Don't I Get A Dream For Myself? [Chapter Two]
Title: Don’t I Get A Dream For Myself [Chapter Two]
Author: niblettk
Rating: PG-13 to be safe
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Kurt Hummel, Noah Puckerman, Burt Hummel, Finn Hudson, ensemble / Puckurt, other couples are mostly canon (Finchel, Brittana, Wemma, Tartie, and Burt/Carole-whatever we’re calling that one)
Warning: This story does include medical themes and could possibly bring up cancer-related memories for some readers. Other than that, it’s possible some characters (Puck) could have a potty mouth.
Spoilers: Up to and including the season one finale.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Author’s Note: I take credit for all my mistakes, but I also need to give credit to the amazing rainbowdocms for all her help.
Summary: Kurt is diagnosed with the same disease that killed his mother.
Word Count: 1978
Prologue | Chapter One
Miraculously, Rachel seems to realize he didn't want everybody to know or he wanted to tell them himself, so by Thursday of the next week, the only people at school who knew were the four Kurt had told in the gym and Finn.
Above anything else, he did not want a repeat of what had happened after he’d told three of what seemed to be the most emotional girls to ever live at the same time-he and Artie had struggled to deal with three bawling girls-so he was intending to catch each additional member of Glee on their own.
He was expecting it to be extremely difficult, considering that once they’d lost at Regionals, Mr. Schuester had gone into some weird funk-Kurt suspected that it had something to do with Miss Pilsbury dating her dentist-and put Glee on hiatus for a few weeks to “give them time to regroup and take a break from their rigorous practice schedule.” Kurt wasn’t friends with anybody of the other boys in Glee, not really, so catching any of them on their own wasn’t something he knew how to do with ease.
No matter what he expected, he hadn’t planned on telling everybody in one day.
---
Telling Quinn turned out to be surprisingly easy.
He had woken very slowly, his entire body numb and his mind foggy with exhaustion, and so he didn’t bother protesting when the footballers hauled him, still in his gently-used designer jacket and his favorite shoulder bag, up and over the edge of the dumpster. He laid in the trash bags for a minute, wondering idly if telling them he was dying might stop the dumpster diving, before bracing himself on the side and pulling his body up.
Rachel, Quinn, and Mercedes were standing beside the dumpster; Rachel was holding her hand out. He only hesitated a moment before he put his larger hand in hers and jumping down. Her arm braced as he put pressure on it, but he landed smoothly and quickly removed his hand from hers.
“Thank you, Rachel.” He hated expressing any sort of positive emotion around Rachel, because it always made that ridiculous smile spread across her face, and he really hated that he was starting to find the smile infectious. He brushed himself off the best he could, and Mercedes swept something off his back after he did a turn for her to check his clothes and then handed him a handkerchief when he started coughing.
“Are you okay, Kurt?” Quinn’s voice was soft, tentative, like it had been since she’d given up her baby, but Kurt suspected that maybe Mercedes had already mentioned something to her. Rachel shot a significant look at Mercedes and they turned, linking arms and skipping ahead a few paces.
Kurt stayed silent for a moment, automatically pulling Quinn’s arm to him and walking in step with her slow, measured strides.
When he said it, he felt Quinn try to tug him to a stop, a soft gasp escaping her lips, and he turned towards her in one fluid twirl and pulled her into a hug.
“I’m fine, Quinn,” he whispered into her hair, “I’m just trying to inform all of my friends before I start treatment.”
Quinn pulled back, and Kurt wasn’t surprised to see her crying. She wiped daintily at her face, blinking her absurdly long lashes at him. “We’re friends?” She sounded so vulnerable; Kurt realized just how small she seemed in his arms without her baby bump, and he pulled her in for another quick hug.
“Oh, honey. Even if I hadn’t already considered you to be my friend, which I did, Mercedes told me we we’re all friends now.”
Quinn’s voice floated up from where her cheek was resting against his shoulder, “Do you always do what Mercedes tell you to do?” She sounded worried, and Kurt felt a surprised laugh escape his lips.
“Of course I do.” He lowered his voice as they turned and started following the other two girls again, whispering in Quinn’s ear, “Mercedes is terrifying.”
---
Kurt spent ten minutes mentally berating himself and building up his courage at his locker before he made his way to Mr. Schuester’s office and knocked firmly.
The teacher looked up, surprised anybody was coming to see him, and then his face broke out into a brilliant smile that floored Kurt. It was inexplicably out-of-character for the man to be this happy after losing Regionals and Miss Pilsbury.
“Hi, Kurt. I was just going to come and find you.” Kurt was confused for barely a second, “Well, not just you. Everyone in Glee. I’m hoping to start rehearsals up again next week sometime.”
Kurt’s face dropped with his stomach, which seemed to settle somewhere beneath the floor. He took a small step into the room, “Actually, that’s sort of what I wanted to discuss with you.”
---
Mr. Schue’s offer to come with him had been nice, but he was running on an adrenaline high since Mike and Matt had walked into the office just as Kurt had said he would likely be starting treatment the next week and he’d had to leave a disturbingly emotional Mike with Matt as his only comfort.
Currently, he was sitting, rigid in his chair, and watching as Sue Sylvester closed the book she was scrawling furiously in. She started underlining something vigorously and he peeked at it, gulping when the words “WILLIAM SCHUESTER” stood off the page.
She slammed the book shut, leaning back to stare at him, and then barked, “What do you want, lady-face?”
“I can’t be on the Cheerios anymore.”
Her jaw clicked together audibly and he winced. Her voice came clear and forceful through his panic, “No.”
He opened his mouth, gaping until he realized just how unattractive it was, before settling on “What?”
“Nobody quits the Cheerios.”
“Mercedes quit.” He knew it was a mistake the minute it left his mouth, but he didn’t do more than scoot slightly backwards in his chair when she stood abruptly. He cut her off before she could say anything, “Look, I worship my status on the squad, but I have leukemia and I start treatment next week.”
It came out in a rush. He could barely hear the footsteps of students in the hallway above the pounding in his ears. Even though it was said under different circumstances, Kurt heard Artie’s voice loud and clear: “Remember, if Sylvester hits you in the face don’t scream like a woman.”
Sue stared at him, unmoving, before turning and taking a step towards the windows on the right side of the office. He expected her to pull out one of her iconic “You think this is hard?”s, but when she placed her hands on her hips and she started talking, he managed to unclench his fingers from where they were digging perfect little half moons into his palms, “You’re off the squad temporarily. I expect you back next year, ready to take the head cheerleader position.”
Kurt choked, standing quickly, “Are you serious!?” It’s the best-but not the most shocking-news he’d had in a week now, and it made him feel buoyant, “Thank you, Coach!”
He took a quick step towards her and then her voice growled out, “Get. Out.”
He turned, fleeing the room. He decided, after sprinting down the hallway and launching himself through the cafeteria to sit with his friends, that that meeting with Sue Sylvester was likely going to remain the most terrifying four minutes of his-hopefully not short-life.
---
Santana and Brittany found him at the end of lunch, and despite a quick comment from Brittany-“You look like a glass of milk.”-she stayed quiet while Santana stared him down. They stood at his locker, facing off, and Kurt nearly broke down and apologized, but then her eyes narrowed quickly.
“Look, I know you’re talented, so I’m not even that mad that you took the spot that should be mine now that Quinnie the Pooh wants to stick with being all huge eyes and honey-sweet smiles.”
He nodded because he was unsure what she expected from him, closing his locker, “Well, if that’s all you need, I have a very important free period to get to.”
“Why aren’t you going to be in school for the rest of the year?”
He knew he must have looked like a deer-in-headlights before he pursed his lips and tilted his chin upwards, “I start chemotherapy next Thursday.”
Brittany dropped the strand of Santana’s hair she’d been playing with during their staring contest and launched herself at Kurt. Kurt stared, helpless, over her head at Santana, who looked like she was about to cry and that was almost worse than Brittany sobbing into his clothes, so he whispered: “She knows what chemotherapy is but not what a ballad is?”
It worked. He knew his question hadn’t been that funny, but if Santana’s coping mechanism was laughter, he wasn’t going to protest. She burst out laughing: a strange, foreign sound that Kurt had heard rarely and never outside of Glee. A nerd down the hall turned and fled, fearing whatever fresh hell that made Santana Lopez laugh so freely in the middle of the hallway.
---
He meant to go to his last class of the day, but as he’d left the library near the end of his free period a wave of nausea had hit, so he’d fled into the bathroom.
The boy’s bathroom, he realized as he entered. Somebody was standing at a urinal, but Kurt didn’t see who it was as he darted into a bathroom stall and dropped to his knees.
Eventually, it turned into dry heaves and then into half-sobs, but whoever had been peeing had entered the stall behind him and was rubbing his back in quick, soft circles, the other hand smoothing his loose bangs off of his forehead.
“You done?”
He nodded weakly, allowing the other boy to flush the toilet and haul him up under his armpits. He was guided to the sink, where he rinsed his mouth thoroughly, glancing up at Puck’s face in the mirror.
“I sincerely hope you washed your hands before you touched me.” Puck looked like he was about to bolt, so Kurt turned towards him with a strained smile, “I’m joking, Puck.”
He took a step forward and swayed, closing his eyes against the room spinning around him. Puck caught him again, lowering him down against the wall. Kurt pulled his knees up to his chest, dropping his head to rest on his arms.
“I’m going to go get Schue.”
“No, don’t bother.”
For a moment, Kurt thought Puck had ignored him and left, but then he slid down the wall beside him, “You look like shit.”
Kurt turned his head sideways, taking in Puck’s face: his jaw was tight and he was avoiding Kurt’s eyes.
“Thank you. I do try.”
Puck snorted, finally meeting his eyes, “Seriously, dude. You should go home or something. You’ve looked like you’ve been about to collapse all day.”
“I haven’t seen you all day.”
Puck elbowed him gently, “I’ve seen you.” Kurt closed his eyes again, barely understanding the blush that was creeping up his neck.
“I have leukemia,” he said it casually-it scared him that it was getting easier to say every time-and ignored the way Puck’s body tightened noticeably next to his, “I’m trying to get through as much school as I can before I start treatment.”
They both stayed silent, sitting together in the quiet of the bathroom. The halls outside were quiet-class had started and it was unlikely anybody would still be wandering. Kurt didn’t open his eyes for a long time, even when Puck dropped an arm gently over his shoulders and left it there.
Chapter One | Chapter Three