Title: The Devil in the Details
Author:
NeaisloveSummary: Kurt unknowingly makes a deal with a demon.
Word Count: 6,867
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Very brief mentions of religion.
There were times when Kurt believed in demons, in malevolence and macabre creatures that fed on sadness. It didn't lend itself to his beliefs on God so he went back to focusing on man. On how men made his life hell and how men treated him like trash because he found them attractive. Then something singularly devastating would happen and he'd think back to the monsters lurking in the shadows that so obviously lived on his despair. Now was one of those times. He could almost see them at night, amorphous blobs in the dark corners of his father's hospital room. Logically he knew there was nothing there. He was running on fumes. He'd gotten so bad lately that even a nurse had taken notice. Not that she'd been any great help. Her gentle suggestion to go home to his mother had not been taken well. Kurt had no one to go home to. His friends stood united in either their disgust for his lack of faith or their preference to avoid all fighting. He was being stonewalled. Even Mr. Schuester kept away, both a blessing and an annoyance. Carole, similarly, had been no help at all.
After one week at Burt's bedside, cooing halfhearted gospels she'd left a message on his answering machine explaining curtly that she had no desire to watch another man she loved die. Now, well into week three of Burt's coma, Finn had began sharing with Puck that his mother had caught the eye of her old lawn guy again. Then something about his ex leaving for Dayton. Kurt bitterly yearned for the chance to bump into her again in public. Every morning when he passed by her house on the way to school he imagined the ways he could humiliate her, make her see what she'd done to him. To his father. He dreamed about crying and accusations that would make her flush and protest while onlookers judged her. He dreamed about slapping her in the face so hard she'd snap her head to the side. Once he'd even dreamed of tightening the soft crème scarf she loved so much around her neck until she choked to death. But that had been late at night after a grueling day at the garage and full three hours of Rachel Berry screaming that he wasn't good enough for sectionals. Sometimes Kurt wondered if she was one of the demons feeding off of him.
It was barren in the hospital room, as desolate and faceless as Kurt felt. Angered at his so called friend's united anti-Kurt front he'd thrown all their flowers and cards in the trash. He hadn't had a chance to bring new flowers himself. Between school and glee and the garage he barely had time to eat before he had to turn around and start it all over again. He couldn't bring things from home. It made things too permanent, too final. So there were no distractions, no splashes of color besides the nurses uniforms and the vivid green light on the heart monitor. That was what he watched most, the steady green peaks that scrawled across the screen felt more real to him than his father's barely moving chest and ashen face.
“Amazing isn't it? How far medicine has come.”
Kurt starts and turns to face the man speaking in the doorway. Or teenager, his eyes made it hard to tell. The stranger is leaning against the door frame, one ankle casually across the other. His dark hair is slicked back, shining in the fluorescent light. “Excuse me?”
“Medicine, society, humans. Things have changed. There was a time when your father would already be in the ground.” The cool, nonchalant tone in the strangers voice sends a spark of hot anger through Kurt. He stands and clasps his father's hand in his own.
“This isn't the room you're looking for. Leave.” The stranger smiles at him, all of his teeth brilliant white and straight. “Now.” The stranger smiled again and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Kurt itched to call for security or a nurse. The call button was inches from his grasp but he remained still.
“This is exactly the room I'm looking for.” The stranger steps forward and runs his finger across Burt's bed railing. He rubs his fingers together like he's looking for dust. Kurt bristles and tightens his grip on his father's hand. “Ill father, desperate child, no hope, no help in sight. Yes. This is exactly the room I'm looking for.”
“Is this where you ask for my soul in exchange for a miracle cure?”
“Yes.”
Kurt scoffed and pulled away from his father and rounded the bed until he was standing in front of the stranger. “The psychiatric ward is two floors up.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his chin up, daring the stranger to say something. He'd been waiting for weeks to lash out at someone, anyone, and the interloper was presenting the perfect opportunity.
“Yes it is. I've been.”
“I can imagine.”
The stranger is staring, looking Kurt over like a specimen on a lab table. It makes his skin crawl but he refuses to back down. He's stood toe to toe with Karofsky and Azimio, he's not going to let some crazy hobbit push him around. When the stranger goes to touch his father's hand Kurt grabs his wrist and holds it tight. The stranger is smiling again. He doesn't try to tug his arm free, doesn't try to take control of the hold.
“I'd like to make a deal with you Kurt.”
Kurt pulls his hand back and steps away and curls his fingers into the blanket at the foot of his father's bed. “How do you know my name?”
“I've been following you Kurt. For a while now. You're very sad. Very lonely. All you want is a little help and no one is stepping forward. Isn't that right?”
“Who are you?”
“Well I'm here to help you Kurt. I can make your father better. It's easy, remarkably easy. Just a little touch to his chest and he'll be waking up in no time. For a price of course.”
Kurt swallows and looks between his father's still body and the stranger. “A price. So you're what? A demon? And you can just make my father better for my soul?” The words are sharp and accusing. The stranger doesn't seem to mind. In fact it seems to make him happier.
“Well there are tiers.” Kurt's brow furrows and Blaine waves his hand through the air. “Of help. I could heal your father completely, good as new. I could give him a guaranteed sixty more years with the constitution of an ox. But the price would be higher. I'd have to take you right away.”
“Away?” Blaine's lip curls up in a sinister smile and points down.
“Or I could do just enough. I can wake him up and get him going. It'd be up to him after that. He'd have to eat healthy and exercise like everyone else to stay healthy. Then I'd have to wait. How and when would be...negotiable, but you'd get to live with him a little longer. Now that's not so bad is it?”
“You're crazy.” Kurt steps back, ready to open the door and scream for a nurse. But Blaine steps closer to his father, hand hovering over his heart. He doesn't believe this stranger. Demons and deals with the devil, it's ridiculous. He's obviously not well. There's no telling what he could do to his father in the the time it would take for help to arrive. “Let's say I believe you. What exactly do you want from me?”
“I'd say your soul, but that's not very classy. Most demons, that's what I am by the way, most demons take souls from defenseless people then what? They store them on shelves like trophies or eat them like snacks. I'm interested in something a little more meaningful.”
“Like?”
“Companionship. Eternal companionship, to begin whenever I deem fit. After your father is better of course.” Kurt looks out the small window in the door and sees no one. He could run for help, scream. With his breath control and lung power there's no doubt in his mind the whole ward would hear his plea for help. But the stranger was still right there, right against his father, poised to strike.
“Deal. To the second. I want time with him.” He spoke quickly and kept his eyes trained on the stranger's hand. He breathed steadily through his nose, ready to scream at a moments notice. He hoped that once the stranger attempted his 'deal' he would come out of his delusion and make his way to the psychiatric ward. There was no way any of this was true. He could have easily gotten Kurt's name form his father's chart posted just outside the door. And it was easy to guess that a teenager sitting alone in a hospital room would be sad and lonely. There was nothing supernatural about this man. He was just crazy. Kurt was sure of it.
He smiled, wide and almost sincere, then placed his hands gently on Burt's chest. Kurt took half a step forward to watch then the stranger was gone. Kurt spun on his heel, looking frantically back and forth for the stranger but he was gone. For a moment Kurt believed he'd had a vivid hallucination, brought on by lack of sleep. Before he could dwell on it he heard the soft rustling of blankets. His father was moving, for the first time in three weeks. He didn't care if it was all a hallucination or real, his father was waking up.
The next few days passed in a rush. The doctors were patient and explained that Burt had a long road ahead of him. He needed bed rest and a strict diet to start. Then he'd need to start exercising regularly and he would need to take medication for the rest of his life. But they could see no reason why he wouldn't make a full recovery. Kurt had already drawn up schedules and rules and had bookmarked new recipes. He'd converted the living room into a passable bedroom so his father could watch television if he wanted. He'd done it all without any help from his so called friends. No one had so much as mentioned his father's recovery in passing. It was business as usual, blocking Kurt out.
“Alright Dad, I've got everything set up in the living room. There's some Ice Road Truckers and Deadliest Catch on the DVR. You can't have chips but I bought you some cheese flavored rice cakes. They're not as bad as they sound I swear.” Kurt is helping his father along, one arm around his back, the other holding tight to his father's bag of medications. He hears his father huff but ignores it. Burt had never been one to rely on anyone, he knew the feeling. When Burt tried to pull away he attributed it to the same thing. He knew things would be difficult for a while. His father was never a good patient and he was set and stubborn with his eating habits. Kurt was sure they'd argue more than a few times before Burt was well enough to be up and about again.
He eases his father to the couch then hurries to the kitchen to fetch him a snack. When he returns, tray laden with fruit and rice cakes Burt is leaning back on the couch and flipping through the DVR. He places the tray on the coffee table and smooths a blanket over Burt's lap. He ignores Burt's protests and smooths the edges and adjusts the pillows behind his back. Mentally he's going over the list of medications his father has to take now, three in all, and when he can start. First Burt will need to eat, an empty stomach will lead to an upset stomach. So once a rerun of Deadliest Catch starts playing Kurt settles onto the couch as well and places the food tray in his lap.
“You can't have salt anymore. Some in unavoidable, but no adding it as a seasoning. The doctor said it would help if you worked towards losing weight as well. So we should try cutting out unnecessary carbs. I've got some fruit here, apple slices and grapes. I've got some cheese here for you, but no lunch meat. Too much sodium. And the rice cakes taste good I promise.” Kurt's rambling, he knows. The pinched look on Burt's face tells him this diet is going to be a serious problem but he starts eating regardless. “With your medications I th-“
“I've got it Kurt. Who's the parent here?”
“I know dad. I just worry.”
“You worry too much.” Burt popped a cheese cube into his mouth and turned up the t.v. For a long while Kurt refused to move from his spot on the couch. He sat stiffly next to his father, ready to jump at a moments notice. But Burt didn't ask for anything. He seemed content to catch up on his shows and snack. Anything would be better than lying in a hospital bed all day Kurt supposed. He still wished he could be more helpful. He wanted his father to ask him for something, anything, even if he just wanted another blanket or more water. He finally got the chance to do something when the phone rang.
Rarely anyone called the house phone. Usually it was telemarketers or nasty anonymous calls. Today it's neither and Kurt can't find it in his heart to even be grateful. If anything, hearing Carole's voice on the landline makes his blood boil. “Can I help you?” The measured breath on the other end of the line sends a thrill through Kurt. She should feel guilty. Kurt isn't being petty on this. He deserves to get a little joy out of her discomfort after everything she did, or rather didn't do.
“I wanted to speak with your father Kurt. He wasn't answering his phone.”
“It's in his desk at the garage. He's resting.”
“A phone call won't kill him Kurt.”
“Maybe not. But finding out what you did to him while he was sick might.” Kurt doesn't give her the chance to respond. He resists the urge to slam the phone down, unwilling to alert his father to who called. So instead he presses the phone down into the stand and clenches around the plastic until his knuckles turned white.
“Who was that?” Kurt looked over his shoulder and took a deep breath, letting his hand slip from the phone.
“Wrong number. Nothing important.” With a deep breath Kurt heads to the kitchen to start cooking dinner. He keeps his ears trained on his father in the living room. It's different from before. Normally Kurt plays music while he cooks, not loud, just enough to cover up the sounds of his father's shows. And there's the sound of popping pans and vigorous chopping. Now all Kurt can hear is the dull droning of the news and the soft shick, shick, shick of the grater slowly slicing celery and carrots. He's hoping that if he hides it well enough in a casserole his father won't complain. Burt doesn't ask for anything but Kurt still finds himself running back and forth between the couch and the kitchen every time he finishes with a vegetable. He's stopped asking. The look on his father's face told him actually asking if he needed anything wouldn't go well. So instead he stood just behind him, fingers twisted together, and bites his lip. Then he slips back into the kitchen and the cycle starts again.
They eat together on the couch, something Kurt hates to do but his father really shouldn't be moving. So he bites his tongue and balances his plate on his lap. Burt wasn't happy with his attempt to hide the celery but he ate it. The scrunched and sour look on his face reminded Kurt of a picky toddler. They eat quietly and Kurt makes a show of finishing his whole plate and sipping lemon water instead of his usual diet Coke. When Burt struggles forward to put his plate on the coffee table Kurt rushes forward and scoops the plate up with a smile. “I've got it dad. I'll clean this up then I can bring you some-“
“Thanks Kurt but I think I'm just gonna go to sleep.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah, that's actually for the best. You need rest.” Kurt puts the plate back down and grabs the blanket pooled at his father's feet. When Burt lies down he spreads it out and smooths it over his father. He fidgets with the ends and fusses over the pillows until his father gives him a pointed look. Kurt smiles wryly at him and takes the plates to the kitchen. He scrapes them quickly and drops them into the dishwasher then hurries to the kitchen archway. He clings to it, his hand wrapped tightly around the frame with his mouth pressed against his knuckle. He can't see his dad over the back of the couch but he can hear the cushions groaning. “It's going to be okay.”
Kurt wakes early the next morning. He practically skips down the stairs and into the living room. His father is there, sleeping deeply, but twitching in his sleep. Kurt brushes his knuckles against his father's temple then makes his way to the kitchen. He starts pulling ingredients from the cabinets and fridge to make cinnamon buckwheat pancakes. He'd bought sugar substitute syrup but he was hoping to cajole his father into using a sugar free fruit spread instead. It was wishful thinking, he knew, but he could try. After plating his final pancake he turns to the sink and gasps. The hot spatula falls from his slack grip and lands on his bare foot, burning him and sending him hopping back against the table. The stranger from before is there, leaning against the sink, ankles crossed and hands clasped loosely in front of his lap.
“Who's he?”
Kurt snapped his head to the side and gaped at his father. He hadn't heard him get up. And he'd seen the dark haired boy. So he wasn't a hallucination. He'd come out of nowhere. Conjured out of the air like a demon.
“Hello Mr. Hummel. My name's Blaine.” The stranger, Blaine apparently, steps forward and holds his hand out for Burt to shake. His smile is wide and innocent looking, like someone bashful and desperate to make a good impression. Burt takes his hand cautiously and gives Kurt a stern look. Blaine catches it and pulls back, hands up in a disarming gesture. “Sorry, I didn't want to get Kurt into trouble. I'm a candy stripper at the hospital. I got to know Kurt while you were in a coma. When I heard you'd been released I decided to swing by and see how he was holding up.” Burt nodded and made his way to the table. He shooed Kurt away as he tried to pull out the chair then pulled up a plate of pancakes. He made a face at the color and grabbed the bottle of syrup.
“You come over a lot while I was out?” Kurt flushed and stepped in front of Blaine, keeping him from his father's line of sight. He fought back the urge to snipe. It sounded like he was being accused of something and he didn't like it.
“No dad. I didn't have anyone over, not even the girls. And besides...Blaine and I-“
“Sir, if I may? I've seen a lot of death, a lot of suffering. It comes with the job. Just because the patient leaves the hospital, it doesn't mean everything is going to be okay. There's still a lot of room for sadness. I was driving by and I saw Kurt's car. It was impulsive, I know, and a little selfish, but I just had to come by and see him. He spoke very fondly of you. I can't imagine what he would have been like if you had passed.” It sounds sincere and Kurt can imagine that he's said something like it before. He was a demon. A real, living, breathing demon well versed in stealing away naïve desperate people. He was laying it all out there, what his life entailed, all while making it seem like he was some teenage saint sweeping the halls of terminal wards.
“Well...would you like to stay for breakfast?”
Blaine smiled and shook his head then gestured to the wall. “I really have to be going. Your first full day out of the hospital is starting. I don't want to intrude. If I could just borrow Kurt for a moment I'd appreciate it.” Burt nodded and waved them off. As Kurt turned the corner, following dumbly after Blaine, he saw his father cautiously sniffing the sugarless syrup.
“You're a demon. Really.”
“Of course. I was up front about that.”
“You never actually said...”
“I did. And if I hadn't, I did offer you your father's health in exchange for your eternity. I had thought that would be self explanatory.” Kurt opens his mouth to protest but Blaine steps closer, his nose a hair away from Kurt's. “We have a deal Kurt. Verbal yes, but binding. You belong to me now and whenever I see fit I can come and steal you away from your precious father and this sad excuse of a town. Enjoy your time with him. It's coming to an end.” With that Blaine is gone, vanished into nothing without so much as a wisp of smoke left behind. Kurt took a shaky breath then opened and shut the front door to keep his father from asking questions. He went back to breakfast, picking at his pancakes with disinterest. He watched his father force the food down and wash away the taste with two percent milk.
Kurt took in Burt's wide nose and scruffy chin. He tried to memorize the way he hunched over the table to eat, how he kept his glass touching the edge of his plate. Always on the left side. He watched his father's face scrunch as he tasted the heavy, earthy wheat and then run his tongue across his teeth to try and get the syrup to cover the taste. It looked wrong. Burt's eyes were tired, his face was still sunken and he carried a weariness around. Blaine made it sound like he would complete their deal soon. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. He only got a little bit more time with his father and he couldn't even enjoy it properly. He probably wouldn't be around to see his full recovery. And where would that leave Burt? How would he fair thinking his son had run away or was kidnapped, or killed. How much stress would that put his heart under? Would he end up back in the hospital? Would he be able to move on? Would he ever smile again? The thoughts turned his stomach and made his throat tighten.
The next few days passed in much the same way. Kurt would hover over Burt until tempers ran high and they were at the verge of strangling each other. Then Kurt would back off and start worrying about his time limit. Which would make him worry about the future and he'd run back to his father. What made it worse was that no one seemed to notice. No one in glee club, none of the teachers, no one noticed that he was acting different, withdrawn and depressed. His father saw that something was off but he thought it was the obvious, that Kurt was stressed for his health. Kurt couldn't exactly come out and say he'd made a deal with a demon. The demon, Blaine, kept coming back as well. Sometimes he would come and say hello to Burt, but normally he would come at night and step out of the shadows. He would stand at the foot of Kurt's bed, quiet as death, until Kurt acknowledged him.
It was one of those nights. Blaine appeared while Kurt was still applying lotions to his face. He perched himself, still as stone, on the edge of Kurt's vanity and waited patiently for him to finish. His shoe was holding down the corner of a wrinkled pamphlet. It said “Afterlife? I've got stuff to worry about in this life”. It was a wordy and useless waste of paper from the desk of Ms. Pilsbury. She'd finally called him into her office about his friend situation. Their brief discussion on religion was enough to discourage her from even suggesting a follow up appointment or any kind of appointment in the foreseeable future. Small miracles as far as Kurt was concerned. Now that he's seen it again he's frustrated all over again and he tugs it from under Blaine's loafer clad foot. He crumples it up and throws it in his waste basket.
“It's ridiculous you know.”
“The way I'm sitting?”
Kurt rolled his eyes and left his vanity to flop onto his bed. “I was so desperate for help because I had no support. I had no support because I told my friends I didn't believe in God. Now here I am, stuck in a deal with a demon.” Kurt was speaking into his comforter but Blaine heard him perfectly. He lowered himself from the vanity and slunk over to the bed. He climbed over Kurt and covered his body. Beneath him Kurt tensed. Blaine could hear his heart beating rapidly, could hear his breathing quicken.
“You made our deal by accident Kurt. I doubt friendly support would have prevented that. But if it comforts you, you are right. There is no God. There is only balance. Good and evil. Demons and angels are just the labels you humans have given two supernatural races. It's true that I have a predilection for evil and mischief but I'm not all bad. I don't rape young virgins or demand the blood of animals to keep from killing. And angels, their motives can be just as depraved as demons', their methods just differ.”
“How so?”
“An angel I knew would find a person in great despair and give them love. Love so whole and complete that they would feel that they could die happy. A love so intense they would live their whole lives reminiscing about it. Then he would leave and move onto someone new. He thought he was doing man a favor, showing them what love could be so they could search for it on their own. And if they never found it, at least they could remember the love they had shared with him fondly. Cruel isn't it?” Beneath him Kurt was quiet. Blaine watched his brow furrow and his teeth pulling on his lip. The tension from before had slowly faded away. “It's all about perspective. What is good or evil lies in the eyes of the transgressed.”
“And what you're doing to me? What if I said that was evil?” Kurt tried to roll from under Blaine, too look him in the eye. Blaine sighed but moved, barely. He laid on his side, propped up on his elbow. When Kurt rolled onto his back Blaine brought his other hand down on Kurt's thigh and held tight.
“Think what you want. A deal is a deal Kurt.”
“But I didn't know I was making a deal. I didn't know what you were.”
“That is irrelevant. We have a binding verbal contract.” Blaine squeezed Kurt's thigh as he spoke. His nails, in strong points rather than trimmed short like normal, bit into Kurt's skin making him wince. Kurt huffed and tried to pull Blaine's hand away. No matter how hard he pulled Blaine didn't budge.
“Verbal. What kind of contract is that? Aren't I suppose to sign something, in my blood maybe? Isn't that how these things are suppose to go?”
“What is a signature Kurt? A handful of letters in a language I wasn't even born speaking. Is it the contract that you're angry over? A piece of paper writting out the rules of our agreement? Does that protect you, comfort you? How much can a piece of paper really mean? Words, you'll find, are much more important. Oh the things you can do with words.” Kurt sneered at him and moved to get off the bed. He was stopped by a calloused hand gripping his jaw just tight enough to hurt. “Never, under any circumstances, take an offer lightly. You never know who you're dealing with.” Then Blaine tugged on Kurt's thigh, spreading his legs. He ignored Kurt's petrified squeak and rolled back on top of him. Blaine spent the rest of the night licking and rubbing at all of the skin he could reach. He left no marks, and didn't remove Kurt's pants. Small steps were important. If he was going to spend all of eternity with this boy it was in his best interest to have Kurt like him.
In the morning Blaine was gone. It was different than usual. Normally the morning after Blaine's visits Kurt would feel relieved. He knew he'd get at least one more day with his father. Instead of feeling relieved Kurt felt wary. The claw marks on his thighs burned under his jeans, reminding him with every step what Blaine intended to do with him once he was collected. It also made him feel ashamed, dirty. How could he look at his father knowing that any day now he would be collected to some demon's sex toy? It must have shown on his face. The way his father had taken to looking at him, like he was suspicious and a little bit angry. Kurt had never seen that look directed at him before and it was terrifying. He wnted to put his father at ease. He wanted to curl up against him on the couch and tell him everything would be okay. But he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to comfort his father, only to turn around and betray his trust.
“Is there something you want to tell me Kurt?” His father's tone was tense. The last time Kurt heard that tone he'd run up his phone bill by a hundred dollars. Not something that he had to worry about recently. Kurt figured it had something to do with Blaine; and Kurt wondered how close he could get to the truth without sounding crazy or worrying his father. He took a deep breath and laid his fork on his plate. A large wooden serving bowl filled with spinach and chicken breast was all that seperated them. “Kurtis Elijah Hummel, is there something you wanna tell me?”
“I don't know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to tell me what's going on with you lately.”
Kurt sighed and traced his finger over the rim of his water glass. “I'm just stressed. You almost died Dad. You were sick and in the hospital for nearly a month and I had no support. Now you're home and you still need help and I'm trying my best okay. But you get so frustrated with me and I'm trying Dad. I really am. I want you to be okay. I couldn't do anything when Mom was sick but I can do something for you. That's all it is Dad. I'm just worried and stressed. Between you and school and the garage...it's just...it's a lot I guess. I didn't mean to worry you.” Kurt looked up at his father through his lashes, worried about what he'd see if he faced his dad properly.
“That all you have to say?”
Kurt frowned and sat up straighter in his chair. “Yes? I'm...I'm not sure what else there is to say.”
Burt tossed his fork onto his plate and nudged it aside. He took a minute to collect himself and held tight to his glass. It was filled with some bitter tasting tea Kurt kept forcing on him. “Carol called the house today. She said she's been trying all week and you keep hangin' up on her. Wanna tell me what that's about? I didn't raise you to be rude Kurt.”
Kurt huffed and crossed his arms. “She broke up with you. She called a week into your coma and said she couldn't take it anymore. That she was done. She didn't even have the decency to tell me in person. She left a message on our machine.”
“Carole went through a lot with her ex Kurt. It's hard enough to deal with that once. The thought of going through it twice...you should be more sympathetic.”
“She obviously wasn't going through too much because she had her eyes on a new man the next day. Her old boyfriend.”
“And how the hell would you know that if you haven't talked to her?”
Kurt scoffed and rocked forward in his seat. “Finn. He was telling the whole club about how his Mom's new boyfriend got him a new job. He thinks it's so cool to paint grass green. A real accomplishment Dad. She left you in a coma and moved on before your body was even cold. Now she wants you back because you're awake? I know you loved her Dad you should at least take a break from her.”
“So you know better than your old man?”
“I know she causes a lot of stress. Stress that you don't need right now.”
“You're the one causing me stress Kurt! I'm a grown man. I don't need you hangin' around all the time hovering over me like I'm dying. I can walk to the bathroom on my own and I can pour my own water!” Burt was leaning back in his seat, hand clenched on the table top. At his outburst Kurt stood and crossed his arms over his chest. “You screen my calls?! What gives you that right huh?! Who are you to tell me what's good for me?”
“Dad! Your heart. The stress-“
“You know what stresses me out Kurt? You. Do you have any idea how stressful it is to be your father? Do you know what it's like to worry about your business going under because everyone in town knows it's run by your dad? Do you know what it's like to wonder if the guy picking up his car is even going to pay if he sees the town queer touching it?”
Kurt was trembling. His father hated him. He wanted to run and hide but Burt wasn't through. He could see it on his face, the same look he got when he started debating sports or politics. “Now I have to sit here every day doing nothing, knowing you're the one going into work everyday. And when you're not there doing God knows what you're here smothering me.”
“Who else is there for you Dad?! Who else is going to take care of you? Where's Carole? Is she going to come over and help you to the bathroom? Is she going to help get you in the shower or clean up your vomit when you react to your medicine? Is she going to spend all day trying to figure out how to make your new diet taste good?”
“That's not your job Kurt! You're not my wife. Is this how you act at school? It's no wonder your friends need a break from you! I love you Kurt but you don't make things easy. You wear ridiculous clothes, you pick girly hobbies, and you walk around this town like you're better than everyone. Like you're better than guys like me. Do you know what that does to me Kurt? Knowin' you make yourself a target everyday? And for what Kurt? Because you wanna shove it in their faces that you're different? Everyone knows what you are Kurt you don't need to rub it in.”
Burt sucked in a deep breath, as if he suddenly realized what he'd been saying. But it was too late. Kurt was already running out the door. He could barely see through his tears but he kept going. It was dark and he had nowhere to go, no friendly shoulders to cry on. He ran until his feet bled and his sides hurt. He was somewhere rural, a flat farmland with dying grass. The hard crackling grass pressed into the cuts on his feet uncomfortably and made him hiss. Kurt licked his lips and walked on his toes to a lone wooden crate. It was half rotten and damp from yesterday's rain but Kurt sat down anyways. The wood groaned under his meager weight, and again as Kurt tucked his feet underneath of him. He picked halfheartedly at the debris, doing little more than smearing blood and dirt around.
“Blaine. Blaine, I don't know if you can hear me, but I want to see you. I need to see you. It's about our deal.” He appeared slowly, like something floating gently to the surface of murky water. It made Kurt wonder if Blaine had ever really left him when he assumed. Perhaps he'd always been lurking around, invisible, waiting for the opportunity to strike. “I did this for him. I gave up everything for him and he hates me. He doesn't...he said he loves me but...It shouldn't be that way! I'm his son! He's suppose to love me! What have I done?” He covers his trembling mouth with his hands and crys in earnest, sobbing and choking into his dirty hands. “He doesn't know what I did for h-him. He doesn't know what I felt!” Blaine steps forward, a foot from the crate, and Kurt growls. It's wounded and loud like a dying animal. The sound sends chills down Blaine's spine. He's felt anger from Kurt, despair and suffering, but never anything as raw and primal as this. It was intoxicating.
Blaine pulled Kurt up and against him, forced his thigh between Kurt's legs and pressed his nose into Kurt's temple and hair. "I could do it. Anything you wanted."
"I'm so...angry. So angry. I want..." Tears welled up in Kurt's eyes, his cheeks were red and his lip was swollen from bites. Blaine had never seen him so beautiful.
"What?"
"Do it. Do whatever you want." Blaine clicked his tongue and rubbed against Kurt. He grabbed tight to his hips and torso, tugged and caressed. He rubbed his nose all across Kurt's tear soaked face and fluttering neck.
"I can. I can do anything, everything you want. To him, to your friends." Kurt let out a sob and grabbed onto Blaine's back. He desperatly clutched the fabric and clung to him. He was so angry and hurt. So upset.
"What's your price?"
"Say it. You have to say it. Everything you want you have to ask for. Every. Dirty. Detail. Use your words Kurt." Blaine sang it out across his neck, rough and breathy. It felt like a lover's caress.
"Make him suffer. Make him feel angry and sad and worthless. Make him feel regret and anguish. Make him feel everything bad I've had to feel and make it feel him forever." Kurt bit out the words, harsh and garbled by tears. With each word Blaine rutted against him and pulled him tighter until his nails were leaving angry red trails under Kurt's skin.
"Yessss." And he was gone. Kurt was alone again. He fell back against the broken crate and waited. In the space of a breath the heat had left and now he felt cold. Before Kurt's heart could settle, Blaine was back again, standing on the edge of the crate but the wood made no sound and didn't bend under his weight. It was like he wasn't there at all. Kurt looked up at his face, for once seeing wild curls loose around his ears and forehead. He didn't look like a demon at all.
“What will they think happened?”
“That you had a fight with your father. That he said some very nasty things and you ran away. They'll all feel quilty but your father was the only one I influenced. In time your friends will move on. But never him. He'll see you until his last breath and feel no salvation, no hope.”
Blaine held out his hand and Kurt took it without hesitation.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Well that's that folks. Happy October.
I originally wanted this to go in a much different direction. I actually planned for Kurt to snap and kill his father. Then Blaine was suppose to show up and play around with the blood then there would be sex probably. But it didn't happen. Maybe next time.