkillers. And clearly unmoisturized, unshowered, and a general slovenly disaster to behold."
"No one wakes up at their best," Blaine said cheerily. "And your worst bed-head is nowhere near mine! You should see this" - he pointed at his heavily styled hair - "first thing in the morning. It's like some kind of monster from a B horror movie. Bet I beat you in time spent in front of mirrors."
Burt snorted. "I'd like to take that bet. There's a reason why the kid has his own bathroom."
Kurt glared at his father, with all the power of a fluffed up and irritated kitten. Burt sat up straight in his armchair, crossing his arms. "Am I lying? What time do you get up every morning, kiddo, just to mess with your hair? C'mon, let's hear it."
Kurt turned a deaf ear to him and focused on his new friend, a little less self-conscious in the face of Blaine's self-deprecating humour. "When did you get here?"
"About an hour ago. Watched the last bit of A Philadelphia Story. Carole told me all about your love of Jimmy Stewart."
Kurt groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Less than an hour and already the embarrassing stories come out." He peeked between his fingers at Burt. "If you brought out the albums from my kindergarten years, I'll have to disown you, father."
"Haven't had the time, but now that you mention it . . ."
Kurt whined high in his throat. "I should've stayed asleep." He slumped down, accidentally jostling Mercedes, who also took her time in waking up.
She shifted towards Kurt, opening her eyes and reaching out to pat his hair, and Burt thought it was way too funny that the first words out of her mouth were: "You wanna head down to your bathroom, honey?" She yawned, stretching out the kinks in her back and legs. "We'll get you all prettied up before your hair attacks me."
Blaine laughed out loud at Kurt's indignant expression. "Your best friend is way more awesome than mine. Oh, that reminds me." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small envelope. "Wes and David told me to give this to you."
Kurt blinked. "What?"
"Wes? David? They were -"
"I remember who they are," Kurt interrupted, licking his dry lips. "I just . . . for me?"
Blaine handed him the envelope. "Well, yeah, Kurt. I told them yesterday what happened - they were the ones who helped get all the admission and scholarship information for your dad. David's dad is pretty tight with a lot of Dalton alumni and administrators. I haven't read what they wrote though, they made me promise not to."
Kurt was opening the envelope, pulling out a plain, dark blue card that had 'Thinking of You' written across the front in simple gold lettering. He opened it and read for a moment before a small smile tugged at his lips. He handed the card over to Mercedes, who had been nudging him to get a look at it. She giggled when she read it, and then she was passing it over to Burt. Blaine was eying their expressions and the card somewhat apprehensively. Burt took it, seeing the two different sets of handwriting:
Kurt,
Blaine has essentially told us your life's story, or at least what he knows about you based on your own tales, and what Google had to offer (which was a rather astounding fourteen minutes of French-singing and cartwheels) so we feel like we've gotten to know you vicariously through him.
Which is why we're worried about you, angry about what happened, and completely on board with you transferring over here. We promise that you're going to love our school and we'll make damn sure you join the Warblers, because you've got talent (despite your lackluster spy skills).
Welcome to Dalton, future Warbler-Kurt,
Wes and David
P.S. Blaine isn't some kind of freaky stalker. He Googles everyone - it's one of his go-to boredom cures. However, I think that cheerleading video went from fifty thousand to a hundred thousand views from the number of times he watched it.
Please, don't show him this card - he'll get incredibly annoyed and that may compromise his rehearsals for Sectionals.
Burt was feeling even more comfortable with his decision to send his son to this school; Kurt already had a group of friends he could hang out with, and they seemed to be just as . . . interesting as his Glee club, though he knew Kurt was, and would likely remain, ripped up about missing his McKinley friends, particularly Mercedes. He put the card on the coffee table, watching the three teenagers interact. Kurt was laughing at something Blaine was saying, and Mercedes was jumping into the conversation, winking at Kurt when Blaine was focused elsewhere, causing Kurt to either roll his eyes or pointedly not look at her.
The doorbell rang again, and this time Burt was the one to volunteer to get it. He didn't want to interrupt Kurt's time with his friends; this was the first time in forty-eight hours he'd seen his son smile without it seeming forced or a cover for something else.
He opened the door, and there was the girl - Eva? Ana? - the one who'd saved his son's life. She was leaning heavily on a pair of crutches, and chewing on her lower lip nervously.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Next: Chapter 7 (Second Half)