Fic: Day of Silence, Kurt (part 2)
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/borderline M
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Please note that Kurt's entire chapter is a whopping 18,395 words, so it has been broken into parts.
Author's Note: Because I'm not quite ready to say goodbye to this story, if you have any requests for an add-on to this story, ask and you shall receive!
Enjoy!
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He wanted to get out. He wanted to leave the school, to just run outside and keep going until he was somewhere else. He didn’t want to have to deal with anything else today. He just wanted to leave and finally be at peace.
That desire to escape was what got him in trouble, because he practically bolted out of the door as soon as his class with Mercedes was over, not waiting for her to come with him. He ran down the hallway, stuffing his bag in his locker and then kept running, running all the way down to the front doors.
Kurt expected someone to stop him. A teacher had to have seen him, but here he was, sitting outside on the steps of McKinley High School, and nobody else was around. He closed his eyes, tilting his head upwards to the cloudy sky, still able to feel the tiniest hint of sunlight brush his face. It was pleasantly warm out, just the tiniest bit too cold for T-shirts, typical Lima weather. He was grateful; if the weather had mirrored his feelings, it would have been too much.
He started walking. He walked out to the parking lot, remembering halfway there that Finn had his keys. But that didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to drive home or anything. He just wanted to be somewhere other than inside the school.
His feet kept going once he reached the outskirts of the parking lot, carrying him into the grass and over toward the elementary school next door. The playground was fenced off and nobody was outside, giving it a cold, deserted look. Kurt knew that the fence was there to keep strangers out and that nobody was there because lunchtime was over, but his brain refused to acknowledge the obvious.
He sat against the fence, leaning back and feeling the chain-links pressing into his back uncomfortably. That didn’t matter, though. He felt like he was sinking back into his childhood, the fence being the only thing in his way. Maybe if he pressed hard enough, he would fall through to the other side and he could be little, eight-year-old Kurt again, the one who still wore ripped jeans and Batman T-shirts because that’s what his dad always bought him.
It occurred to him then that he didn’t even know what the T-shirt he was wearing looked like. It had been hanging on his closet doorknob for two days, but its appearance hadn’t been taken in. So he looked down at his chest, taking in the faded grey color and the black bat-symbol emblazoned across the front.
Of course.
One of his hands reached up into his neatly-combed hair, tangling in the brown locks and mussing it until his bangs hung into his eyes. Kurt stood up, turning to face the fence, then started climbing. Chain-link fences were easy. He’d climbed one for the first time when he had been eleven and outrunning some idiot who had sworn he was going to kill him. Kurt had scaled the fence easy, dropping down into a locked tennis court and watching while the idiot struggled to lift himself.
He dropped down into the playground, the tiniest hint of a smile breaking across his face. At first he just stood there and looked at it, remembering how he had played on the jungle gym with his friend Addie. She had moved away before middle school. Before Kurt had started getting picked on for no good reason.
Addie wasn’t here anymore, and Kurt didn’t want to play on the jungle gym without her. He chose a swing instead, arms wrapping around the chains holding it up and feet giving him a good kickoff.
He didn’t try to go so high that he would loop around the top - which he’d always tried to do when he was younger - just swung at a decent enough height to get that soaring feeling in his stomach.
But then something collided with his back when he began to swing back down, something that definitely had not been there before. It hurt, too, and the impact sent Kurt flying from the swing, his lazy grip on the chains not enough to hold him in place. An undignified grunt escaped his lips as he landed in the woodchips on all fours.
What the hell was that?
He turned, still on the ground, stomach plummeting as he recognized Karofsky and his younger brother. How on earth had they gotten in here? No, better question was: how had they gotten in here without him noticing?
“Happy fag day, Hummel!” Karofsky grinned at him, clearly very proud of himself. Kurt had to bite his tongue to keep from making a retort.
Says the person who told me earlier I wasn’t allowed to celebrate. He grit his teeth, picking himself up and brushing his shirt off.
“Aww, did you get some dirt on you?” Karofsky’s brother took a step closer, his lower lip jutted out in an almost comical pout. “Let’s have a look, right?”
Oh, no. No way. There was no way that Karofksy and his brother were going to do anything to him here. This was an elementary school playground, and Kurt was not about to bring this sort of thing to a place so innocent.
So he bolted again, hitting the fence at a running jump, fingers clawing at the chains as his feet scrambled to get in place. He could hear both brothers laughing and knew he must look stupid, but this was his arena. Chain link fences were his thing, and he was going to climb up and over and get away.
Or so he thought.
A hand tightened on his ankle, and though he tried to kick with his other foot, when the hand pulled, Kurt came with it. He fell back onto the woodchips, landing flat on his back and feeling two hands close around his ankles, two around his wrists. Both brothers were pinning him down, and he squeezed his eyes shut, knowing one of them was looming right above his face.
“Come on, Hummel, I said, ‘let’s have a look’,” it was the younger of the two pinning him on top. Kurt could feel his eyes looking him over, could picture the coldness in his gaze. He turned his face, burying his cheek in the woodchips, vaguely remembering that his buried cheek had been drawn on earlier that day. It was as if he was protecting this cheek, making sure that nothing else would get written there.
“I’m disappointed,” the younger Karofsky said in an almost playful voice. “You got some dirt on your shirt. Right over the bat symbol too. Mummy will be most disappointed when she sees you.”
It wasn’t an accident. Plenty of throwaway comments about his father were accidents, but never the ones about his mother. They knew what had happened, they knew she was dead, and it was only when they wanted to provoke him when they made these low blows.
Don’t talk about my mother.
He could feel the tears coming, but he had to open his eyes. He couldn’t blink these away. Kurt opened his eyes, looking straight at the younger Karofsky, and spat in his face.
Stupid, irrational move on his part, and when he saw the other boy’s expression darken, his immediate thought was, Please don’t rape me in a playground. Both grips on him tightened, and the angry face above him said, “Don’t you dare spit on me, you disgusting thing!”
“Aw, come on, don’t be rude,” the other Karofsky’s voice came from around his ankles. “That’s probably his way of telling you he likes you. ‘Share bodily fluids with me,’ that’s probably what it means. Course, the ones he really wants come out of the other end!”
Oh fuck, they really are going to rape me in a playground! Kurt started pulling against their grips, managing to get one hand free. He gave a wild swing and luckily landed a blow on the already bruised nose of the younger Karofsky, which was enough to make him grab at his face in pain, releasing Kurt’s other arm.
Surprise was on his side, and he managed to kick both of his legs free, jumping at the chain-link fence again. He didn’t waste time trying to get a good footing this time, he just reached upwards, legs kicking against the fence and hands clinging desperately.
“Hey, you three!”
Kurt and the Karofsky brothers all looked around at the same time, seeing a teacher at the elementary school sticking his head out the window.
“What are you doing in here? Quit climbing on the fence and come round to the door; I want to have a word with you three.”
Quick, make a decision. Get over the fence and run for it, or jump back down and make a run for the window.
Seeing how both of the Karofskys were below him and stood between him and the window, Kurt chose the former. He didn’t bother to try to climb back down, he just launched himself into the air at the top, landing so heavily that he felt it all the way up his legs.
The teacher was yelling and he could hear the fence clanking as the brothers no doubt started climbing after him, but Kurt ignored that. He started running, not noticing where he was going, just running in the first direction his feet took him. He didn’t look back to see if the brothers had made it over the fence, just kept his eyes forward and ran.
Kurt didn’t notice when he reached the McKinley parking lot again. He didn’t see all the cars or the school behind them. He was so concentrated on just getting the hell out of that playground that he forgot what was at the front of every empty parking space.
He tripped over the painted piece of concrete that marked the boundaries of the parking lot, hands automatically going out to stop his fall. He felt the skin snag on the concrete, felt one of his knees hit the ground and rip open.
But he couldn’t stop now. Kurt picked himself up, feeling the grime inside the cut on his knee and forcing himself to ignore it. He set off again, much slower now, limping and feeling his knee sting more and more with each step. If he could just get back inside the school, then getting to an occupied classroom would be easy. He just had to get out of the parking lot, up the steps, through the door…
Two sets of hands tightened on his arms and Kurt knew who they belonged to without having to look. He watched as he was pulled back around the school to a door that had been left propped open, knowing it was the door to the locker room before he was dragged inside. It always happened in the locker room. Every single time.
He was slammed unceremoniously against the wall, the younger of the two pinning him there with one hand. They were obviously pissed that Kurt had managed to get away, and now he was in for it. The younger Karofsky was pressing on his collarbone so hard that it was starting to really hurt. If Kurt tried to struggle, it just made it worse.
“Bravo, Hummel,” Karofsky fake-applauded. “Didn’t know you had all that spirit in you. Saving it for a special occasion?” Kurt closed his eyes and let his head tilt up to the ceiling, an exasperated noise escaping his lips. He hated this part, the baiting part. This was when they tried to wind him up.
“I’m surprised you haven’t exploded yet,” Karfosky continued, and Kurt could feel him getting closer. “All that adrenaline has to have gotten you excited.”
Is that… his hand? On my…?
Kurt let out a shaky gasp, opening his eyes and looking down to see Karofsky’s hand right where he didn’t want it. What the hell was this? Last time they had gotten him in the locker room they had drawn straws to see who would be doing the slapping. Nobody wanted to touch him, so why was Karofsky doing this to him?
“No?” Karofsky almost looked disappointed. “Not even a little?” He moved his hand slightly, making Kurt close his eyes again and bite his lip to keep quiet. This was excruciating. He would be lying if he had said he’d never imagined what it would feel like to be touched like this. Everyone wonders what it will feel like, wonders when it will happen to them, wonders if it’s as good as everyone else says, wonders who will be the one with them. But nobody thinks about not wanting it. Nobody ever considers that the first time will happen when you’re pinned against a dirty locker room wall and it’s your daily tormenter doing it for no reason.
He had thought getting his ass slapped was bad enough, but here he was with his pants still on, with Karofsky’s hand still there.
“Say thank you,” Karofsky was saying, and his voice sounded like it was coming out of a haze. “Say thank you, Hummel.”
A fist collided with his jaw, making his head bump against the wall. Kurt opened his eyes, looking first at the younger Karofsky and then at his older brother. He kept his eyes locked on the other’s, his disgust and displeasure showing in the way his mouth was set in a thin line, the way his eyes flashed.
“That’s no thank you,” Karofsky, finally, took his hand away. That same hand curled into a fist, and he knocked Kurt’s jaw in the same place he had just been hit. “Come on, Hummel, this is the kind of stuff you get off on. The way you paraded around in here in that stupid bathrobe, just begging someone to yank it off of you and fuck you into the wall.” His lips turned up in a sneer. “And now we’re here,” his eyes lowered, focusing on Kurt’s crotch, “and you haven’t even twitched.”
As hopeless as this situation might look, Kurt had to feel proud of himself. Plenty of hormone-driven teenagers would have given in by now, forgotten just what was going on and fooled themselves into pretending they liked it. But he wasn’t that person. He was Kurt Hummel, and no blundering asshole was going to get any reaction out of him.
Karofsky started pacing in front of them.
“So tell me, Hummel, what exactly is it that you want us to do to you?” Kurt’s entire face paled. “You should probably just tell us your sick little fantasies, because if you don’t, we’re gonna shove everything we can find up your ass and see which one makes you scream the loudest.”
“Karofsky!”
Oh my God, Noah Puckerman I could kiss you!
“Oh look, Puckerman’s come to save his boyfriend,” Karofsky was laughing now. “You too, Rutherford?” he added as Matt came into view behind Puck. “Didn’t know you swung that way too.”
“Let go of him,” Puck took a step forward, voice echoing around the lockers and anger clear in his eyes. If Kurt had been on the receiving end of that, he would have made a run for it there and then, no questions asked.
“Why should I?”
Apparently the Karofsky brothers were exceedingly stupid when it came to their pride.
“Because I will beat the shit out of you if you don’t.”
Kurt could have laughed. Puck said that like it was so normal, so everyday. That was the equivalent of a throwaway comment to him. His expression softened and the younger Karofsky’s grip on him slackened.
“Us against three fags?” Karofsky obviously wasn’t convinced. “I like those odds.” But his younger brother clearly was, because his grip was still slackened, so Kurt tried to free himself. Almost immediately, the grip was back and the pressure on his collarbone was so intense that he was certain the bone was going to pop out of place. But Kurt was determined to see this through, to finish what he started, so he kept struggling, swinging wildly and trying to get a punch in, all the while ignoring the pressure on his chest that was slowly making it hard to breathe.
“Whoa there, Hummel,” he felt another hand join the one already holding him back. “Calm down, calm down, we just want to hear your pretty voice. Tell us what’s going on between you and Puckerman. If you’re a good little boy, we won’t take a peek like we did with Finn.”
That comment was obviously too much for Puck, who made a lunge for the boy pinning Kurt against the wall. Unfortunately, the older Karofsky stood between the two, and he got Puck in the eye. Kurt almost cried out, but he bit his tongue to keep quiet. If he said something now, it would make Puck and Matt’s efforts mean nothing.
It took a couple seconds, but then Puck advanced again, this time going for Karofsky. Matt took advantage of the two being occupied and came over to the younger Karofsky, pulling him off of Kurt. Kurt’s eyes closed and he breathed in deeply, feeling his collarbone aching. He was going to have one hell of a bruise there, that was for sure. His breathing started coming in short, little gasps.
When he opened his eyes, he saw that Matt and Puck both had their respective Karofsky in a headlock.
“Not too bad for a bunch of fags,” Karofsky’s voice was a low grunt, obviously because of Puck’s hold on him. Puck tightened his grip, shutting him up and getting a moan of pain in response. Kurt expected a vocal sparring match, punctuated with lots of foul language, to start, but Puck’s attention was suddenly on him.
“You okay, Kurt?” he asked, using Kurt’s first name for what had to be the first time. Kurt almost smiled, but his lips wouldn’t move. Instead he just nodded, legs wobbling a little and feeling himself slump against the wall. That seemed to satisfy Puck, who turned his attention back on the Karofsky brothers and said, “Now, about you two. What did you do to Finn?”
Kurt wanted to leave. He didn’t want to find out what had happened to Finn, especially not from the people that had done it. He wanted to pretend that the cut on Finn’s chin was the only thing wrong with him, wanted to wait until the two of them were back at home before asking what had happened. But they were going to find out here and now, and Kurt felt an almost savage pleasure knowing that Puck and Matt would probably beat the two brothers senseless if they didn’t like the answer.
“N-nothing, I swear!” the younger Karofsky managed to get out, stuttering because of the hold Matt had around his neck.
“Don’t lie,” Matt’s voice sounded just as threatening as Puck’s. “We know you did something.”
“Hey, we gave him a choice.” Kurt’s eyes flashed. Were they seriously trying to defend what they had done? “We told him, we said, ‘Fess up or we’ll look ourselves.’”
Oh my God, please tell me they didn’t.
“And did you?” Puck’s voice shook the slightest bit as he asked. It was obvious he didn’t want to know the answer. Matt’s uncomfortable expression said the same thing, and Kurt himself would have given anything to not find out. If the brothers had been so willing to do what they had done to him, who’s to say they hadn’t gone all the way with Finn?
“Yeah, we did.”
Kurt hated the smirk on Karofsky’s face. He wanted to slap it off, to verbally abuse the brothers until they wondered where his potty mouth had come from.
“And what did you do to him after that?” Puck pressed for more, obviously not wanting to. A small gasp escaped Kurt’s lips, not out of surprise, but dread. He really didn’t want to know.
“Nothing. We didn’t do anything to him.”
“Why?” Puck asked, obviously not buying the answer. “I know what you two have done to people before. Last time you got someone’s pants off you shot spitballs at his ass. What did you do to Finn?”
Against his will, Kurt was suddenly intrigued. Who had they shot spitballs at? Why had they forced another guy out of his pants? Was there someone else at this school like him, someone who constantly looked over his shoulder and wondered if coming out had really been the best thing to do?
But no, there would be time for that later. Kurt’s attention was back on the task at hand, noticing that the brothers exchanged an uncomfortable look. Had they really done something?
“We didn’t do anything because we’re not like you! You fags get off on seeing naked guys, and it’s disgusting!”
Says the guy who pinned me to the wall while his brother touched me, Kurt thought bitterly.
“So you’re telling me,” Puck was fighting to keep his voice under control, “that you had every intention of raping my best friend and then you figured out that it would make you gay too? Is that what you mean?”
Kurt was the only one who really knew what the next uncomfortable look meant. No, they hadn’t let Finn go because they were afraid of turning gay themselves. They had let him go because he was just the warm up. They had been testing their power on him, testing the waters to see how it would go. They had been getting ready for later in the day, when they were going to get him. Puck and Matt, who didn’t know what they had just saved Kurt from, didn’t understand that, but Kurt was going to make sure it stayed that way.
Puck let go of Karofsky and kicked him twice, sending the boy to all fours. Then his attention was on Kurt, coming over to him and putting a supportive arm around his waist, saying, “Come here.”
It was an instinctual reaction that came from all the times Puck had thrown Kurt in the dumpster. He shied away from the touch, not wanting to feel Puck’s arm around him. It was too similar to all the times Puck had slung an arm around him to fool the unwitting teacher that had passed by.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Puck obviously noticed his discomfort. “And I’m not gonna talk anymore either.” Kurt let himself relax and felt Puck’s arm tighten around him, leading him towards the door. Matt followed them after giving the younger Karofsky a kick that landed him on the floor as well. They left the two there, not caring what happened to them.
Puck led him to the nurse’s office, and Kurt didn’t bother trying to protest. Normally he would just patch himself up, but Puck didn’t know that. The nurse looked up as they entered, eyes immediately locking on Kurt’s face. He probably already had a bruise somewhere, he was sure of it.
“Kurt got beat up,” Matt started speaking, explaining what had happened. The nurse’s hands flew to her mouth. “It was the two Karofsky brothers. They’ll probably come in later because we got a few punches in too. I know that means we’ll probably get in trouble too, but whatever. Can you fix him up?”
Puck gave Kurt a gentle nudge forward, removing his arm from around the smaller boy as the nurse stepped forward.
“You poor dear,” her fingers ghosted across his face, turning his head to get a good look at what had happened. “Is it just your face?” Kurt shook his head, holding out his grazed palms and then pointing to his knee. The nurse’s eyes widened, then she asked, “How did those happen?”
Kurt almost explained, but caught himself right as he opened his mouth. He turned to look at Matt, expression clearly asking for help. Matt, who obviously didn’t know how Kurt had gotten those, grabbed a pencil and pad of paper from the nurse’s desk and handed them over.
I tripped in the parking lot. It’s Day of Silence so I’m not talking.
“I see,” the nurse put the pad of paper back on her desk. “Why don’t you go sit down in the back room? I’ll get you cleaned up in a second. Did either of you two get any - oh, Mr. Puckerman, look at your eye! Go with Kurt and I’ll get you two fixed up.”
The two boys walked into the back room, hearing the nurse ask Matt if he had any injuries as they went. Kurt sat down on one of the fold-out beds, Puck sitting next to him. Kurt had expected the other boy to sit on the bed on the other side of the room, but he had to admit it was an almost nice surprise.
The nurse came in after a few seconds, Matt following. She sent Matt to work, telling him where everything was and asking for the disinfectant and a wet cloth.
“I’ll start with that knee,” she said, sitting down on a roll-y stool and coming over in front of Kurt. “This will hurt, but you probably already know that. It’s a pretty big cut.”
Kurt hissed in pain when the nurse started dabbing at his knee. Cleaning out cuts always hurt more than the actual cuts. He watched as the nurse cleaned his knee, remembering how he had gotten a similar cut when he had gone rollerblading without kneepads. He tried to distract himself from the stinging, looking over at Matt instead, who had an apology written all over his face.
“There you go,” the nurse put an overlarge band-aid over the cut. “All cleaned.” Kurt managed to get out a smile to thank her.
“Mr. Rutherford, would you go tell your glee club where these two have got to?” the nurse asked, turning the stool to look at Matt. “I don’t want Mr. Schuester to worry.”
“Yeah,” Matt gave a little nod, leaving the room.
“Rutherford, I am so going to beat the shit out of you,” Karofsky’s voice floated in from the front room. He and his brother had obviously both come to the nurse’s office to get patched up.
“I do not tolerate that kind of language!” the nurse called through the door, voice kind but obviously meaning business. “You two just sit and wait and let Mr. Rutherford go.”
A quiet, disgruntled, “Whatever,” was all she got as an answer.
“Now, your turn,” the nurse’s attention was on Puck. “You’ve got a cut by your eyebrow, let me get that cleaned for you.” She got a new cloth for Puck, first dabbing at it with disinfectant. Puck grimaced, but made no sound.
A noise at the door made all three of them look round, seeing Mercedes standing in the doorway.
“Miss Jones,” the nurse stood up, passing the cloth she was holding to Mercedes. “Do me a favor and help Mr. Puckerman clean himself up? I have to help those two idiots out there.”
Kurt could have laughed at the obvious displeasure the nurse had for this task. Mercedes took the nurse’s spot on the roll-y chair, looking from one to the other and wordlessly asking for an explanation. She knew she wasn’t going to get one, but that didn’t stop the questioning look. She started dabbing at Puck’s eyebrow as the nurse started talking to the Karofsky brothers.
“You two certainly got a number done on you,” she said conversationally, making an attempt at being polite. Neither Karofsky was going to return this favor, because she got, “It’s that asshole, Puckerman,” as a response. The nurse sucked in her breath and made a tutting noise, warning them about language again.
“But he is!” the other Karofsky insisted. “He defended that Hummel kid!”
“Well, then he is a more admirable person than either of you two,” the nurse’s voice was stern and confident. “Honestly, I will never understand you children and your incessant need to pick on others, especially ones that are smaller than you. Kurt Hummel has come to see me more than once with a bump to the head or a black eye and you know what he does? He just shrugs it away, saying he slipped in the hallway or walked into a door. As far as I’m concerned, Kurt and Noah are the bigger people here. You two should be ashamed.”
Kurt almost applauded. He officially loved their school nurse. That lady really knew how to lay the smackdown, and from the sound of it, she had shocked the two brothers into silence.
“I want you two out of my office. Now. Get on over to Figgins. He can clean you two up the rest of the way himself if it’s that important. I’ve done my job.”
When the nurse came back, Kurt smiled broadly at her. He knew he’d always liked her for a reason. She returned it, then came over to look at Puck’s eyebrow again. “How’s he doing?” she asked Mercedes, who moved out of the way. The nurse clucked her tongue, saying, “Well, it could have been a lot worse. They barely broke the skin. It shouldn’t be bad enough to leave a scar, so don’t worry about that.”
Kurt didn’t miss how Puck’s face fell at this news.
“And let me take another look at you, Kurt,” the nurse cupped his face gently, tilting his chin upwards so she could get a better look. “I’ll give you something for that black eye you’ll no doubt have in a few hours. You’re lucky too; there’s no broken skin at all. A little swelling and you’ll have quite the mark on your chin for a while, but no permanent physical damage.” Her fingers left Kurt’s face and she turned to Mercedes, saying, “Thank you for checking in on them, Miss Jones.”
As she left the room, she turned back around, saying, “You boys were very brave today. Now, I can’t condone fighting, but Noah, what you did was truly admirable.”
She left the three of them to sit there, not telling them to leave or whether they should stay. She just left them go, obviously knowing that they had more to deal with than just their physical injuries. Kurt knew it was going to take him a while before he could so much as open his locker without having a friend right next to him, never mind how long it would be until he could change for gym class without shaking.
Mr. Schuester came in after a few minutes, looking at Kurt and Puck guiltily. He sat down on the bed opposite, hands folded in his lap and obviously wanting to say something. But he kept quiet, just looking at them sadly. He obviously felt responsible. Kurt wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, because technically it was Kurt’s fault. If he hadn’t told Mr. Schuester about Day of Silence, the teacher would never have gotten the rest of the club involved.
Matt came back in after a minute or two, saying quietly, “Mr. Schue, the rest of the club is finished.” Nobody gave an explanation for what they were finished with, but Mr. Schue got up to leave. He rested his hand on Kurt’s shoulder for a few seconds, making eye contact with the boy until his eyes started to shine with tears. Then he left, Matt following.
Mercedes gave Kurt a little nudge, jerking her head towards the door. The three of them stood up and left the room together, Mercedes’ arm going around Kurt’s waist almost automatically. They didn’t stop at the choir room, just kept walking until they went their separate ways in the parking lot.
Kurt got into the passenger seat of Mercedes’ car, leaning to rest his head on the window. The glass was cool and felt nice. Kurt felt his face vibrate with the window as Mercedes started the engine, but he didn’t move. He kept his cheek pressed against the glass the whole drive, moving with the car. Mercedes didn’t say anything and didn’t switch on the radio. The drive was completely silent.
When they arrived at his house, Kurt got out and motioned for Mercedes to come in with him. He could tell by the lack of noise at the garage that his father was inside the house, and he hoped that he wouldn’t pass him on the way in. The last thing he needed was his father going ballistic because of what had happened to his face.
He ducked behind Mercedes as they entered the house, turning his face the other way when he heard his father in the kitchen. Unfortunately, his dad must have heard the door, for he called out, “Glee end early, boys?” He obviously thought that Kurt was with Finn.
Kurt took hold of Mercedes’ arm, dragging her along towards his bedroom, turning his face away from the kitchen. He heard his dad come into the room, saying, “Oh, hello Mercedes. Finn not here yet?” Kurt waved his question away, now practically running.
He had to give his dad credit, though. The man might not know how to figure out the meaning of a song and he may have a bad habit of never cleaning his fingernails properly, but he knew when his son was upset. He followed the pair of them downstairs, taking Kurt by the arm and turning him around so he could get a look at what he was hiding.
Burt took his son’s face in his hands, cradling it so gently that it tickled. Kurt stared up into his dad’s eyes, eyes that he had inherited, wondering what was going on in his father’s head. His expression was that of a father who didn’t know what to do, a father who hadn’t protected his son, a father who had failed.
“Can I fix you up?” he asked, and even though the school nurse had already done more than enough for him, Kurt nodded.
He sat with Mercedes on the edge of his bed, watching his father bustle around in his bathroom. He took Mercedes’ hand in his, holding it tightly and trying to ignore just how gentle his father was being when he started dabbing at his face with a washcloth. This wasn’t the Burt Hummel who fixed cars and tossed Kurt a wrench whenever he needed an extra set of hands. This was a Burt Hummel who was now second-guessing everything he knew to be true.
That thought alone was enough to get him crying again. His dad grabbed a tissue and wiped his eyes for him, which made the tears come faster. He wanted to tell his dad that none of it was his fault, that he was the best father he ever could have asked for, but it was still Day of Silence. He wasn’t about to quit now, not when he had gone for so long and through so much without a word.
“There,” Burt said as he finished, straightening up and taking a long look at Kurt’s face again. “All better.” That was a lie for both of them, and Kurt could feel it. “You’ll tell me everything tomorrow.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’ll just,” Burt started backing out of the room, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “go back up. Fix you kids something to eat.” Kurt gave him a small smile, watching him go.
He heard his father start yelling not two minutes later. Mercedes stiffened next to him, but Kurt stayed relaxed. He closed his eyes, limiting his senses to strengthen his hearing, trying to figure out just what was going on upstairs.
“No, no, that is no way to talk to me,” his dad was saying. “Don’t treat me like I’m one of your students. I know better. I have a right to know what goes on in that school of yours, and if you don’t fix it, so help me, I will sue your ass until you’ve nothing to your name!”
A small pause, then, “Don’t tell me you’re handling it! If this is what you call ‘handling it,’ then you’re the wrong man for the job, Figgins!”
Ah, of course, he’s playing the protective father role now. Bless him.
“I want those boys out of that school, do you understand?” Burt continued. “I don’t want them allowed within fifty feet of the same building as Kurt for the rest of their miserable lives. I’ve got half a mind to go above your head and take this to the real authorities!”
It was then that Kurt realized he could never tell his father what he had been through. He’d talk about it with Finn and over time he’d probably end up telling Mercedes, but he would never tell his dad.
As his father raged on upstairs, Kurt allowed his thoughts to wander.
It was amazing how much his relationship with his father had changed this year. Burt had always been there for him no matter what, but ever since he had started being honest with himself, his father had started being honest with him. They no longer shied away from the topics they had always avoided. Kurt no longer had to make up a group of friends so his father wouldn’t worry about him. Their relationship was so much more genuine now, and Kurt wouldn’t wish it to be anything different.
When he had been little, just after his mom had died, his father hadn’t known what to do with him. His mother had cared for him, making sure that he did his homework and was in bed on time. She had picked him up from school every afternoon, sometimes stopping at their favorite bakery for a treat if he brought a particularly impressive grade home. They curled up on the couch together every Friday and watched movie musicals and sometimes she would break out her knitting needles and teach him while they sang along.
After she died, Kurt spent his Fridays on the couch by himself. Burt would pop in sometimes and take a peek, but he never stayed for too long. He bought Kurt new clothes from the boy’s section, even though girls’ jeans fit him better. He started teaching Kurt how to fix cars and would always “be busy” whenever Kurt would ask to go to the craft store.
Gradually, this resistance ended. Burt would carry his basket as they walked through Jo-Ann Fabrics and even started wearing the scarf Kurt knitted him for Christmas. He sat through the entirety of West Side Story and Kurt caught him humming bits of it the next day. He started letting Kurt shop for his own clothes, as long as Kurt made sure to always have a good pair of work clothes for when he needed help in the garage. They even started going to the old bakery together, where Kurt made sure to always get one of his mom’s favorite scones.
It had taken them time, but father and son had eventually become just that: father and son. Their relationship had been a bit strained and awkward at times, but it was healthy enough, considering that Kurt had never told his father one of the most important things about himself. But once he did, it was like all the awkwardness went away. Burt no longer had to pretend to believe Kurt’s stories about the girl he had a crush on and Kurt no longer had to hold back when he wanted to comment about just which member of the Sharks he was really looking at. Once they knocked down that wall, it was like every door on the other side had opened with it.
But Kurt still would never tell his father about what he went through at school. Never.
He knew his father still had doubts. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that sometimes, when things got tough, Burt probably wished he had a straight boy for a son. It was hard, knowing that, but Kurt could live with that. But if he told his father about all the abuse he had been put through, Burt would never be able to forgive himself. He would find a way of blaming himself for all of it. It would somehow be his fault that Kurt used to take daily dumpster dives and it would be his fault that insults were thrown every which way and it would be his fault that Kurt had been sexually harassed. It would make no sense, Burt’s logic, but that was the way he was. Everything that hurt Kurt was Burt’s fault, because he was a father, and fathers should be there for their children no matter what.
Removing himself from these thoughts, Kurt got up off his bed, deciding that now would be a good time for some music. Burt had let him keep his mom’s old record player, so he chose one of their favorites: Judy Garland. She had the voice of an angel, making Kurt’s mom cry more than once. He put on the record, walking back over to his bed and sitting down again.
He motioned for Mercedes to make herself comfortable, to get settled, then he reached down and pulled out a plastic bin from under his bed. From that he pulled a blanket and a sewing kit, and he spread the blanket across his bed, a gentle smile breaking across his face as he looked at it.
His mom had taught him more than knitting. She had started embroidering this blanket herself, and after seeing her working on it, Kurt had begged her to teach him. She had given him napkins and placemats to embroider while she worked on this blanket, her masterpiece.
She had died before finishing it. She hadn’t even got halfway. The incomplete work was so sad and pathetic looking that Kurt knew he had to finish it for her. It was the sort of thing he did when he wanted to remember, when he needed to relax, when he needed to calm down, when he needed his mother.
Choosing a spot, he pulled the blanket up around himself and Mercedes, leaning back so that his head rested on her shoulder as he worked on the blanket. He felt safe, knowing that his mother’s finest piece of work was covering him and his best friend was sitting with him. It was the first time that day he had felt completely protected.
This coupled with Judy Garland’s voice was enough for Kurt’s brain to start going fuzzy. It was hard to concentrate on what he was doing, and the music lulled him into that half-awake half-asleep state where you’re just conscious enough to register what’s going on.
He heard familiar footsteps on the stairs and knew it was his father who had just come back down. Mercedes moved beside him, but he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t have the willpower to open his eyes and find out.
Kurt recognized the feel of his dad’s fingers on his forehead, brushing back a lock of hair that had no doubt fallen in front of his face. The touch was light, caring, and affectionate, nothing like their usual bone-crushing hugs. When he felt his father’s lips where his hand had just been, he felt his eyes prickling with tears.
He couldn’t fake sleep after that. He roused himself from his semi-consciousness, looking over at Mercedes with watery eyes. She obviously thought he had just woken from a bad dream, so she put an arm around his shoulders, holding him close.
They sat like that for a while before Mercedes let him go. Even then, they just sat there, each tracing a bit of embroidery on the blanket and listening to Judy Garland singing. It was still relaxing, but now Kurt was starting to miss their usual animated, loud talks. He and Mercedes should be listening to their favorite modern music, shouting at each other over it and singing along at their favorite parts. They normally made Burt come down after ten minutes, asking them to turn down the music because he could hear it all the way out in the garage.
But today was Judy Garland and silence, and Kurt wasn’t sure how much longer he could go.
The stairs creaked again, and Kurt looked up, expecting to see his father coming back down. He raised a confused eyebrow when he noticed it was Mike, carrying a plate of cookies that smelled so good that he just knew they were freshly baked.
Mike waved, looking almost embarrassed as he set the plate down on Kurt’s desk. He didn’t explain why he had come over or what the cookies were for. When Mike sat down on the edge of Kurt’s bed, it made his heartbeat pick up a little, knowing that Mike Chang, who he had barely spoken two words to all year, cared enough about him to keep silent even after the school day was over.
The three of them just sat there in silence, each choosing a part of the blanket and tracing the stitching. Kurt watched as Mike’s eyes traveled over the entire thing, no doubt trying to figure out if it was supposed to be a certain design or create a picture. Kurt let his own eyes wander, taking in the multitude of colors and realizing that he no longer remembered which parts were his and which parts were his mom’s.
The record crackled as it ended, the needle clicking back into place as it stopped spinning. Kurt got up from his spot, meaning to play it again, but a hand tightened around his elbow. Looking around, he saw Mike’s hand on his arm, free hand tugging an iPod out of his pocket.
Kurt gave a small smile and sat back down, watching as Mike swapped out his iPod in the sound system, finding the song he wanted and fiddling with the volume knob. When he was satisfied, he came to stand in the middle of the sparse open room that still remained. It was clear that he was about to dance for them.
Kurt tucked his knees close to his body, hugging them and resting his chin in between, eyes locked on Mike as the song started playing. He had never heard this song before, but he instantly liked it. It was different from Mike’s usual style of music, much softer and slower than the hip-hop the boy obviously favored. As the song continued, Kurt realized that it was an instrumental piece.
Mike’s movements were slow and fluid, each one connecting together. He was graceful, moving as someone who had training in ballet, and the way he positioned his hands made Kurt believe that he had just that. He could feel his cheeks flushing and a smile tugging at his lips. This was absolutely beautiful, and Mike had done it just for him.
When the song ended, Mike was only slightly out of breath. Kurt and Mercedes didn’t applaud, but it wasn’t for any lack of appreciation. Kurt didn’t want to break the moment by clapping loudly, and he could tell Mercedes didn’t either.
So instead he stood up, walked over to Mike, and took the boy’s hand. It wasn’t a handshake and he wasn’t just holding the other’s hand, he was showing his thanks through this small and almost insignificant physical contact. Mike looked a little embarrassed, but he didn’t pull his hand away.
Mike ended up staying, even though he had clearly accomplished everything he’d intended to do. Kurt popped in Beauty and the Beast, and the three of them sat together on Kurt’s bed with the plate of cookies in front of them. Kurt was nestled between Mercedes and Mike, marveling at how relaxed he and Mike both were, considering the situation.
All three of them got lost in the movie, laughing at Lumiere and Cogsworth’s banter and gripping each other’s hands whenever Gaston stormed the castle, even though they all knew it would turn out okay. Kurt and Mercedes both started crying when it looked as if the Beast had died, and Mike slung his arm around Kurt’s shoulders until he had composed himself.
Burt came down during the credits, already talking as he descended the stairs.
“Hey kids, I’m thinking of just ordering pizza. Are you both staying over for dinner?” Kurt exchanged a glance with both Mercedes and Mike, nodding for them when neither seemed to be opposed. Burt smiled, saying, “One cheese and one pepperoni work for everyone?” There was more nodding, and Burt climbed back up the stairs.
It was then that Kurt realized Finn hadn’t come home.
He jumped up from his spot between his friends, finding his phone and quickly texting Finn, just a short and simple, Are you okay? He felt guilty for forgetting all about his almost-step-brother and what had happened to him earlier that day. Judy Garland, Mike’s dancing, and old Disney movies did provide quite the distraction, especially when you really want one.
Finn hadn’t responded and there was no sign of him when Burt came back downstairs and told them all the pizza was here. The three of them went up and Kurt realized that Carole was missing as well. He hoped that meant that she and Finn were both together, maybe eating out somewhere or maybe just out for a drive so they could talk.
After the pizza, Mike borrowed Kurt’s computer and showed him the website for the movie the song had come from. The three of them ended up back on Kurt’s bed, watching a pirated copy of the movie online. Kurt had to admit, this was the last thing he’d have expected Mike to show him. This was the sort of movie he or Rachel would have found, not someone like Mike. He decided to ask Mike about it later, once they were all talking again.
Mike and Mercedes both left his house around ten, after getting angry calls from their parents asking where they were. Both hung up on their yelling mothers and texted an answer, smirking as they did so. Kurt had a feeling both of them were going to be in trouble once they returned home, but he could tell neither one of them minded.
He set about getting ready for bed just like every other night, dressing in the bathroom in case Finn came back while he was in there. His stomach twisted when he checked the clock and realized just how late it was, and still no sign of Finn. Maybe he was staying with a friend tonight. He and Puck were on good terms again, so maybe he had gone over there to get a break from all this. Kurt couldn’t say he blamed him if he had.
He put on the Judy Garland record again, turned out the lights, and crawled into bed. He would have to wait until Finn was ready. They would talk on Finn’s terms, and for now he would just have to wait. He pushed everything that had happened that day out of his mind, clearing his head so thoroughly it was almost scary.
After all, Kurt was used to Day of Silence being the worst day of the year.
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Artie | Brittany | Finn | Jesse | Matt | Mercedes | Mike | Puck | Quinn | Rachel | Santana | Tina | Will | Kurt
Genre: friendship
Rating: T/borderline M
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Please note that Kurt's entire chapter is a whopping 18,395 words, so it has been broken into parts.
Author's Note: Because I'm not quite ready to say goodbye to this story, if you have any requests for an add-on to this story, ask and you shall receive!
Enjoy!
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He wanted to get out. He wanted to leave the school, to just run outside and keep going until he was somewhere else. He didn’t want to have to deal with anything else today. He just wanted to leave and finally be at peace.
That desire to escape was what got him in trouble, because he practically bolted out of the door as soon as his class with Mercedes was over, not waiting for her to come with him. He ran down the hallway, stuffing his bag in his locker and then kept running, running all the way down to the front doors.
Kurt expected someone to stop him. A teacher had to have seen him, but here he was, sitting outside on the steps of McKinley High School, and nobody else was around. He closed his eyes, tilting his head upwards to the cloudy sky, still able to feel the tiniest hint of sunlight brush his face. It was pleasantly warm out, just the tiniest bit too cold for T-shirts, typical Lima weather. He was grateful; if the weather had mirrored his feelings, it would have been too much.
He started walking. He walked out to the parking lot, remembering halfway there that Finn had his keys. But that didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to drive home or anything. He just wanted to be somewhere other than inside the school.
His feet kept going once he reached the outskirts of the parking lot, carrying him into the grass and over toward the elementary school next door. The playground was fenced off and nobody was outside, giving it a cold, deserted look. Kurt knew that the fence was there to keep strangers out and that nobody was there because lunchtime was over, but his brain refused to acknowledge the obvious.
He sat against the fence, leaning back and feeling the chain-links pressing into his back uncomfortably. That didn’t matter, though. He felt like he was sinking back into his childhood, the fence being the only thing in his way. Maybe if he pressed hard enough, he would fall through to the other side and he could be little, eight-year-old Kurt again, the one who still wore ripped jeans and Batman T-shirts because that’s what his dad always bought him.
It occurred to him then that he didn’t even know what the T-shirt he was wearing looked like. It had been hanging on his closet doorknob for two days, but its appearance hadn’t been taken in. So he looked down at his chest, taking in the faded grey color and the black bat-symbol emblazoned across the front.
Of course.
One of his hands reached up into his neatly-combed hair, tangling in the brown locks and mussing it until his bangs hung into his eyes. Kurt stood up, turning to face the fence, then started climbing. Chain-link fences were easy. He’d climbed one for the first time when he had been eleven and outrunning some idiot who had sworn he was going to kill him. Kurt had scaled the fence easy, dropping down into a locked tennis court and watching while the idiot struggled to lift himself.
He dropped down into the playground, the tiniest hint of a smile breaking across his face. At first he just stood there and looked at it, remembering how he had played on the jungle gym with his friend Addie. She had moved away before middle school. Before Kurt had started getting picked on for no good reason.
Addie wasn’t here anymore, and Kurt didn’t want to play on the jungle gym without her. He chose a swing instead, arms wrapping around the chains holding it up and feet giving him a good kickoff.
He didn’t try to go so high that he would loop around the top - which he’d always tried to do when he was younger - just swung at a decent enough height to get that soaring feeling in his stomach.
But then something collided with his back when he began to swing back down, something that definitely had not been there before. It hurt, too, and the impact sent Kurt flying from the swing, his lazy grip on the chains not enough to hold him in place. An undignified grunt escaped his lips as he landed in the woodchips on all fours.
What the hell was that?
He turned, still on the ground, stomach plummeting as he recognized Karofsky and his younger brother. How on earth had they gotten in here? No, better question was: how had they gotten in here without him noticing?
“Happy fag day, Hummel!” Karofsky grinned at him, clearly very proud of himself. Kurt had to bite his tongue to keep from making a retort.
Says the person who told me earlier I wasn’t allowed to celebrate. He grit his teeth, picking himself up and brushing his shirt off.
“Aww, did you get some dirt on you?” Karofsky’s brother took a step closer, his lower lip jutted out in an almost comical pout. “Let’s have a look, right?”
Oh, no. No way. There was no way that Karofksy and his brother were going to do anything to him here. This was an elementary school playground, and Kurt was not about to bring this sort of thing to a place so innocent.
So he bolted again, hitting the fence at a running jump, fingers clawing at the chains as his feet scrambled to get in place. He could hear both brothers laughing and knew he must look stupid, but this was his arena. Chain link fences were his thing, and he was going to climb up and over and get away.
Or so he thought.
A hand tightened on his ankle, and though he tried to kick with his other foot, when the hand pulled, Kurt came with it. He fell back onto the woodchips, landing flat on his back and feeling two hands close around his ankles, two around his wrists. Both brothers were pinning him down, and he squeezed his eyes shut, knowing one of them was looming right above his face.
“Come on, Hummel, I said, ‘let’s have a look’,” it was the younger of the two pinning him on top. Kurt could feel his eyes looking him over, could picture the coldness in his gaze. He turned his face, burying his cheek in the woodchips, vaguely remembering that his buried cheek had been drawn on earlier that day. It was as if he was protecting this cheek, making sure that nothing else would get written there.
“I’m disappointed,” the younger Karofsky said in an almost playful voice. “You got some dirt on your shirt. Right over the bat symbol too. Mummy will be most disappointed when she sees you.”
It wasn’t an accident. Plenty of throwaway comments about his father were accidents, but never the ones about his mother. They knew what had happened, they knew she was dead, and it was only when they wanted to provoke him when they made these low blows.
Don’t talk about my mother.
He could feel the tears coming, but he had to open his eyes. He couldn’t blink these away. Kurt opened his eyes, looking straight at the younger Karofsky, and spat in his face.
Stupid, irrational move on his part, and when he saw the other boy’s expression darken, his immediate thought was, Please don’t rape me in a playground. Both grips on him tightened, and the angry face above him said, “Don’t you dare spit on me, you disgusting thing!”
“Aw, come on, don’t be rude,” the other Karofsky’s voice came from around his ankles. “That’s probably his way of telling you he likes you. ‘Share bodily fluids with me,’ that’s probably what it means. Course, the ones he really wants come out of the other end!”
Oh fuck, they really are going to rape me in a playground! Kurt started pulling against their grips, managing to get one hand free. He gave a wild swing and luckily landed a blow on the already bruised nose of the younger Karofsky, which was enough to make him grab at his face in pain, releasing Kurt’s other arm.
Surprise was on his side, and he managed to kick both of his legs free, jumping at the chain-link fence again. He didn’t waste time trying to get a good footing this time, he just reached upwards, legs kicking against the fence and hands clinging desperately.
“Hey, you three!”
Kurt and the Karofsky brothers all looked around at the same time, seeing a teacher at the elementary school sticking his head out the window.
“What are you doing in here? Quit climbing on the fence and come round to the door; I want to have a word with you three.”
Quick, make a decision. Get over the fence and run for it, or jump back down and make a run for the window.
Seeing how both of the Karofskys were below him and stood between him and the window, Kurt chose the former. He didn’t bother to try to climb back down, he just launched himself into the air at the top, landing so heavily that he felt it all the way up his legs.
The teacher was yelling and he could hear the fence clanking as the brothers no doubt started climbing after him, but Kurt ignored that. He started running, not noticing where he was going, just running in the first direction his feet took him. He didn’t look back to see if the brothers had made it over the fence, just kept his eyes forward and ran.
Kurt didn’t notice when he reached the McKinley parking lot again. He didn’t see all the cars or the school behind them. He was so concentrated on just getting the hell out of that playground that he forgot what was at the front of every empty parking space.
He tripped over the painted piece of concrete that marked the boundaries of the parking lot, hands automatically going out to stop his fall. He felt the skin snag on the concrete, felt one of his knees hit the ground and rip open.
But he couldn’t stop now. Kurt picked himself up, feeling the grime inside the cut on his knee and forcing himself to ignore it. He set off again, much slower now, limping and feeling his knee sting more and more with each step. If he could just get back inside the school, then getting to an occupied classroom would be easy. He just had to get out of the parking lot, up the steps, through the door…
Two sets of hands tightened on his arms and Kurt knew who they belonged to without having to look. He watched as he was pulled back around the school to a door that had been left propped open, knowing it was the door to the locker room before he was dragged inside. It always happened in the locker room. Every single time.
He was slammed unceremoniously against the wall, the younger of the two pinning him there with one hand. They were obviously pissed that Kurt had managed to get away, and now he was in for it. The younger Karofsky was pressing on his collarbone so hard that it was starting to really hurt. If Kurt tried to struggle, it just made it worse.
“Bravo, Hummel,” Karofsky fake-applauded. “Didn’t know you had all that spirit in you. Saving it for a special occasion?” Kurt closed his eyes and let his head tilt up to the ceiling, an exasperated noise escaping his lips. He hated this part, the baiting part. This was when they tried to wind him up.
“I’m surprised you haven’t exploded yet,” Karfosky continued, and Kurt could feel him getting closer. “All that adrenaline has to have gotten you excited.”
Is that… his hand? On my…?
Kurt let out a shaky gasp, opening his eyes and looking down to see Karofsky’s hand right where he didn’t want it. What the hell was this? Last time they had gotten him in the locker room they had drawn straws to see who would be doing the slapping. Nobody wanted to touch him, so why was Karofsky doing this to him?
“No?” Karofsky almost looked disappointed. “Not even a little?” He moved his hand slightly, making Kurt close his eyes again and bite his lip to keep quiet. This was excruciating. He would be lying if he had said he’d never imagined what it would feel like to be touched like this. Everyone wonders what it will feel like, wonders when it will happen to them, wonders if it’s as good as everyone else says, wonders who will be the one with them. But nobody thinks about not wanting it. Nobody ever considers that the first time will happen when you’re pinned against a dirty locker room wall and it’s your daily tormenter doing it for no reason.
He had thought getting his ass slapped was bad enough, but here he was with his pants still on, with Karofsky’s hand still there.
“Say thank you,” Karofsky was saying, and his voice sounded like it was coming out of a haze. “Say thank you, Hummel.”
A fist collided with his jaw, making his head bump against the wall. Kurt opened his eyes, looking first at the younger Karofsky and then at his older brother. He kept his eyes locked on the other’s, his disgust and displeasure showing in the way his mouth was set in a thin line, the way his eyes flashed.
“That’s no thank you,” Karofsky, finally, took his hand away. That same hand curled into a fist, and he knocked Kurt’s jaw in the same place he had just been hit. “Come on, Hummel, this is the kind of stuff you get off on. The way you paraded around in here in that stupid bathrobe, just begging someone to yank it off of you and fuck you into the wall.” His lips turned up in a sneer. “And now we’re here,” his eyes lowered, focusing on Kurt’s crotch, “and you haven’t even twitched.”
As hopeless as this situation might look, Kurt had to feel proud of himself. Plenty of hormone-driven teenagers would have given in by now, forgotten just what was going on and fooled themselves into pretending they liked it. But he wasn’t that person. He was Kurt Hummel, and no blundering asshole was going to get any reaction out of him.
Karofsky started pacing in front of them.
“So tell me, Hummel, what exactly is it that you want us to do to you?” Kurt’s entire face paled. “You should probably just tell us your sick little fantasies, because if you don’t, we’re gonna shove everything we can find up your ass and see which one makes you scream the loudest.”
“Karofsky!”
Oh my God, Noah Puckerman I could kiss you!
“Oh look, Puckerman’s come to save his boyfriend,” Karofsky was laughing now. “You too, Rutherford?” he added as Matt came into view behind Puck. “Didn’t know you swung that way too.”
“Let go of him,” Puck took a step forward, voice echoing around the lockers and anger clear in his eyes. If Kurt had been on the receiving end of that, he would have made a run for it there and then, no questions asked.
“Why should I?”
Apparently the Karofsky brothers were exceedingly stupid when it came to their pride.
“Because I will beat the shit out of you if you don’t.”
Kurt could have laughed. Puck said that like it was so normal, so everyday. That was the equivalent of a throwaway comment to him. His expression softened and the younger Karofsky’s grip on him slackened.
“Us against three fags?” Karofsky obviously wasn’t convinced. “I like those odds.” But his younger brother clearly was, because his grip was still slackened, so Kurt tried to free himself. Almost immediately, the grip was back and the pressure on his collarbone was so intense that he was certain the bone was going to pop out of place. But Kurt was determined to see this through, to finish what he started, so he kept struggling, swinging wildly and trying to get a punch in, all the while ignoring the pressure on his chest that was slowly making it hard to breathe.
“Whoa there, Hummel,” he felt another hand join the one already holding him back. “Calm down, calm down, we just want to hear your pretty voice. Tell us what’s going on between you and Puckerman. If you’re a good little boy, we won’t take a peek like we did with Finn.”
That comment was obviously too much for Puck, who made a lunge for the boy pinning Kurt against the wall. Unfortunately, the older Karofsky stood between the two, and he got Puck in the eye. Kurt almost cried out, but he bit his tongue to keep quiet. If he said something now, it would make Puck and Matt’s efforts mean nothing.
It took a couple seconds, but then Puck advanced again, this time going for Karofsky. Matt took advantage of the two being occupied and came over to the younger Karofsky, pulling him off of Kurt. Kurt’s eyes closed and he breathed in deeply, feeling his collarbone aching. He was going to have one hell of a bruise there, that was for sure. His breathing started coming in short, little gasps.
When he opened his eyes, he saw that Matt and Puck both had their respective Karofsky in a headlock.
“Not too bad for a bunch of fags,” Karofsky’s voice was a low grunt, obviously because of Puck’s hold on him. Puck tightened his grip, shutting him up and getting a moan of pain in response. Kurt expected a vocal sparring match, punctuated with lots of foul language, to start, but Puck’s attention was suddenly on him.
“You okay, Kurt?” he asked, using Kurt’s first name for what had to be the first time. Kurt almost smiled, but his lips wouldn’t move. Instead he just nodded, legs wobbling a little and feeling himself slump against the wall. That seemed to satisfy Puck, who turned his attention back on the Karofsky brothers and said, “Now, about you two. What did you do to Finn?”
Kurt wanted to leave. He didn’t want to find out what had happened to Finn, especially not from the people that had done it. He wanted to pretend that the cut on Finn’s chin was the only thing wrong with him, wanted to wait until the two of them were back at home before asking what had happened. But they were going to find out here and now, and Kurt felt an almost savage pleasure knowing that Puck and Matt would probably beat the two brothers senseless if they didn’t like the answer.
“N-nothing, I swear!” the younger Karofsky managed to get out, stuttering because of the hold Matt had around his neck.
“Don’t lie,” Matt’s voice sounded just as threatening as Puck’s. “We know you did something.”
“Hey, we gave him a choice.” Kurt’s eyes flashed. Were they seriously trying to defend what they had done? “We told him, we said, ‘Fess up or we’ll look ourselves.’”
Oh my God, please tell me they didn’t.
“And did you?” Puck’s voice shook the slightest bit as he asked. It was obvious he didn’t want to know the answer. Matt’s uncomfortable expression said the same thing, and Kurt himself would have given anything to not find out. If the brothers had been so willing to do what they had done to him, who’s to say they hadn’t gone all the way with Finn?
“Yeah, we did.”
Kurt hated the smirk on Karofsky’s face. He wanted to slap it off, to verbally abuse the brothers until they wondered where his potty mouth had come from.
“And what did you do to him after that?” Puck pressed for more, obviously not wanting to. A small gasp escaped Kurt’s lips, not out of surprise, but dread. He really didn’t want to know.
“Nothing. We didn’t do anything to him.”
“Why?” Puck asked, obviously not buying the answer. “I know what you two have done to people before. Last time you got someone’s pants off you shot spitballs at his ass. What did you do to Finn?”
Against his will, Kurt was suddenly intrigued. Who had they shot spitballs at? Why had they forced another guy out of his pants? Was there someone else at this school like him, someone who constantly looked over his shoulder and wondered if coming out had really been the best thing to do?
But no, there would be time for that later. Kurt’s attention was back on the task at hand, noticing that the brothers exchanged an uncomfortable look. Had they really done something?
“We didn’t do anything because we’re not like you! You fags get off on seeing naked guys, and it’s disgusting!”
Says the guy who pinned me to the wall while his brother touched me, Kurt thought bitterly.
“So you’re telling me,” Puck was fighting to keep his voice under control, “that you had every intention of raping my best friend and then you figured out that it would make you gay too? Is that what you mean?”
Kurt was the only one who really knew what the next uncomfortable look meant. No, they hadn’t let Finn go because they were afraid of turning gay themselves. They had let him go because he was just the warm up. They had been testing their power on him, testing the waters to see how it would go. They had been getting ready for later in the day, when they were going to get him. Puck and Matt, who didn’t know what they had just saved Kurt from, didn’t understand that, but Kurt was going to make sure it stayed that way.
Puck let go of Karofsky and kicked him twice, sending the boy to all fours. Then his attention was on Kurt, coming over to him and putting a supportive arm around his waist, saying, “Come here.”
It was an instinctual reaction that came from all the times Puck had thrown Kurt in the dumpster. He shied away from the touch, not wanting to feel Puck’s arm around him. It was too similar to all the times Puck had slung an arm around him to fool the unwitting teacher that had passed by.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Puck obviously noticed his discomfort. “And I’m not gonna talk anymore either.” Kurt let himself relax and felt Puck’s arm tighten around him, leading him towards the door. Matt followed them after giving the younger Karofsky a kick that landed him on the floor as well. They left the two there, not caring what happened to them.
Puck led him to the nurse’s office, and Kurt didn’t bother trying to protest. Normally he would just patch himself up, but Puck didn’t know that. The nurse looked up as they entered, eyes immediately locking on Kurt’s face. He probably already had a bruise somewhere, he was sure of it.
“Kurt got beat up,” Matt started speaking, explaining what had happened. The nurse’s hands flew to her mouth. “It was the two Karofsky brothers. They’ll probably come in later because we got a few punches in too. I know that means we’ll probably get in trouble too, but whatever. Can you fix him up?”
Puck gave Kurt a gentle nudge forward, removing his arm from around the smaller boy as the nurse stepped forward.
“You poor dear,” her fingers ghosted across his face, turning his head to get a good look at what had happened. “Is it just your face?” Kurt shook his head, holding out his grazed palms and then pointing to his knee. The nurse’s eyes widened, then she asked, “How did those happen?”
Kurt almost explained, but caught himself right as he opened his mouth. He turned to look at Matt, expression clearly asking for help. Matt, who obviously didn’t know how Kurt had gotten those, grabbed a pencil and pad of paper from the nurse’s desk and handed them over.
I tripped in the parking lot. It’s Day of Silence so I’m not talking.
“I see,” the nurse put the pad of paper back on her desk. “Why don’t you go sit down in the back room? I’ll get you cleaned up in a second. Did either of you two get any - oh, Mr. Puckerman, look at your eye! Go with Kurt and I’ll get you two fixed up.”
The two boys walked into the back room, hearing the nurse ask Matt if he had any injuries as they went. Kurt sat down on one of the fold-out beds, Puck sitting next to him. Kurt had expected the other boy to sit on the bed on the other side of the room, but he had to admit it was an almost nice surprise.
The nurse came in after a few seconds, Matt following. She sent Matt to work, telling him where everything was and asking for the disinfectant and a wet cloth.
“I’ll start with that knee,” she said, sitting down on a roll-y stool and coming over in front of Kurt. “This will hurt, but you probably already know that. It’s a pretty big cut.”
Kurt hissed in pain when the nurse started dabbing at his knee. Cleaning out cuts always hurt more than the actual cuts. He watched as the nurse cleaned his knee, remembering how he had gotten a similar cut when he had gone rollerblading without kneepads. He tried to distract himself from the stinging, looking over at Matt instead, who had an apology written all over his face.
“There you go,” the nurse put an overlarge band-aid over the cut. “All cleaned.” Kurt managed to get out a smile to thank her.
“Mr. Rutherford, would you go tell your glee club where these two have got to?” the nurse asked, turning the stool to look at Matt. “I don’t want Mr. Schuester to worry.”
“Yeah,” Matt gave a little nod, leaving the room.
“Rutherford, I am so going to beat the shit out of you,” Karofsky’s voice floated in from the front room. He and his brother had obviously both come to the nurse’s office to get patched up.
“I do not tolerate that kind of language!” the nurse called through the door, voice kind but obviously meaning business. “You two just sit and wait and let Mr. Rutherford go.”
A quiet, disgruntled, “Whatever,” was all she got as an answer.
“Now, your turn,” the nurse’s attention was on Puck. “You’ve got a cut by your eyebrow, let me get that cleaned for you.” She got a new cloth for Puck, first dabbing at it with disinfectant. Puck grimaced, but made no sound.
A noise at the door made all three of them look round, seeing Mercedes standing in the doorway.
“Miss Jones,” the nurse stood up, passing the cloth she was holding to Mercedes. “Do me a favor and help Mr. Puckerman clean himself up? I have to help those two idiots out there.”
Kurt could have laughed at the obvious displeasure the nurse had for this task. Mercedes took the nurse’s spot on the roll-y chair, looking from one to the other and wordlessly asking for an explanation. She knew she wasn’t going to get one, but that didn’t stop the questioning look. She started dabbing at Puck’s eyebrow as the nurse started talking to the Karofsky brothers.
“You two certainly got a number done on you,” she said conversationally, making an attempt at being polite. Neither Karofsky was going to return this favor, because she got, “It’s that asshole, Puckerman,” as a response. The nurse sucked in her breath and made a tutting noise, warning them about language again.
“But he is!” the other Karofsky insisted. “He defended that Hummel kid!”
“Well, then he is a more admirable person than either of you two,” the nurse’s voice was stern and confident. “Honestly, I will never understand you children and your incessant need to pick on others, especially ones that are smaller than you. Kurt Hummel has come to see me more than once with a bump to the head or a black eye and you know what he does? He just shrugs it away, saying he slipped in the hallway or walked into a door. As far as I’m concerned, Kurt and Noah are the bigger people here. You two should be ashamed.”
Kurt almost applauded. He officially loved their school nurse. That lady really knew how to lay the smackdown, and from the sound of it, she had shocked the two brothers into silence.
“I want you two out of my office. Now. Get on over to Figgins. He can clean you two up the rest of the way himself if it’s that important. I’ve done my job.”
When the nurse came back, Kurt smiled broadly at her. He knew he’d always liked her for a reason. She returned it, then came over to look at Puck’s eyebrow again. “How’s he doing?” she asked Mercedes, who moved out of the way. The nurse clucked her tongue, saying, “Well, it could have been a lot worse. They barely broke the skin. It shouldn’t be bad enough to leave a scar, so don’t worry about that.”
Kurt didn’t miss how Puck’s face fell at this news.
“And let me take another look at you, Kurt,” the nurse cupped his face gently, tilting his chin upwards so she could get a better look. “I’ll give you something for that black eye you’ll no doubt have in a few hours. You’re lucky too; there’s no broken skin at all. A little swelling and you’ll have quite the mark on your chin for a while, but no permanent physical damage.” Her fingers left Kurt’s face and she turned to Mercedes, saying, “Thank you for checking in on them, Miss Jones.”
As she left the room, she turned back around, saying, “You boys were very brave today. Now, I can’t condone fighting, but Noah, what you did was truly admirable.”
She left the three of them to sit there, not telling them to leave or whether they should stay. She just left them go, obviously knowing that they had more to deal with than just their physical injuries. Kurt knew it was going to take him a while before he could so much as open his locker without having a friend right next to him, never mind how long it would be until he could change for gym class without shaking.
Mr. Schuester came in after a few minutes, looking at Kurt and Puck guiltily. He sat down on the bed opposite, hands folded in his lap and obviously wanting to say something. But he kept quiet, just looking at them sadly. He obviously felt responsible. Kurt wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, because technically it was Kurt’s fault. If he hadn’t told Mr. Schuester about Day of Silence, the teacher would never have gotten the rest of the club involved.
Matt came back in after a minute or two, saying quietly, “Mr. Schue, the rest of the club is finished.” Nobody gave an explanation for what they were finished with, but Mr. Schue got up to leave. He rested his hand on Kurt’s shoulder for a few seconds, making eye contact with the boy until his eyes started to shine with tears. Then he left, Matt following.
Mercedes gave Kurt a little nudge, jerking her head towards the door. The three of them stood up and left the room together, Mercedes’ arm going around Kurt’s waist almost automatically. They didn’t stop at the choir room, just kept walking until they went their separate ways in the parking lot.
Kurt got into the passenger seat of Mercedes’ car, leaning to rest his head on the window. The glass was cool and felt nice. Kurt felt his face vibrate with the window as Mercedes started the engine, but he didn’t move. He kept his cheek pressed against the glass the whole drive, moving with the car. Mercedes didn’t say anything and didn’t switch on the radio. The drive was completely silent.
When they arrived at his house, Kurt got out and motioned for Mercedes to come in with him. He could tell by the lack of noise at the garage that his father was inside the house, and he hoped that he wouldn’t pass him on the way in. The last thing he needed was his father going ballistic because of what had happened to his face.
He ducked behind Mercedes as they entered the house, turning his face the other way when he heard his father in the kitchen. Unfortunately, his dad must have heard the door, for he called out, “Glee end early, boys?” He obviously thought that Kurt was with Finn.
Kurt took hold of Mercedes’ arm, dragging her along towards his bedroom, turning his face away from the kitchen. He heard his dad come into the room, saying, “Oh, hello Mercedes. Finn not here yet?” Kurt waved his question away, now practically running.
He had to give his dad credit, though. The man might not know how to figure out the meaning of a song and he may have a bad habit of never cleaning his fingernails properly, but he knew when his son was upset. He followed the pair of them downstairs, taking Kurt by the arm and turning him around so he could get a look at what he was hiding.
Burt took his son’s face in his hands, cradling it so gently that it tickled. Kurt stared up into his dad’s eyes, eyes that he had inherited, wondering what was going on in his father’s head. His expression was that of a father who didn’t know what to do, a father who hadn’t protected his son, a father who had failed.
“Can I fix you up?” he asked, and even though the school nurse had already done more than enough for him, Kurt nodded.
He sat with Mercedes on the edge of his bed, watching his father bustle around in his bathroom. He took Mercedes’ hand in his, holding it tightly and trying to ignore just how gentle his father was being when he started dabbing at his face with a washcloth. This wasn’t the Burt Hummel who fixed cars and tossed Kurt a wrench whenever he needed an extra set of hands. This was a Burt Hummel who was now second-guessing everything he knew to be true.
That thought alone was enough to get him crying again. His dad grabbed a tissue and wiped his eyes for him, which made the tears come faster. He wanted to tell his dad that none of it was his fault, that he was the best father he ever could have asked for, but it was still Day of Silence. He wasn’t about to quit now, not when he had gone for so long and through so much without a word.
“There,” Burt said as he finished, straightening up and taking a long look at Kurt’s face again. “All better.” That was a lie for both of them, and Kurt could feel it. “You’ll tell me everything tomorrow.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’ll just,” Burt started backing out of the room, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “go back up. Fix you kids something to eat.” Kurt gave him a small smile, watching him go.
He heard his father start yelling not two minutes later. Mercedes stiffened next to him, but Kurt stayed relaxed. He closed his eyes, limiting his senses to strengthen his hearing, trying to figure out just what was going on upstairs.
“No, no, that is no way to talk to me,” his dad was saying. “Don’t treat me like I’m one of your students. I know better. I have a right to know what goes on in that school of yours, and if you don’t fix it, so help me, I will sue your ass until you’ve nothing to your name!”
A small pause, then, “Don’t tell me you’re handling it! If this is what you call ‘handling it,’ then you’re the wrong man for the job, Figgins!”
Ah, of course, he’s playing the protective father role now. Bless him.
“I want those boys out of that school, do you understand?” Burt continued. “I don’t want them allowed within fifty feet of the same building as Kurt for the rest of their miserable lives. I’ve got half a mind to go above your head and take this to the real authorities!”
It was then that Kurt realized he could never tell his father what he had been through. He’d talk about it with Finn and over time he’d probably end up telling Mercedes, but he would never tell his dad.
As his father raged on upstairs, Kurt allowed his thoughts to wander.
It was amazing how much his relationship with his father had changed this year. Burt had always been there for him no matter what, but ever since he had started being honest with himself, his father had started being honest with him. They no longer shied away from the topics they had always avoided. Kurt no longer had to make up a group of friends so his father wouldn’t worry about him. Their relationship was so much more genuine now, and Kurt wouldn’t wish it to be anything different.
When he had been little, just after his mom had died, his father hadn’t known what to do with him. His mother had cared for him, making sure that he did his homework and was in bed on time. She had picked him up from school every afternoon, sometimes stopping at their favorite bakery for a treat if he brought a particularly impressive grade home. They curled up on the couch together every Friday and watched movie musicals and sometimes she would break out her knitting needles and teach him while they sang along.
After she died, Kurt spent his Fridays on the couch by himself. Burt would pop in sometimes and take a peek, but he never stayed for too long. He bought Kurt new clothes from the boy’s section, even though girls’ jeans fit him better. He started teaching Kurt how to fix cars and would always “be busy” whenever Kurt would ask to go to the craft store.
Gradually, this resistance ended. Burt would carry his basket as they walked through Jo-Ann Fabrics and even started wearing the scarf Kurt knitted him for Christmas. He sat through the entirety of West Side Story and Kurt caught him humming bits of it the next day. He started letting Kurt shop for his own clothes, as long as Kurt made sure to always have a good pair of work clothes for when he needed help in the garage. They even started going to the old bakery together, where Kurt made sure to always get one of his mom’s favorite scones.
It had taken them time, but father and son had eventually become just that: father and son. Their relationship had been a bit strained and awkward at times, but it was healthy enough, considering that Kurt had never told his father one of the most important things about himself. But once he did, it was like all the awkwardness went away. Burt no longer had to pretend to believe Kurt’s stories about the girl he had a crush on and Kurt no longer had to hold back when he wanted to comment about just which member of the Sharks he was really looking at. Once they knocked down that wall, it was like every door on the other side had opened with it.
But Kurt still would never tell his father about what he went through at school. Never.
He knew his father still had doubts. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that sometimes, when things got tough, Burt probably wished he had a straight boy for a son. It was hard, knowing that, but Kurt could live with that. But if he told his father about all the abuse he had been put through, Burt would never be able to forgive himself. He would find a way of blaming himself for all of it. It would somehow be his fault that Kurt used to take daily dumpster dives and it would be his fault that insults were thrown every which way and it would be his fault that Kurt had been sexually harassed. It would make no sense, Burt’s logic, but that was the way he was. Everything that hurt Kurt was Burt’s fault, because he was a father, and fathers should be there for their children no matter what.
Removing himself from these thoughts, Kurt got up off his bed, deciding that now would be a good time for some music. Burt had let him keep his mom’s old record player, so he chose one of their favorites: Judy Garland. She had the voice of an angel, making Kurt’s mom cry more than once. He put on the record, walking back over to his bed and sitting down again.
He motioned for Mercedes to make herself comfortable, to get settled, then he reached down and pulled out a plastic bin from under his bed. From that he pulled a blanket and a sewing kit, and he spread the blanket across his bed, a gentle smile breaking across his face as he looked at it.
His mom had taught him more than knitting. She had started embroidering this blanket herself, and after seeing her working on it, Kurt had begged her to teach him. She had given him napkins and placemats to embroider while she worked on this blanket, her masterpiece.
She had died before finishing it. She hadn’t even got halfway. The incomplete work was so sad and pathetic looking that Kurt knew he had to finish it for her. It was the sort of thing he did when he wanted to remember, when he needed to relax, when he needed to calm down, when he needed his mother.
Choosing a spot, he pulled the blanket up around himself and Mercedes, leaning back so that his head rested on her shoulder as he worked on the blanket. He felt safe, knowing that his mother’s finest piece of work was covering him and his best friend was sitting with him. It was the first time that day he had felt completely protected.
This coupled with Judy Garland’s voice was enough for Kurt’s brain to start going fuzzy. It was hard to concentrate on what he was doing, and the music lulled him into that half-awake half-asleep state where you’re just conscious enough to register what’s going on.
He heard familiar footsteps on the stairs and knew it was his father who had just come back down. Mercedes moved beside him, but he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t have the willpower to open his eyes and find out.
Kurt recognized the feel of his dad’s fingers on his forehead, brushing back a lock of hair that had no doubt fallen in front of his face. The touch was light, caring, and affectionate, nothing like their usual bone-crushing hugs. When he felt his father’s lips where his hand had just been, he felt his eyes prickling with tears.
He couldn’t fake sleep after that. He roused himself from his semi-consciousness, looking over at Mercedes with watery eyes. She obviously thought he had just woken from a bad dream, so she put an arm around his shoulders, holding him close.
They sat like that for a while before Mercedes let him go. Even then, they just sat there, each tracing a bit of embroidery on the blanket and listening to Judy Garland singing. It was still relaxing, but now Kurt was starting to miss their usual animated, loud talks. He and Mercedes should be listening to their favorite modern music, shouting at each other over it and singing along at their favorite parts. They normally made Burt come down after ten minutes, asking them to turn down the music because he could hear it all the way out in the garage.
But today was Judy Garland and silence, and Kurt wasn’t sure how much longer he could go.
The stairs creaked again, and Kurt looked up, expecting to see his father coming back down. He raised a confused eyebrow when he noticed it was Mike, carrying a plate of cookies that smelled so good that he just knew they were freshly baked.
Mike waved, looking almost embarrassed as he set the plate down on Kurt’s desk. He didn’t explain why he had come over or what the cookies were for. When Mike sat down on the edge of Kurt’s bed, it made his heartbeat pick up a little, knowing that Mike Chang, who he had barely spoken two words to all year, cared enough about him to keep silent even after the school day was over.
The three of them just sat there in silence, each choosing a part of the blanket and tracing the stitching. Kurt watched as Mike’s eyes traveled over the entire thing, no doubt trying to figure out if it was supposed to be a certain design or create a picture. Kurt let his own eyes wander, taking in the multitude of colors and realizing that he no longer remembered which parts were his and which parts were his mom’s.
The record crackled as it ended, the needle clicking back into place as it stopped spinning. Kurt got up from his spot, meaning to play it again, but a hand tightened around his elbow. Looking around, he saw Mike’s hand on his arm, free hand tugging an iPod out of his pocket.
Kurt gave a small smile and sat back down, watching as Mike swapped out his iPod in the sound system, finding the song he wanted and fiddling with the volume knob. When he was satisfied, he came to stand in the middle of the sparse open room that still remained. It was clear that he was about to dance for them.
Kurt tucked his knees close to his body, hugging them and resting his chin in between, eyes locked on Mike as the song started playing. He had never heard this song before, but he instantly liked it. It was different from Mike’s usual style of music, much softer and slower than the hip-hop the boy obviously favored. As the song continued, Kurt realized that it was an instrumental piece.
Mike’s movements were slow and fluid, each one connecting together. He was graceful, moving as someone who had training in ballet, and the way he positioned his hands made Kurt believe that he had just that. He could feel his cheeks flushing and a smile tugging at his lips. This was absolutely beautiful, and Mike had done it just for him.
When the song ended, Mike was only slightly out of breath. Kurt and Mercedes didn’t applaud, but it wasn’t for any lack of appreciation. Kurt didn’t want to break the moment by clapping loudly, and he could tell Mercedes didn’t either.
So instead he stood up, walked over to Mike, and took the boy’s hand. It wasn’t a handshake and he wasn’t just holding the other’s hand, he was showing his thanks through this small and almost insignificant physical contact. Mike looked a little embarrassed, but he didn’t pull his hand away.
Mike ended up staying, even though he had clearly accomplished everything he’d intended to do. Kurt popped in Beauty and the Beast, and the three of them sat together on Kurt’s bed with the plate of cookies in front of them. Kurt was nestled between Mercedes and Mike, marveling at how relaxed he and Mike both were, considering the situation.
All three of them got lost in the movie, laughing at Lumiere and Cogsworth’s banter and gripping each other’s hands whenever Gaston stormed the castle, even though they all knew it would turn out okay. Kurt and Mercedes both started crying when it looked as if the Beast had died, and Mike slung his arm around Kurt’s shoulders until he had composed himself.
Burt came down during the credits, already talking as he descended the stairs.
“Hey kids, I’m thinking of just ordering pizza. Are you both staying over for dinner?” Kurt exchanged a glance with both Mercedes and Mike, nodding for them when neither seemed to be opposed. Burt smiled, saying, “One cheese and one pepperoni work for everyone?” There was more nodding, and Burt climbed back up the stairs.
It was then that Kurt realized Finn hadn’t come home.
He jumped up from his spot between his friends, finding his phone and quickly texting Finn, just a short and simple, Are you okay? He felt guilty for forgetting all about his almost-step-brother and what had happened to him earlier that day. Judy Garland, Mike’s dancing, and old Disney movies did provide quite the distraction, especially when you really want one.
Finn hadn’t responded and there was no sign of him when Burt came back downstairs and told them all the pizza was here. The three of them went up and Kurt realized that Carole was missing as well. He hoped that meant that she and Finn were both together, maybe eating out somewhere or maybe just out for a drive so they could talk.
After the pizza, Mike borrowed Kurt’s computer and showed him the website for the movie the song had come from. The three of them ended up back on Kurt’s bed, watching a pirated copy of the movie online. Kurt had to admit, this was the last thing he’d have expected Mike to show him. This was the sort of movie he or Rachel would have found, not someone like Mike. He decided to ask Mike about it later, once they were all talking again.
Mike and Mercedes both left his house around ten, after getting angry calls from their parents asking where they were. Both hung up on their yelling mothers and texted an answer, smirking as they did so. Kurt had a feeling both of them were going to be in trouble once they returned home, but he could tell neither one of them minded.
He set about getting ready for bed just like every other night, dressing in the bathroom in case Finn came back while he was in there. His stomach twisted when he checked the clock and realized just how late it was, and still no sign of Finn. Maybe he was staying with a friend tonight. He and Puck were on good terms again, so maybe he had gone over there to get a break from all this. Kurt couldn’t say he blamed him if he had.
He put on the Judy Garland record again, turned out the lights, and crawled into bed. He would have to wait until Finn was ready. They would talk on Finn’s terms, and for now he would just have to wait. He pushed everything that had happened that day out of his mind, clearing his head so thoroughly it was almost scary.
After all, Kurt was used to Day of Silence being the worst day of the year.
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Artie | Brittany | Finn | Jesse | Matt | Mercedes | Mike | Puck | Quinn | Rachel | Santana | Tina | Will | Kurt