Fic: Day of Silence, Artie
Prompt: Kurt gets the Glee club to participate [in Day of Silence]. Day of Silence, for those unaware, students going all day without speaking to memoralize/draw attention to others in the past who have been bullied, judged for their sexuality, or generally never had their voices heard. Would love to see how the gleekers are affected by the experience.
Genre: Friendship
Rating: T (that went up fast)
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Enjoy!
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Artie forgot about Day of Silence at first.
But, come on, it was 6 in the morning and nobody thinks about anything important that early. Well, Rachel probably does, but she's Rachel frickkin Berry. She's always thinking about something.
So Artie got himself up and went about his business, humming their latest Glee numbers and complimenting his reflection in the mirror as he got ready for school. He debated with himself over whether to wear a sweater or a sweater-vest (the sweater-vest won, of course). He only remembered that he wasn't supposed to be talking when he wheeled himself into the kitchen and said hello to his mom.
"Oh, crap," immediately followed. He would have covered his mouth, but he needed his hands to move, so that wasn't an option.
"What's wrong?" Mrs. Abrams asked immediately.
Artie made a noise of annoyance, reaching around to the back of his chair to get to his backpack. He pulled out his notebook and scribbled down the briefest explanation possible, handing it over to his mom with a passive smile on his face.
"Oh," Mrs. Abrams' brow creased. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Artie nodded.
"Okay, then." She didn't sound convinced. Artie himself wasn't convinced. He had seen the sort of things that had happened to Kurt in the past, and he himself had been on the receiving end of quite a bit of bullying because of his chosen circle of friends and because of the chair. But they'd be going through it together as a group this year, right? There would be thirteen of them. Strength in numbers and all that.
The silent breakfast and drive to school was a little unnerving, though.
For the first time in his life, Artie was actually glad the handicapped ramp was at the far end of the school. He saw almost nobody on his daily trip from there to his locker. And besides, he was Artie Abrams, the wheelchair kid, and nobody paid him any attention unless they wanted to pick on him.
Please don't pick on me, please don't pick on me, please don't pick on me...
And nobody did.
His usually quiet trip was completely silent except for the sound of his wheels turning. The chatter around him died down to a low rumble. His locker opened with a click that startled him, and the zipper on his backpack was unusually loud, but apart from that, he barely noticed the whole not talking thing. Usually Tina came over to say hello, but when Artie looked around, he didn't see her. In fact, nobody from Glee was around. He figured they had all gone about their business and went to class, since they couldn't stop to chat.
That was exactly what he himself did. Gathered up his things and went to class. And go figure, he was early. For once.
Well that was good. That meant he could show his teacher the same note he had shown his mom so she would know not to call on him.
That strategy seemed to work perfectly and nobody noticed when Artie didn't say anything. His teacher didn't call on him and it seemed to be lecture day in most of his classes anyway. This was easy.
Well, until math class.
Stupid, fucking math class and stupid Mr. fucking Peterson.
He had math class with Mercedes, so they went up to his desk together and showed him Mercedes' note about the Day of Silence (hers was more legible). He didn't really say anything, just grunted and nodded. They both supposed that meant he was okay with it, so they took their usual seats near the back of the classroom and settled in for another silent 43 minutes.
But then stupid Mr. fucking Peterson decided that today was going to be the perfect day to have them go over the homework. Out loud. At the blackboard. Which meant he was calling on people at random, giving them a number, and having them go up to the board and copying down what they'd done the night before and explaining it to the class.
Normally Artie wouldn't have cared. He was good at math and he liked it, no matter what his feelings towards stupid Mr. fucking Peterson were. He even liked going up to the board, because it was just low enough that he could reach it.
He swore there was a smirk on stupid Mr. fucking Peterson's face when his raspy voice said, "Abrams, number 16."
Artie didn't move. He looked over at Mercedes, whose expression was a mix of surprise and disgust. They made eye contact for a second, shrugging at each other, and Artie grabbed his homework and wheeled up to the front of the class. He copied out his problem all at once, rather than stopping to explain it, hoping that stupid Mr. fucking Peterson had just made a mistake and would remember once he noticed that Artie wasn't speaking.
Nope, stupid Mr. fucking Peterson was about to live up to his nickname.
"Abrams!"
Artie had left the board and was wheeling back to his seat when the teacher's voice boomed at him. He turned, fixing an almost expressionless stare on the teacher, keyword there being almost.
"I believe you have neglected to explain the problem to us."
Artie frowned at the man, unwilling to believe that this was an accident. Maybe if he stared long enough, stupid Mr. fucking Peterson would prove to him that he was wrong, that he had forgotten.
Ten seconds. Then fifteen. Then thirty. Artie could feel the entire classroom squirming behind him.
"Abrams, you explain the problem right now or I'm sending you to Figgins."
Artie shrugged noncommittally.
"I'm guessing that's a no?"
Artie just stared at him.
Stupid Mr. fucking Peterson came out from behind his desk, wheeling himself on his roll-y chair and looking so smug that Artie knew it wasn't an accident. It wasn't possible for a teacher to be more insensitive than this man was being right now. First the problem, and now coming out on a roll-y office chair as if it was some kind of joke. Fantastic.
The teacher stopped when he was mere inches from Artie, leaning in close and saying just loud enough that the first row of students could hear, "I thought you were a smart kid, Abrams. But go right ahead and ruin everything you've been given so the fairies can corrupt the rest of us. Your choice kid, not mine."
Artie knew that stupid Mr. fucking Peterson wanted to say more than that. He could feel it in the way the man wheeled himself back, the way he didn't seem pleased enough. But Artie was done here. He wheeled back to his seat, glaring at anyone who dared to look at him funny, grabbing his books and setting them in his lap before leaving the room. Stupid Mr. fucking Peterson called after him, "Figgins, Abrams. I'll catch up."
Artie could have just left school then and there. He could have gone to Schue's classroom and pleaded with the man to help him out. He could have hid out in the choir room until Glee practice. Hell, he could have hid out in the handicapped bathroom stall if he really wanted to. But he was Artie Abrams, and nobody intimidates Artie Abrams.
On his trip to Figgins' office, he remembered how the rest of the club agreed - reluctantly - to stay in wheelchairs. He knew it had been hard on every single one of them, but they did it anyway, and not just because Schue told them to.
After that experience, Kurt had singled him out, come over and asked to see his arms. A little taken aback, Artie had offered his right arm hesitantly. Kurt had grabbed it, instructing, "Flex." So Artie did, and Kurt had given one of those little gasps that was halfway between 'I knew it' and 'no freaking way.'
"You're so buff," Kurt had said, his voice also halfway between a compliment and a statement. Artie had grinned, then laughed when Kurt had told him he should arm wrestle Puck sometime, because, "you'd totally win."
The chair had shown Kurt something new about Artie, and this experience was now showing Artie something new about Kurt. Did he and Kurt even have the same math teacher? He had never actually asked. But he could only imagine how tough it would be for Kurt to be stuck in that class, stuck with a teacher who hated him for the stupidest reason in the book.
When he reached Figgins' office, he was only slightly surprised to see Rachel sitting there, determined look on her face and duct tape across her mouth. Her eyes flashed angrily when she turned to see who had entered, then softened immediately when she saw him.
He allowed himself to bask in the silent-Rachel-Berry-ness for only a split second.
Artie wheeled himself over to her side, looking up at a very distraught looking Figgins with a passive expression.
"You too?" Figgins didn't look surprised, but he certainly had the air of someone who had been dealing with the same thing too much in one day. "You two make five," he informed them. "And as I have told the four previous teachers, you are doing nothing wrong. Regardless of our personal stance on the matter, we cannot do a thing about it. I'm sorry, children."
Artie and Rachel exchanged an almost amused look. This was probably the only time Figgins would ever be apologizing to them.
He couldn't stop his exasperated sigh, though, when stupid Mr. fucking Peterson came into the room, already raging before he had even opened the door. Figgins paled and Artie couldn't help but feel sorry for the man. Rachel was trembling, Artie supposed because she didn't have her mouth to defend her from the man's anger.
So he did the only logical thing: he reached over and held Rachel's hand tightly while they listened to stupid Mr. fucking Peterson yell.
------
Intro | Brittany | Finn | Jesse | Matt | Mercedes | Mike | Puck | Quinn | Rachel | Santana | Tina | Will | Kurt (1) (2)
Genre: Friendship
Rating: T (that went up fast)
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Enjoy!
------
Artie forgot about Day of Silence at first.
But, come on, it was 6 in the morning and nobody thinks about anything important that early. Well, Rachel probably does, but she's Rachel frickkin Berry. She's always thinking about something.
So Artie got himself up and went about his business, humming their latest Glee numbers and complimenting his reflection in the mirror as he got ready for school. He debated with himself over whether to wear a sweater or a sweater-vest (the sweater-vest won, of course). He only remembered that he wasn't supposed to be talking when he wheeled himself into the kitchen and said hello to his mom.
"Oh, crap," immediately followed. He would have covered his mouth, but he needed his hands to move, so that wasn't an option.
"What's wrong?" Mrs. Abrams asked immediately.
Artie made a noise of annoyance, reaching around to the back of his chair to get to his backpack. He pulled out his notebook and scribbled down the briefest explanation possible, handing it over to his mom with a passive smile on his face.
"Oh," Mrs. Abrams' brow creased. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Artie nodded.
"Okay, then." She didn't sound convinced. Artie himself wasn't convinced. He had seen the sort of things that had happened to Kurt in the past, and he himself had been on the receiving end of quite a bit of bullying because of his chosen circle of friends and because of the chair. But they'd be going through it together as a group this year, right? There would be thirteen of them. Strength in numbers and all that.
The silent breakfast and drive to school was a little unnerving, though.
For the first time in his life, Artie was actually glad the handicapped ramp was at the far end of the school. He saw almost nobody on his daily trip from there to his locker. And besides, he was Artie Abrams, the wheelchair kid, and nobody paid him any attention unless they wanted to pick on him.
Please don't pick on me, please don't pick on me, please don't pick on me...
And nobody did.
His usually quiet trip was completely silent except for the sound of his wheels turning. The chatter around him died down to a low rumble. His locker opened with a click that startled him, and the zipper on his backpack was unusually loud, but apart from that, he barely noticed the whole not talking thing. Usually Tina came over to say hello, but when Artie looked around, he didn't see her. In fact, nobody from Glee was around. He figured they had all gone about their business and went to class, since they couldn't stop to chat.
That was exactly what he himself did. Gathered up his things and went to class. And go figure, he was early. For once.
Well that was good. That meant he could show his teacher the same note he had shown his mom so she would know not to call on him.
That strategy seemed to work perfectly and nobody noticed when Artie didn't say anything. His teacher didn't call on him and it seemed to be lecture day in most of his classes anyway. This was easy.
Well, until math class.
Stupid, fucking math class and stupid Mr. fucking Peterson.
He had math class with Mercedes, so they went up to his desk together and showed him Mercedes' note about the Day of Silence (hers was more legible). He didn't really say anything, just grunted and nodded. They both supposed that meant he was okay with it, so they took their usual seats near the back of the classroom and settled in for another silent 43 minutes.
But then stupid Mr. fucking Peterson decided that today was going to be the perfect day to have them go over the homework. Out loud. At the blackboard. Which meant he was calling on people at random, giving them a number, and having them go up to the board and copying down what they'd done the night before and explaining it to the class.
Normally Artie wouldn't have cared. He was good at math and he liked it, no matter what his feelings towards stupid Mr. fucking Peterson were. He even liked going up to the board, because it was just low enough that he could reach it.
He swore there was a smirk on stupid Mr. fucking Peterson's face when his raspy voice said, "Abrams, number 16."
Artie didn't move. He looked over at Mercedes, whose expression was a mix of surprise and disgust. They made eye contact for a second, shrugging at each other, and Artie grabbed his homework and wheeled up to the front of the class. He copied out his problem all at once, rather than stopping to explain it, hoping that stupid Mr. fucking Peterson had just made a mistake and would remember once he noticed that Artie wasn't speaking.
Nope, stupid Mr. fucking Peterson was about to live up to his nickname.
"Abrams!"
Artie had left the board and was wheeling back to his seat when the teacher's voice boomed at him. He turned, fixing an almost expressionless stare on the teacher, keyword there being almost.
"I believe you have neglected to explain the problem to us."
Artie frowned at the man, unwilling to believe that this was an accident. Maybe if he stared long enough, stupid Mr. fucking Peterson would prove to him that he was wrong, that he had forgotten.
Ten seconds. Then fifteen. Then thirty. Artie could feel the entire classroom squirming behind him.
"Abrams, you explain the problem right now or I'm sending you to Figgins."
Artie shrugged noncommittally.
"I'm guessing that's a no?"
Artie just stared at him.
Stupid Mr. fucking Peterson came out from behind his desk, wheeling himself on his roll-y chair and looking so smug that Artie knew it wasn't an accident. It wasn't possible for a teacher to be more insensitive than this man was being right now. First the problem, and now coming out on a roll-y office chair as if it was some kind of joke. Fantastic.
The teacher stopped when he was mere inches from Artie, leaning in close and saying just loud enough that the first row of students could hear, "I thought you were a smart kid, Abrams. But go right ahead and ruin everything you've been given so the fairies can corrupt the rest of us. Your choice kid, not mine."
Artie knew that stupid Mr. fucking Peterson wanted to say more than that. He could feel it in the way the man wheeled himself back, the way he didn't seem pleased enough. But Artie was done here. He wheeled back to his seat, glaring at anyone who dared to look at him funny, grabbing his books and setting them in his lap before leaving the room. Stupid Mr. fucking Peterson called after him, "Figgins, Abrams. I'll catch up."
Artie could have just left school then and there. He could have gone to Schue's classroom and pleaded with the man to help him out. He could have hid out in the choir room until Glee practice. Hell, he could have hid out in the handicapped bathroom stall if he really wanted to. But he was Artie Abrams, and nobody intimidates Artie Abrams.
On his trip to Figgins' office, he remembered how the rest of the club agreed - reluctantly - to stay in wheelchairs. He knew it had been hard on every single one of them, but they did it anyway, and not just because Schue told them to.
After that experience, Kurt had singled him out, come over and asked to see his arms. A little taken aback, Artie had offered his right arm hesitantly. Kurt had grabbed it, instructing, "Flex." So Artie did, and Kurt had given one of those little gasps that was halfway between 'I knew it' and 'no freaking way.'
"You're so buff," Kurt had said, his voice also halfway between a compliment and a statement. Artie had grinned, then laughed when Kurt had told him he should arm wrestle Puck sometime, because, "you'd totally win."
The chair had shown Kurt something new about Artie, and this experience was now showing Artie something new about Kurt. Did he and Kurt even have the same math teacher? He had never actually asked. But he could only imagine how tough it would be for Kurt to be stuck in that class, stuck with a teacher who hated him for the stupidest reason in the book.
When he reached Figgins' office, he was only slightly surprised to see Rachel sitting there, determined look on her face and duct tape across her mouth. Her eyes flashed angrily when she turned to see who had entered, then softened immediately when she saw him.
He allowed himself to bask in the silent-Rachel-Berry-ness for only a split second.
Artie wheeled himself over to her side, looking up at a very distraught looking Figgins with a passive expression.
"You too?" Figgins didn't look surprised, but he certainly had the air of someone who had been dealing with the same thing too much in one day. "You two make five," he informed them. "And as I have told the four previous teachers, you are doing nothing wrong. Regardless of our personal stance on the matter, we cannot do a thing about it. I'm sorry, children."
Artie and Rachel exchanged an almost amused look. This was probably the only time Figgins would ever be apologizing to them.
He couldn't stop his exasperated sigh, though, when stupid Mr. fucking Peterson came into the room, already raging before he had even opened the door. Figgins paled and Artie couldn't help but feel sorry for the man. Rachel was trembling, Artie supposed because she didn't have her mouth to defend her from the man's anger.
So he did the only logical thing: he reached over and held Rachel's hand tightly while they listened to stupid Mr. fucking Peterson yell.
------
Intro | Brittany | Finn | Jesse | Matt | Mercedes | Mike | Puck | Quinn | Rachel | Santana | Tina | Will | Kurt (1) (2)