dismiss your fears, part ii (glee, blaine/kurt)
Title: Dismiss Your Fears
Fandom: Glee
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, side Brittany/Santana, mentioned canon, ofc/ofc
Warnings: character death (not Kurt or Blaine), angsty angstness, schmoop, boys in love being silly, questionable musical taste, original character (but she's cool, I promise), h/c, homophobia, improbable medical decisions, Sue Sylvester being nice, some oocness.
Summary: When Burt dies instead of waking up from his coma, Kurt goes mute. The summer after his junior year, Kurt works in his aunt's secondhand bookshop, the same place where Blaine applies for a job as live entertainment. While Kurt tries to build up his walls, determined to keep from being hurt again, Blaine does his best to tear them down and help Kurt through his grief over Burt. The Glee clubbers help in their own ways.
Notes: Written for klainebigbang. Thanks to the lovely keeper_of_rain for putting up with me and giving some amazingly quick edit jobs when the times called for it. Thanks also to artsnletters for the gorgeous artwork. All music mentioned or sung is embedded into the body of the fic. Let me know if any of it doesn't work and I'll get it fixed up asap.
The title and the lj cut lyrics are all taken from Mumford & Son's "After the Storm," which is a lovely piece of music. And in case anyone is curious, Kurt's aunt has looked like Anne Hathaway for me since I started writing her. I could write a paragrah more, but I'll just let you read the fic. Comments and insights are appreciated, as alway
-
Kurt woke up slowly. For a moment, he just stared at the white ceiling. Then he sat up so fast his head spun.
He was in the hospital, on one of the beds. His aunt was snoozing in one of the chairs, her bag at her feet. As he watched her, she slowly slid awake. She didn't seem to realize he was awake for a moment, but then she lunged at him and drew him into a hug.
"Oh sweetheart," she said. "God, you scared me to death. And that doctor!" She let Kurt go and took his head, fuming at the wall above his head. "Oh, I gave him a piece of my mind. Giving sedatives to a grieving teenager! I imagine he'll be fired soon after what I told the Head of the Board. Honestly, what was running through his mind?! You don't give sedatives to the grieving relatives, you try and calm them down with your words. And now you've been out for a day, so clearly he not only gave you sedatives, he gave you an overdose of them, the idiot. And what if you'd been allergic? If that man isn't fired in the next week, I'm coming back and I'm suing the hospital."
Kurt stared at her. She was angry, that much was for certain, and her eyes were lit up with passion. But there were black circles underneath her bright eyes, and her hair looked unwashed and unkempt. Her skin was yellowing and her nails had been bitten down to the quick. Kurt wondered if it was because of him or Burt that she looked like she was about to keel over.
Kurt curled in on himself, sudden agony striking as he re-realized that Burt was dead. Not gone, not in the hospital, not in a coma: dead. He was never coming back. There would be no more awkward talks about boys, no more fixing cars side by side, no more cooking lessons to make sure someone other than Kurt knew how to make dinner, no more stories about his mother, no more-anything. It was all gone. Burt had been a person, he'd had memories and personality and laughter and tears and everything about him had just been erased, just like that.
Kurt put his head in his hands. Helen had finally stopped speaking.
"Kurt?" she asked tentatively, and Kurt wanted to scream at her, because if she'd been his dad she'd know what to do, but she wasn't his dad- "Kurt, are you . . . shit. I know you're not okay. Are you any better?"
Kurt didn't look up at her. His hands felt cool on his face, and it was nice not to see anything. He wished he could just never see anything again. What good were eyes when his father was dead? What good was fashion or singing or cooking when he'd never see Burt smile again, never hear him laugh or say "I'm proud of you" again? What good was there in a world where Burt Hummel wasn't alive?
"Kurt?" Helen asked again, putting her hand on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt pushed her away.
He stood, his legs still shaky, and tied his gown together with one hand so it wouldn't flap open in the back. Then, calmly as he could, he ran out. He heard his aunt calling after him, trying to chase him, he heard nurses yelling after him, but he didn't stop for anything, even when he felt like he could collapse.
-
"Kurt?" Mercedes said, eyes wide, standing on her doorstep. It was Saturday morning and she was dressed in her pajamas still. "Kurt? What is it? What happened? Why are you-Is that a hospital gown?!"
Kurt didn't explain.
He couldn't say anything anymore.
-
Kurt woke to a dark room and Mercedes' voice in the background.
"I think he's alright," she was saying. Kurt sat up on the couch. "He just came here and crashed." She paused, then said, "His dad's really dead?" Her voice was free of pity. She sounded close to tears. Kurt stood and made his way to the kitchen. Mercedes was leaning against the counter. She was staring down at her hands, misery plain on her face. Tears were gathering in her eyes. Kurt wondered why she could cry and he couldn't. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Hummel." She wiped at an eye. "Kurt can stay here for as long as he wants, you know. Although . . . ." Mercedes bit her lip.
"He hasn't spoken a word since he got here, Ms. Hummel. I mean, he crashed pretty much right away, but I didn't even know his dad was dead until you called. He hasn't said anything." She listened for a long time, then said, "Alright. I'll tell him when he wakes up." She put the phone down and turned.
"Kurt!" she said, jumping. "Geez, boy, you scared me." Kurt shrugged. Mercedes eyed him, then sighed. "Come on," she said, taking him by the elbow. Kurt flinched away from her. "You look like you could with a few more hours of sleep."
-
Kurt stayed at Mercedes' house until the next morning, when Helen showed up on the doorstep. She looked haggard and the skin around her eyes was red and puffy.
"Kurt, honey," she said, "You need to come home."
Kurt shook his head. Helen took his hands into hers.
"What is it?" she asked. "Why aren't you talking?"
I can't, Kurt thought. Words were too much effort, too much work. All he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep for days and weeks and months, sleep until he was dead so that he could see his dad again. He was willing to believe the afterlife existed if it meant he could be with his mom and dad. He'd believe anything for a chance at that.
"Kurt, the funeral is tomorrow," Helen told him, trying to be gentle. She wasn't used to it, Kurt could tell, but he appreciated the effort. "I know this hurts, but I need you to focus buddy. Why aren't you talking? Did something happen to your voice?"
Kurt bit his lip and sighed. He found a scrap of an open envelope and a pen.
I can't, he wrote.
Helen read it and a confused crease appeared in between her eyebrows. "You can't talk? Why?"
Kurt just shook his head. Helen gave him a look of dawning comprehension that softened into something very close to pity. Kurt glared at her.
"You can talk, but you don't want to," she said. Her voice was free of condemnation. "Well, then I guess we're gonna be buying a lot more paper for the future. I'm too old to learn sign language, kid."
Kurt blinked at her. He felt the odd urge to smile, because that was something his dad would've said-
The urge to smile disappeared.
-
The funeral was a small affair, attended only by Kurt, Helen, Carole and Finn. Mercedes had wanted to come, but Kurt had asked her not to. He watched silently as they lowered his father's casket into the ground. Helen had been the one to arrange it, and he was glad that she had chosen something a little more expensive. Of course, expense didn't really matter when it was a casket - who was going to judge it if it was cheap, the dead bodies in the ground? The grave robbers? Still, it gave Kurt a sense of comfort to know his dad wasn't just dumped into the ground. That he was resting in comfort, as it was.
He looked over at the small party. They were all dressed in black. Helen was staring at the casket, white-faced and dry-eyed, and Carole was dabbing at her eyes, her face blotchy from the crying she'd already done. Finn, to Kurt's surprise, was openly crying as well.
Kurt had never seen Finn cry. It was on the list of things that Real Men didn't do, and Finn always tried so hard to be a Real Man. He wasn't sobbing or anything, but as the ceremony went on, silent tears rolled down his face. Always the better son, Kurt thought, with a surprising lack of bitterness. He wished he could cry. His father deserved tears, he deserved grief, and he deserved every iota of sadness Kurt possessed. He deserved to be remembered and loved and grieved over. But Kurt was just so tired of tears, so tired of crying, so tired of everything. He just wanted to sleep.
Carole was crying too. Kurt wondered sometimes if his father would've married Carole. Kurt thought Burt would've. They had been good together - they'd grounded each other. Kurt had rarely seen his dad as happy as he had been with Carole.
They started to lower the casket into the ground. Helen grabbed onto Kurt's hand, squeezing it tightly in her own. Kurt let her, his eyes fixed on the slowly disappearing coffin. My heart's going into that ground, he thought.
The tears still didn't come.
-
Kurt didn't go back to school for another week. He lived in his house with his aunt, who was on her way to becoming his legal guardian: his father had specified in his will that it should be her or Kurt's grandmother who should take care of him. Burt had left everything to him - the house, Hummel's Tires and Lube, all of his money and shares and holdings. Until he turned 18, it would be managed by Helen. Kurt was fine with that - he didn't know what to do with it all. He'd always had a head for managing money, partly due to the budgeting he'd had to do to get certain clothes he wanted, but everything seemed too complicated to handle.
He spent the week in his room, in bed mostly. His phone had died sometime on the second day, and Kurt never bothered to recharge it. Silence was a blessed relief - it had been buzzing nearly nonstop since his dad's funeral. He asked Helen to turn away any of his friends if they came to visit, so he spent the week alone. He preferred it that way. No one expected him to talk if he was alone.
Sometimes, when Helen was away on business, he snuck out of his room and into his father's. Helen had taken up one of the guest rooms and hadn't had time to clean things out, so Burt's bedroom was mostly untouched. His shirts - all plaid and collared, no matter how many times Kurt had tried to dress him in something else - still hung in the closet. His toothbrush was still in the cup by the sink, next to his mother's, which Burt had never thrown out despite the years. It was old now, but Burt cleaned it regularly, which kept it from being disgusting.
Kurt liked to lie down in Burt's closet. It was a big one - not as big as Kurt's, but close - and it had enough room for Kurt to almost lie down fully. His father's scent - car oil, something woodsy and bit of the cologne his mother had gotten him in the habit of wearing - covered the closet. When Kurt closed his eyes and breathed in, he could almost pretend his father was there.
But then he opened his eyes and there were just shirt staring back at him. It was his mother's dresser 2.0, except it hurt so much worse.
After a week, Helen gently asked him if he was ready to go back to school. Kurt shrugged. He didn't care. He didn't care about a whole lot these days.
-
His first day back was strange, in both bad and good ways.
His friends treated him like he was made of spun glass. Mercedes was the only one who didn't offer her sympathies, but she took Kurt's arm whenever they had class together and glared at whoever did as if she expected the "I'm sorry your dad died" to send Kurt into a crying fit. Finn, who had already been at school for a few days, kept sending Kurt understanding looks.
He didn't get locker-checked or slushied all day. Kurt supposed that even bullying jocks had their moments of empathy. He doubted it would last long, but he felt a little touched. He hadn't thought that his bullies would care enough that his dad died to stop tormenting him.
Glee, however, was the worst.
He was ploughed over by Brittany when he first walked in. She looked like she had been crying quite a bit when she pulled back.
"I'm so sorry Kurt," she said, sniffling. "Maybe if I'd written my report in pen like the teacher said, your dad would still be alive."
Kurt bit his lip and looked around for paper. Finding none, he took out his phone and quickly made a text message. He still had Brittany's number from their faux-dating phase.
Brittany looked confused when she heard her phone ringing (Tik-Tok, Kurt noted with some amusement, the first he'd felt in days), but she hurried to answer it. She stared down at the message with large eyes.
It's not your fault, Brit. The doctors said your report helped them a lot. That was a lie. Dr. Oliver and the multiple nurses attending his father had given him strange looks when they'd seen the report lying on Burt's bedside table. But Kurt wasn't about to tell Brittany that when she was crying over a man she'd met once. She was silly sometimes, half-witted others, but Kurt could never say that she wasn't one of the nicest people he'd met. Sometimes he wondered how she'd become a Cheerio.
"Kurt?" Kurt turned to see Puck watching him. Puck looked uncharacteristically withdrawn and uncertain. "Are you alright, dude? Did something happen to your voice?"
Kurt sighed, opening his phone again. He didn't have Puck's number, so he just gave the phone to Puck after making the message.
I don't feel like talking, it said. Puck stared down at it for a moment, then shrugged.
"Alright," he said. He turned to the rest of the members who were there, all of them hanging back and curious. "Kurt's not gonna be talking today," he announced. "He'll talk to you through text and paper, alright?"
"What happened, dude?" Finn asked, stepping forward and looking concerned. Kurt shrugged. Finn looked a little hurt. "Did you hurt your throat or something, like Rachel did last year?"
Kurt shook his head. He wondered why it was such a big deal that he wasn't talking. He just didn't want to. Wasn't that enough of a reason?
"Kurt, as the captain of a club that is primarily focused on voice, I find your denial to use yours quite worrisome," Rachel cut in, standing next to Finn. "However, as you have recently suffered a horrible loss, I think I can speak for the club in saying that there's no need for you to talk or sing for the next few days unless you want to."
"Well, obviously," Mercedes said. "If my boy doesn't want to talk, he doesn't have to talk. Got it?"
"How're you holding up?" Quinn, who Kurt hadn't even noticed approaching, stepped close to him, examining him. Behind her, Rachel and Mercedes got into an argument about who would sing Kurt's part for him while he wasn't talking. Kurt sighed and made a so-so gesture with his hands. "You're not going to talk anytime soon, are you?" Quinn asked.
Kurt blinked at her, then frowned. He shrugged, then shook his head. He didn't know how soon he'd feel like talking again, but for the foreseeable future . . . No. Words were too complicated.
Quinn nodded. "I thought so," she muttered. "Kurt you know we all care about you, right? Even Santana. Even me," she added, smiling a little. Kurt remembered the end of last year, when he'd connected hers and Mercedes' hands with his own, their own silent pact of friendship, and swallowed hard. "So if you want to say anything - talk it, write it, whatever - we're here for you. I know it can be hard to lose someone." Her hands, almost involuntarily, went to her stomach.
Kurt looked away. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't the same, losing a baby you'd barely know and losing the man that raised you. But maybe it was. Quinn had carried that baby in her for nine months, had looked after her, and sometimes Kurt thought that Quinn had even loved her, no matter how much she seemed not to. Quinn was a parent who had lost her child, and Kurt was a child who'd lost his parent. It didn't matter that one had been voluntary, one forced. Quinn was just as hurt by her loss as Kurt was by his.
Kurt looked back at Quinn, who was watching him steadily. She was always smarter than people thought she was, Kurt thought. He nodded and signed Thank you, to her, the only piece of sign language he knew. She smiled at him, touched his arm, and made her way back to Sam Evans, who had recently joined the club. Kurt wondered if they were dating now, and eyed Puck, who was protesting that he could totally hit all the notes Kurt hit, and probably better too. Kurt wondered if Puck was okay with Quinn dating someone else. No one really knew where Puck and Quinn stood after the pregnancy.
Mr. Schue strode in, sheet music in hand. He paused upon seeing Kurt and put a hand on his shoulder. "How're you holding up?" he asked.
Just peachy, Kurt wanted to tell him. My father, the only living parent I had left and the person who loved me without judgment, just died after I watched him waste away in a hospital. I'm absolutely divine, Mr. Schue. He could already picture Schue's look. He remembered the awkward half-pause he'd taken when Kurt had made the crack about answering his phone by saying he wasn't his dead mother. Schue had never really known what to do with him - there was too much Finn in him, Kurt suspected, and not really all of the good parts. Finn, at least, knew how to be friends with him. Schue didn't even really get how to teach him.
Kurt didn’t pay attention as Schue started the club. He was going on about how they needed to be ready for Sectionals, and Kurt already knew where it would end. Rachel would get a solo, or a duet with Finn. There would be a group number. And probably, he thought bitterly, we won’t win.
He started as he realized Schue was gesturing for them to partner up. He looked around, wondering what he’d missed. Mercedes plopped down beside him.
“Duets competition,” she said softly. “Wanna be my partner?”
Kurt shrugged. Mercedes eyed him and sighed. “Alright. How about I pick the song and arrange it together? Sound like a plan, white boy?”
Kurt shrugged again. Mercedes started to look worried. “Kurt, are you sure you want to do this?” Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Come back to school, I mean. I know it’s still hard for you . . . . I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to stay home for another week or two. I have a cousin who lost her mom last year and she stayed out of school for six months. No one would blame you for not wanting to come back right away.”
Kurt didn’t tell her that he just couldn’t bring himself to care either way. He wasn’t sure if she realized that he wouldn’t be singing in it - perhaps he should talk to Schue, ask for an exempt from the assignment. He didn’t want Mercedes to lose simply because he didn’t want to talk or sing. And Mercedes deserved a better partner than he would be. Kurt stared at his hands, his chest aching a little. It’s not just Mercedes, Kurt thought slowly. It’s all of them. They need members who are going to give everything they’ve got for this club. And I can’t anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever want to again. Every time he thought about singing, he kept remembering his dad’s disappointment during their last conversation. He kept remembering that he’d put singing before his dad and that it had ended with his dad dead. The thought of attempting to sing again just hurt too much.
With Puck back, we should have enough members, Kurt thought. And I’m sure they could convince someone else to join if they had to.
His hands were tense in his lap, the knuckles turning white. Kurt stared at them for a moment longer, than stood up. His friends didn’t notice at first, but as he strode over to Schue, they all fell silent, one by one. Kurt took out his phone, typed for a moment, then passed it to Schue, who was watching him curiously. Schue took it, then went pale. He looked at Kurt.
I’m quitting Glee, the message read.
“Kurt, you don’t have to do this,” he said softly, handing Kurt back his phone. “We’re willing to wait however long it takes for you to speak again, you know that. And even if you don’t, you can still be part of the club-“ Gasps rose among the listening Glee members. Kurt shook his head.
It hurts too much, he typed. I can’t. He gave the phone to Schue, who looked on the edge of tears. Kurt wished he’d stop-it was already hard enough to quit, and having Schuester look at him that way was making it worse.
“If you’re absolutely sure,” Schue said. Kurt nodded sharply. “Alright. Attention,” Schue turned to address the group, although he hadn’t needed to announce himself - they were all listening already anyways. “Kurt has decided that he’s going to take a break from Glee for an indefinite amount of time.” Finn stood up, looking outraged. Rachel, on the other hand, was staring at Kurt, her eyes glassy with shock. “Kurt, you know that your place will always be open to you,” Schue added more softly.
“What the hell dude?!” Finn said, stomping up to Kurt’s side. He tried to put a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, but Kurt flinched away. Finn looked hurt. “Why are you quitting?”
Kurt just shook his head. Finn wouldn’t understand. None of them really could. Finn had lost a parent, but it had been a parent he’d barely know and couldn’t even really remember - a parent he only knew through pictures and old relics like the stuff in his attic.
“Kurt, I understand this is a time of hardship for you, but singing is the perfect way to work your way through it and heal!” Rachel insisted almost desperately, coming up on Finn’s side. Her eyes looked suspiciously wet. “You and I share a similiar connection to music, so I think I can say with perfect understanding that singing is what helps you work through your emotions, especially during a time of emotional trauma. Quitting Glee will cut you off from being able to express yourself properly!”
Kurt put a hand on her arm and shook his head. He looked over at the rest of the group. Puck had also risen to his feet, staring at Kurt with a strange look on his face. Quinn and Mercedes were sharing the same expression - a sort of resigned hopelessness that told Kurt they’d seen this coming. Tina and Mike were discussing something furiously, gesturing at Kurt every once in a while, and Artie was trying to explain to Brittany why Kurt was leaving. Santana was on her other side, holding her hand and glaring at Kurt, either for leaving or for making Brittany feel bad - Kurt couldn’t tell which.
These people were his friends. They’d supported him as best they could during a dark period in his life - through several dark periods, actually. They’d given him acceptance when he’d thought he’d never experience any in his high school years. They’d protected him and even loved him. And quitting Glee wouldn’t be the end of that - but it would cut all of their closest ties, and Kurt knew enough about friendships to know that they could disintegrate so easily without something to hold people together. A deep part of him didn’t want that to happen, wanted to cling to the people who had given him so much. But a much bigger part was just so tired.
I’m sorry, Kurt typed out for Finn. I need to go. He left before Finn could give him his phone back, ignoring all of the calls to come back.
-
Kurt stood outside, gasping for breath. He listened for a moment for anyone coming after him - it seemed all of the Glee members were content to let him go. He sighed, relaxing against the wall and closing his eyes.
“Ladyface.”
Kurt sighed again, more heavily. He opened his eyes, looking up into Sue Sylvester’s face. She wasn’t sneering at him, which was a start, but her eyebrows were drawn together, and her lips were twisted into a scowl. Kurt raised an eyebrow.
“Isn’t your insipid band of pansies practicing right now?” Sue asked him, scowl deepening. Kurt shrugged. “Answer me when I talk to you, Ladyface!”
Kurt took out his phone. I don’t want to talk, Coach, he said. Not to you, not to anyone. He handed the phone to Sue knowing that he’d probably just committed suicide. He couldn’t really care. What on earth could Sue Sylvester do to him to make his life worse?
Sue stared down at the phone for a long time. Then, to Kurt’s surprise, the scowl faded from her face. She sighed and handed the phone back to him.
“Can’t blame you, I suppose,” she said. Kurt stared at her and she glared at him. “This doesn’t mean I like you,” she reminded him waspishly. “It’s just that your girly tear-filled face is giving me a feeling in my stomach that is the complete opposite of joy and I can’t stand it.”
Kurt smiled a little bit. He doubted anyone in Glee would believe him if he told them that Sue had actually had a moment of empathy. Not that he’d be telling them anytime soon.
“Listen, kid,” Sue said abruptly. “I know you’ve had a hard time of it the last few weeks, and even before that. I knew about most of it and I didn’t do anything about it because, to be honest, I didn’t really care. But you were one of my Cheerios - one of the best damn Cheerios I’ve had, in fact. You’re also one of the few people in this school that I can tolerate to talk to for more than a few moments. So I’d like to say, and mark this because Sue Sylvester doesn’t say it too often, that I’m sorry. And that from now on, you’re going to have a pair of eyes watching your back in the halls.”
Kurt stared at her, taken aback by the swift and sudden outpouring of honesty and, well . . . Niceness. Who knew that Sue Sylvester could actually be a decent human being? Kurt had suspected every once in a while that Sue wasn’t as mean as she led on - oh, he knew she had a bad side that could very, very bad, but she also had a few soft spots where her well-hidden niceness shone through. Her sister, for example. Or the few times that she’d helped Kurt or Quinn out. Or even her brief friendship with Schue, which had astounded all of them when they’d come back from break.
Thanks Coach, he typed out. That means a lot to me.
Sue eyed him for a moment, then sighed. “If you tell anyone that I momentarily lapsed from my normal abrasive self, I will see to it that no amount of make-up will fix your pretty face.”
The threat, however, sounded half-hearted. Sue’s scowl told him that she’d heard the lack of conviction as clearly as Kurt had, and she turned on her heel and disappeared with a huff. Kurt nearly smiled at her back.
part iii
Fandom: Glee
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, side Brittany/Santana, mentioned canon, ofc/ofc
Warnings: character death (not Kurt or Blaine), angsty angstness, schmoop, boys in love being silly, questionable musical taste, original character (but she's cool, I promise), h/c, homophobia, improbable medical decisions, Sue Sylvester being nice, some oocness.
Summary: When Burt dies instead of waking up from his coma, Kurt goes mute. The summer after his junior year, Kurt works in his aunt's secondhand bookshop, the same place where Blaine applies for a job as live entertainment. While Kurt tries to build up his walls, determined to keep from being hurt again, Blaine does his best to tear them down and help Kurt through his grief over Burt. The Glee clubbers help in their own ways.
Notes: Written for klainebigbang. Thanks to the lovely keeper_of_rain for putting up with me and giving some amazingly quick edit jobs when the times called for it. Thanks also to artsnletters for the gorgeous artwork. All music mentioned or sung is embedded into the body of the fic. Let me know if any of it doesn't work and I'll get it fixed up asap.
The title and the lj cut lyrics are all taken from Mumford & Son's "After the Storm," which is a lovely piece of music. And in case anyone is curious, Kurt's aunt has looked like Anne Hathaway for me since I started writing her. I could write a paragrah more, but I'll just let you read the fic. Comments and insights are appreciated, as alway
-
Kurt woke up slowly. For a moment, he just stared at the white ceiling. Then he sat up so fast his head spun.
He was in the hospital, on one of the beds. His aunt was snoozing in one of the chairs, her bag at her feet. As he watched her, she slowly slid awake. She didn't seem to realize he was awake for a moment, but then she lunged at him and drew him into a hug.
"Oh sweetheart," she said. "God, you scared me to death. And that doctor!" She let Kurt go and took his head, fuming at the wall above his head. "Oh, I gave him a piece of my mind. Giving sedatives to a grieving teenager! I imagine he'll be fired soon after what I told the Head of the Board. Honestly, what was running through his mind?! You don't give sedatives to the grieving relatives, you try and calm them down with your words. And now you've been out for a day, so clearly he not only gave you sedatives, he gave you an overdose of them, the idiot. And what if you'd been allergic? If that man isn't fired in the next week, I'm coming back and I'm suing the hospital."
Kurt stared at her. She was angry, that much was for certain, and her eyes were lit up with passion. But there were black circles underneath her bright eyes, and her hair looked unwashed and unkempt. Her skin was yellowing and her nails had been bitten down to the quick. Kurt wondered if it was because of him or Burt that she looked like she was about to keel over.
Kurt curled in on himself, sudden agony striking as he re-realized that Burt was dead. Not gone, not in the hospital, not in a coma: dead. He was never coming back. There would be no more awkward talks about boys, no more fixing cars side by side, no more cooking lessons to make sure someone other than Kurt knew how to make dinner, no more stories about his mother, no more-anything. It was all gone. Burt had been a person, he'd had memories and personality and laughter and tears and everything about him had just been erased, just like that.
Kurt put his head in his hands. Helen had finally stopped speaking.
"Kurt?" she asked tentatively, and Kurt wanted to scream at her, because if she'd been his dad she'd know what to do, but she wasn't his dad- "Kurt, are you . . . shit. I know you're not okay. Are you any better?"
Kurt didn't look up at her. His hands felt cool on his face, and it was nice not to see anything. He wished he could just never see anything again. What good were eyes when his father was dead? What good was fashion or singing or cooking when he'd never see Burt smile again, never hear him laugh or say "I'm proud of you" again? What good was there in a world where Burt Hummel wasn't alive?
"Kurt?" Helen asked again, putting her hand on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt pushed her away.
He stood, his legs still shaky, and tied his gown together with one hand so it wouldn't flap open in the back. Then, calmly as he could, he ran out. He heard his aunt calling after him, trying to chase him, he heard nurses yelling after him, but he didn't stop for anything, even when he felt like he could collapse.
-
"Kurt?" Mercedes said, eyes wide, standing on her doorstep. It was Saturday morning and she was dressed in her pajamas still. "Kurt? What is it? What happened? Why are you-Is that a hospital gown?!"
Kurt didn't explain.
He couldn't say anything anymore.
-
Kurt woke to a dark room and Mercedes' voice in the background.
"I think he's alright," she was saying. Kurt sat up on the couch. "He just came here and crashed." She paused, then said, "His dad's really dead?" Her voice was free of pity. She sounded close to tears. Kurt stood and made his way to the kitchen. Mercedes was leaning against the counter. She was staring down at her hands, misery plain on her face. Tears were gathering in her eyes. Kurt wondered why she could cry and he couldn't. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Hummel." She wiped at an eye. "Kurt can stay here for as long as he wants, you know. Although . . . ." Mercedes bit her lip.
"He hasn't spoken a word since he got here, Ms. Hummel. I mean, he crashed pretty much right away, but I didn't even know his dad was dead until you called. He hasn't said anything." She listened for a long time, then said, "Alright. I'll tell him when he wakes up." She put the phone down and turned.
"Kurt!" she said, jumping. "Geez, boy, you scared me." Kurt shrugged. Mercedes eyed him, then sighed. "Come on," she said, taking him by the elbow. Kurt flinched away from her. "You look like you could with a few more hours of sleep."
-
Kurt stayed at Mercedes' house until the next morning, when Helen showed up on the doorstep. She looked haggard and the skin around her eyes was red and puffy.
"Kurt, honey," she said, "You need to come home."
Kurt shook his head. Helen took his hands into hers.
"What is it?" she asked. "Why aren't you talking?"
I can't, Kurt thought. Words were too much effort, too much work. All he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep for days and weeks and months, sleep until he was dead so that he could see his dad again. He was willing to believe the afterlife existed if it meant he could be with his mom and dad. He'd believe anything for a chance at that.
"Kurt, the funeral is tomorrow," Helen told him, trying to be gentle. She wasn't used to it, Kurt could tell, but he appreciated the effort. "I know this hurts, but I need you to focus buddy. Why aren't you talking? Did something happen to your voice?"
Kurt bit his lip and sighed. He found a scrap of an open envelope and a pen.
I can't, he wrote.
Helen read it and a confused crease appeared in between her eyebrows. "You can't talk? Why?"
Kurt just shook his head. Helen gave him a look of dawning comprehension that softened into something very close to pity. Kurt glared at her.
"You can talk, but you don't want to," she said. Her voice was free of condemnation. "Well, then I guess we're gonna be buying a lot more paper for the future. I'm too old to learn sign language, kid."
Kurt blinked at her. He felt the odd urge to smile, because that was something his dad would've said-
The urge to smile disappeared.
-
The funeral was a small affair, attended only by Kurt, Helen, Carole and Finn. Mercedes had wanted to come, but Kurt had asked her not to. He watched silently as they lowered his father's casket into the ground. Helen had been the one to arrange it, and he was glad that she had chosen something a little more expensive. Of course, expense didn't really matter when it was a casket - who was going to judge it if it was cheap, the dead bodies in the ground? The grave robbers? Still, it gave Kurt a sense of comfort to know his dad wasn't just dumped into the ground. That he was resting in comfort, as it was.
He looked over at the small party. They were all dressed in black. Helen was staring at the casket, white-faced and dry-eyed, and Carole was dabbing at her eyes, her face blotchy from the crying she'd already done. Finn, to Kurt's surprise, was openly crying as well.
Kurt had never seen Finn cry. It was on the list of things that Real Men didn't do, and Finn always tried so hard to be a Real Man. He wasn't sobbing or anything, but as the ceremony went on, silent tears rolled down his face. Always the better son, Kurt thought, with a surprising lack of bitterness. He wished he could cry. His father deserved tears, he deserved grief, and he deserved every iota of sadness Kurt possessed. He deserved to be remembered and loved and grieved over. But Kurt was just so tired of tears, so tired of crying, so tired of everything. He just wanted to sleep.
Carole was crying too. Kurt wondered sometimes if his father would've married Carole. Kurt thought Burt would've. They had been good together - they'd grounded each other. Kurt had rarely seen his dad as happy as he had been with Carole.
They started to lower the casket into the ground. Helen grabbed onto Kurt's hand, squeezing it tightly in her own. Kurt let her, his eyes fixed on the slowly disappearing coffin. My heart's going into that ground, he thought.
The tears still didn't come.
-
Kurt didn't go back to school for another week. He lived in his house with his aunt, who was on her way to becoming his legal guardian: his father had specified in his will that it should be her or Kurt's grandmother who should take care of him. Burt had left everything to him - the house, Hummel's Tires and Lube, all of his money and shares and holdings. Until he turned 18, it would be managed by Helen. Kurt was fine with that - he didn't know what to do with it all. He'd always had a head for managing money, partly due to the budgeting he'd had to do to get certain clothes he wanted, but everything seemed too complicated to handle.
He spent the week in his room, in bed mostly. His phone had died sometime on the second day, and Kurt never bothered to recharge it. Silence was a blessed relief - it had been buzzing nearly nonstop since his dad's funeral. He asked Helen to turn away any of his friends if they came to visit, so he spent the week alone. He preferred it that way. No one expected him to talk if he was alone.
Sometimes, when Helen was away on business, he snuck out of his room and into his father's. Helen had taken up one of the guest rooms and hadn't had time to clean things out, so Burt's bedroom was mostly untouched. His shirts - all plaid and collared, no matter how many times Kurt had tried to dress him in something else - still hung in the closet. His toothbrush was still in the cup by the sink, next to his mother's, which Burt had never thrown out despite the years. It was old now, but Burt cleaned it regularly, which kept it from being disgusting.
Kurt liked to lie down in Burt's closet. It was a big one - not as big as Kurt's, but close - and it had enough room for Kurt to almost lie down fully. His father's scent - car oil, something woodsy and bit of the cologne his mother had gotten him in the habit of wearing - covered the closet. When Kurt closed his eyes and breathed in, he could almost pretend his father was there.
But then he opened his eyes and there were just shirt staring back at him. It was his mother's dresser 2.0, except it hurt so much worse.
After a week, Helen gently asked him if he was ready to go back to school. Kurt shrugged. He didn't care. He didn't care about a whole lot these days.
-
His first day back was strange, in both bad and good ways.
His friends treated him like he was made of spun glass. Mercedes was the only one who didn't offer her sympathies, but she took Kurt's arm whenever they had class together and glared at whoever did as if she expected the "I'm sorry your dad died" to send Kurt into a crying fit. Finn, who had already been at school for a few days, kept sending Kurt understanding looks.
He didn't get locker-checked or slushied all day. Kurt supposed that even bullying jocks had their moments of empathy. He doubted it would last long, but he felt a little touched. He hadn't thought that his bullies would care enough that his dad died to stop tormenting him.
Glee, however, was the worst.
He was ploughed over by Brittany when he first walked in. She looked like she had been crying quite a bit when she pulled back.
"I'm so sorry Kurt," she said, sniffling. "Maybe if I'd written my report in pen like the teacher said, your dad would still be alive."
Kurt bit his lip and looked around for paper. Finding none, he took out his phone and quickly made a text message. He still had Brittany's number from their faux-dating phase.
Brittany looked confused when she heard her phone ringing (Tik-Tok, Kurt noted with some amusement, the first he'd felt in days), but she hurried to answer it. She stared down at the message with large eyes.
It's not your fault, Brit. The doctors said your report helped them a lot. That was a lie. Dr. Oliver and the multiple nurses attending his father had given him strange looks when they'd seen the report lying on Burt's bedside table. But Kurt wasn't about to tell Brittany that when she was crying over a man she'd met once. She was silly sometimes, half-witted others, but Kurt could never say that she wasn't one of the nicest people he'd met. Sometimes he wondered how she'd become a Cheerio.
"Kurt?" Kurt turned to see Puck watching him. Puck looked uncharacteristically withdrawn and uncertain. "Are you alright, dude? Did something happen to your voice?"
Kurt sighed, opening his phone again. He didn't have Puck's number, so he just gave the phone to Puck after making the message.
I don't feel like talking, it said. Puck stared down at it for a moment, then shrugged.
"Alright," he said. He turned to the rest of the members who were there, all of them hanging back and curious. "Kurt's not gonna be talking today," he announced. "He'll talk to you through text and paper, alright?"
"What happened, dude?" Finn asked, stepping forward and looking concerned. Kurt shrugged. Finn looked a little hurt. "Did you hurt your throat or something, like Rachel did last year?"
Kurt shook his head. He wondered why it was such a big deal that he wasn't talking. He just didn't want to. Wasn't that enough of a reason?
"Kurt, as the captain of a club that is primarily focused on voice, I find your denial to use yours quite worrisome," Rachel cut in, standing next to Finn. "However, as you have recently suffered a horrible loss, I think I can speak for the club in saying that there's no need for you to talk or sing for the next few days unless you want to."
"Well, obviously," Mercedes said. "If my boy doesn't want to talk, he doesn't have to talk. Got it?"
"How're you holding up?" Quinn, who Kurt hadn't even noticed approaching, stepped close to him, examining him. Behind her, Rachel and Mercedes got into an argument about who would sing Kurt's part for him while he wasn't talking. Kurt sighed and made a so-so gesture with his hands. "You're not going to talk anytime soon, are you?" Quinn asked.
Kurt blinked at her, then frowned. He shrugged, then shook his head. He didn't know how soon he'd feel like talking again, but for the foreseeable future . . . No. Words were too complicated.
Quinn nodded. "I thought so," she muttered. "Kurt you know we all care about you, right? Even Santana. Even me," she added, smiling a little. Kurt remembered the end of last year, when he'd connected hers and Mercedes' hands with his own, their own silent pact of friendship, and swallowed hard. "So if you want to say anything - talk it, write it, whatever - we're here for you. I know it can be hard to lose someone." Her hands, almost involuntarily, went to her stomach.
Kurt looked away. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't the same, losing a baby you'd barely know and losing the man that raised you. But maybe it was. Quinn had carried that baby in her for nine months, had looked after her, and sometimes Kurt thought that Quinn had even loved her, no matter how much she seemed not to. Quinn was a parent who had lost her child, and Kurt was a child who'd lost his parent. It didn't matter that one had been voluntary, one forced. Quinn was just as hurt by her loss as Kurt was by his.
Kurt looked back at Quinn, who was watching him steadily. She was always smarter than people thought she was, Kurt thought. He nodded and signed Thank you, to her, the only piece of sign language he knew. She smiled at him, touched his arm, and made her way back to Sam Evans, who had recently joined the club. Kurt wondered if they were dating now, and eyed Puck, who was protesting that he could totally hit all the notes Kurt hit, and probably better too. Kurt wondered if Puck was okay with Quinn dating someone else. No one really knew where Puck and Quinn stood after the pregnancy.
Mr. Schue strode in, sheet music in hand. He paused upon seeing Kurt and put a hand on his shoulder. "How're you holding up?" he asked.
Just peachy, Kurt wanted to tell him. My father, the only living parent I had left and the person who loved me without judgment, just died after I watched him waste away in a hospital. I'm absolutely divine, Mr. Schue. He could already picture Schue's look. He remembered the awkward half-pause he'd taken when Kurt had made the crack about answering his phone by saying he wasn't his dead mother. Schue had never really known what to do with him - there was too much Finn in him, Kurt suspected, and not really all of the good parts. Finn, at least, knew how to be friends with him. Schue didn't even really get how to teach him.
Kurt didn’t pay attention as Schue started the club. He was going on about how they needed to be ready for Sectionals, and Kurt already knew where it would end. Rachel would get a solo, or a duet with Finn. There would be a group number. And probably, he thought bitterly, we won’t win.
He started as he realized Schue was gesturing for them to partner up. He looked around, wondering what he’d missed. Mercedes plopped down beside him.
“Duets competition,” she said softly. “Wanna be my partner?”
Kurt shrugged. Mercedes eyed him and sighed. “Alright. How about I pick the song and arrange it together? Sound like a plan, white boy?”
Kurt shrugged again. Mercedes started to look worried. “Kurt, are you sure you want to do this?” Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Come back to school, I mean. I know it’s still hard for you . . . . I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to stay home for another week or two. I have a cousin who lost her mom last year and she stayed out of school for six months. No one would blame you for not wanting to come back right away.”
Kurt didn’t tell her that he just couldn’t bring himself to care either way. He wasn’t sure if she realized that he wouldn’t be singing in it - perhaps he should talk to Schue, ask for an exempt from the assignment. He didn’t want Mercedes to lose simply because he didn’t want to talk or sing. And Mercedes deserved a better partner than he would be. Kurt stared at his hands, his chest aching a little. It’s not just Mercedes, Kurt thought slowly. It’s all of them. They need members who are going to give everything they’ve got for this club. And I can’t anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever want to again. Every time he thought about singing, he kept remembering his dad’s disappointment during their last conversation. He kept remembering that he’d put singing before his dad and that it had ended with his dad dead. The thought of attempting to sing again just hurt too much.
With Puck back, we should have enough members, Kurt thought. And I’m sure they could convince someone else to join if they had to.
His hands were tense in his lap, the knuckles turning white. Kurt stared at them for a moment longer, than stood up. His friends didn’t notice at first, but as he strode over to Schue, they all fell silent, one by one. Kurt took out his phone, typed for a moment, then passed it to Schue, who was watching him curiously. Schue took it, then went pale. He looked at Kurt.
I’m quitting Glee, the message read.
“Kurt, you don’t have to do this,” he said softly, handing Kurt back his phone. “We’re willing to wait however long it takes for you to speak again, you know that. And even if you don’t, you can still be part of the club-“ Gasps rose among the listening Glee members. Kurt shook his head.
It hurts too much, he typed. I can’t. He gave the phone to Schue, who looked on the edge of tears. Kurt wished he’d stop-it was already hard enough to quit, and having Schuester look at him that way was making it worse.
“If you’re absolutely sure,” Schue said. Kurt nodded sharply. “Alright. Attention,” Schue turned to address the group, although he hadn’t needed to announce himself - they were all listening already anyways. “Kurt has decided that he’s going to take a break from Glee for an indefinite amount of time.” Finn stood up, looking outraged. Rachel, on the other hand, was staring at Kurt, her eyes glassy with shock. “Kurt, you know that your place will always be open to you,” Schue added more softly.
“What the hell dude?!” Finn said, stomping up to Kurt’s side. He tried to put a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, but Kurt flinched away. Finn looked hurt. “Why are you quitting?”
Kurt just shook his head. Finn wouldn’t understand. None of them really could. Finn had lost a parent, but it had been a parent he’d barely know and couldn’t even really remember - a parent he only knew through pictures and old relics like the stuff in his attic.
“Kurt, I understand this is a time of hardship for you, but singing is the perfect way to work your way through it and heal!” Rachel insisted almost desperately, coming up on Finn’s side. Her eyes looked suspiciously wet. “You and I share a similiar connection to music, so I think I can say with perfect understanding that singing is what helps you work through your emotions, especially during a time of emotional trauma. Quitting Glee will cut you off from being able to express yourself properly!”
Kurt put a hand on her arm and shook his head. He looked over at the rest of the group. Puck had also risen to his feet, staring at Kurt with a strange look on his face. Quinn and Mercedes were sharing the same expression - a sort of resigned hopelessness that told Kurt they’d seen this coming. Tina and Mike were discussing something furiously, gesturing at Kurt every once in a while, and Artie was trying to explain to Brittany why Kurt was leaving. Santana was on her other side, holding her hand and glaring at Kurt, either for leaving or for making Brittany feel bad - Kurt couldn’t tell which.
These people were his friends. They’d supported him as best they could during a dark period in his life - through several dark periods, actually. They’d given him acceptance when he’d thought he’d never experience any in his high school years. They’d protected him and even loved him. And quitting Glee wouldn’t be the end of that - but it would cut all of their closest ties, and Kurt knew enough about friendships to know that they could disintegrate so easily without something to hold people together. A deep part of him didn’t want that to happen, wanted to cling to the people who had given him so much. But a much bigger part was just so tired.
I’m sorry, Kurt typed out for Finn. I need to go. He left before Finn could give him his phone back, ignoring all of the calls to come back.
-
Kurt stood outside, gasping for breath. He listened for a moment for anyone coming after him - it seemed all of the Glee members were content to let him go. He sighed, relaxing against the wall and closing his eyes.
“Ladyface.”
Kurt sighed again, more heavily. He opened his eyes, looking up into Sue Sylvester’s face. She wasn’t sneering at him, which was a start, but her eyebrows were drawn together, and her lips were twisted into a scowl. Kurt raised an eyebrow.
“Isn’t your insipid band of pansies practicing right now?” Sue asked him, scowl deepening. Kurt shrugged. “Answer me when I talk to you, Ladyface!”
Kurt took out his phone. I don’t want to talk, Coach, he said. Not to you, not to anyone. He handed the phone to Sue knowing that he’d probably just committed suicide. He couldn’t really care. What on earth could Sue Sylvester do to him to make his life worse?
Sue stared down at the phone for a long time. Then, to Kurt’s surprise, the scowl faded from her face. She sighed and handed the phone back to him.
“Can’t blame you, I suppose,” she said. Kurt stared at her and she glared at him. “This doesn’t mean I like you,” she reminded him waspishly. “It’s just that your girly tear-filled face is giving me a feeling in my stomach that is the complete opposite of joy and I can’t stand it.”
Kurt smiled a little bit. He doubted anyone in Glee would believe him if he told them that Sue had actually had a moment of empathy. Not that he’d be telling them anytime soon.
“Listen, kid,” Sue said abruptly. “I know you’ve had a hard time of it the last few weeks, and even before that. I knew about most of it and I didn’t do anything about it because, to be honest, I didn’t really care. But you were one of my Cheerios - one of the best damn Cheerios I’ve had, in fact. You’re also one of the few people in this school that I can tolerate to talk to for more than a few moments. So I’d like to say, and mark this because Sue Sylvester doesn’t say it too often, that I’m sorry. And that from now on, you’re going to have a pair of eyes watching your back in the halls.”
Kurt stared at her, taken aback by the swift and sudden outpouring of honesty and, well . . . Niceness. Who knew that Sue Sylvester could actually be a decent human being? Kurt had suspected every once in a while that Sue wasn’t as mean as she led on - oh, he knew she had a bad side that could very, very bad, but she also had a few soft spots where her well-hidden niceness shone through. Her sister, for example. Or the few times that she’d helped Kurt or Quinn out. Or even her brief friendship with Schue, which had astounded all of them when they’d come back from break.
Thanks Coach, he typed out. That means a lot to me.
Sue eyed him for a moment, then sighed. “If you tell anyone that I momentarily lapsed from my normal abrasive self, I will see to it that no amount of make-up will fix your pretty face.”
The threat, however, sounded half-hearted. Sue’s scowl told him that she’d heard the lack of conviction as clearly as Kurt had, and she turned on her heel and disappeared with a huff. Kurt nearly smiled at her back.
part iii