Don't I Get A Dream For Myself? [Nine]
Title: Don’t I Get A Dream For Myself [Chapter Nine]
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.
Genre: hurt/comfort, drama, gen
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. Excuse this wonky formatting. Livejournal is being a bitch.
Summary: Kurt is diagnosed with the same disease that killed his mother.
Word Count: 2068
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight
Kurt ran the edges of the blanket through his fingers, twisting it nervously around his pale hands. Puck sat a few feet away, on the other side of Finn, who was oblivious to the tension between the other two.
They were watching a movie, having spent the day pausing various video games so Kurt could flee to the bathroom, and Puck had been itching for Finn to disappear so he could talk to Kurt about the major denial he’d been given a few days before.
Finn inched forward, eyes glued to the screen with a focus that Puck thought could possibly be fake, and Puck tilted his head back slightly to sneak a glance over his shoulders at Kurt. Kurt glanced at him, holding his gaze for barely a second before turning back to the screen. He pulled the throw he had around him a little tighter, flipping the bottom down to cover the foot that had started to poke out from under it.
They’d been able to hear Kurt’s dad and Finn’s mom talking in raised voices for a good part of an hour, but all three of them tensed when the argument suddenly became audible.
“Damnit, Carole,” a loud thump punctuated Burt’s yell-he must have hit a wall or table, “I can’t lose him!”
Finn stood abruptly, talking as he made his way to the stairs, “You guys want something to drink?”
Kurt kept his head tucked down, his chin nearly pressing his chest, and Puck answered for the both of them, “Nah, Finn, we’re good.”
Finn sprinted up the stairs, and Puck scooted closer to Kurt as Finn’s hushed whisper drifted through the floor, unintelligible. Puck bit his lip, working it under his teeth for a second before putting a hand on Kurt’s slumped shoulder, “You okay?”
“Not really.” A drop landed on the blanket and Puck inched a little closer and pushed his hand over and around Kurt’s shoulders, pulling him towards him slightly, “Thanks, Puck.”
Puck shrugged and Kurt turned towards him slightly so the arm-over-the-shoulder turned into a hug and Kurt pushed his face into the dip of his collarbone. He wasn’t crying, which Puck was definitely thankful for, and Puck cleared his throat, “I wanted to talk to you about yesterday.”
“Can we not?” Kurt’s voice was muffled against his chest and Puck sighed, tightening his arm around Kurt.
“Okay. Just-” he broke off, and Kurt’s head tilted up to look at him, putting their faces about an inch apart, “Is it because I bullied you?”
Kurt’s face slid into a gentle smile and he shook his head lightly, “You have no idea how much I wish I still hated you for that.”
---
Kurt woke abruptly, rolling over and emptying his stomach into the bin beside his bed. He had a moment to take in Quinn, kneeling beside his bed with her hands clasped in front of her closed eyes, before he was half off the bed, his face hovering above the bin.
A small, dainty hand started rubbing circles on his back; he accepted the warm cloth she offered and pressed it into his face.
She sank down to sit on the edge of his mattress while he sat up, folding the cloth and placing it carefully on his side table. He rubbed his eyes, watching his hand shake in front of his face for a minute before reaching over and collecting Quinn’s hands. “Were you praying?”
Quinn smiled at him, and although Kurt sensed she was nervous about it, she nodded, “Yes.”
Kurt leaned back against his pillows, squeezing her fingers, “I don’t mind. Everyone has their coping mechanisms.”
Quinn’s hand slipped out of his instantly, “It’s not a coping mechanism.” Kurt blinked rapidly for a moment, watching her glare at him; he twisted his now-empty hands together in his lap, “It’s my faith and you have no right to call it a coping mechanism.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry, Quinn.” Kurt tried to smile, but his eyes were filling with tears as Quinn stared at him, “I can’t pretend to understand the intricacies of your faith, Quinn, and I’m sorry if I offended you.”
She kept her gaze steady, but he could tell she didn’t want to fight with him-it wasn’t fair that he was almost crying. Eventually, she nodded, leaning over to fuss with his blankets, “It’s alright, Kurt.” He watched her, patting the blanket down around him and reaching around him to fluff his pillows.
As she leaned towards him, he noticed the makeup covering the bags under her eyes. She looked washed out-she was nearly as pale as him-and he could see noticeable strain around her eyes. He reached out to stop her, grabbing her hands. She settled back reluctantly, dropping her eyes to watch him rub his thumb soothingly over her hand.
“Look, Quinn, I appreciate all the help, but I think you might be hurting yourself trying to take care of me.”
She squeezed his hand, immediately trying to placate him, “I’m not, Kurt. I’m-”
“Quinn, you look sick, and I can’t be responsible for that. You need to spend more time taking care of yourself and less time worrying about me.” he frowned at her bright, pained eyes, and watched them fill with hurt when he spoke next, “I’m not your child.”
The change was immediate: she straightened, tugging her hands away again with more force than was necessary, and her nose flexed in a disdainful sniff, “I think I should go. I’m sorry if I care too much about my friends.” She stood swiftly, turning and flouncing her way towards the stairs in a walk Kurt hadn’t seen since she’d had her hair up in a tight cheerleading ponytail. He called after her, but her footsteps rushed, clipping against the floor, through the house and the door closed loudly in the empty house.
---
Kurt had demanded that Burt and Finn not put their interests on hold just because he couldn’t go out when he wanted, so the two of them were out at some sports game-it wasn’t football season, but Kurt hadn’t paid enough attention to know what sport it was.
Carole watched Kurt from across the table, where she had finished her meal; he was pushing half of his serving around with his fork, obviously unaware that she was watching him. He’d always been pale, but his complexion appeared almost translucent now; it was nice to see that the green tinge of illness had left him. He glanced up and colored, resting his fork carefully against the side of his plate, “Sorry.”
She shook her head quickly, “Don’t worry about it. Are you full?” she stood, collecting her own plate and then his own when he nodded, and started busying herself at the sink. She rinsed the plates and deposited them in the dishwasher, turning around and ignoring the pots for now, “Did you want to watch a movie with me?”
He smiled, and she rushed forward to help him stand; the second round of chemotherapy had started out rough and he was still struggling to do everyday things like brush his teeth. She wasn’t sure who was taking it harder, Kurt or his father, but she sure as hell wasn’t about to let either of them give up.
She held up a couple DVDs-ones that she knew were his favorites-and they ended up settling down under a thick blanket to watch Singing in the Rain, which she’d seen when she was younger and adored. She sat down beside him and smiled to herself when let his head fall onto her shoulder; she lifted her arm, pulling him closer and rubbing his arm, which was shivering.
His whole body was shivering, but she tried not to think about that kind of thing: how tired he looked; how much weight he’d lost; how his fever had nearly reached the “take him to a hospital” point several times this week; how terrified his father looked when he thought no one was looking.
“Carole?” She glanced down at him, immediately willing to get anything-do anything-for the boy in her arms, but he just smiled tiredly at her, “I’m sorry that I couldn’t say I love you before, but I do.”
It was so forceless that it should have fallen flat, but it filled her with more despair and happiness than she’d felt in a long time; that a boy as emotionally guarded and perpetually defensive as Kurt could let himself love a person who was taking the place of his mother-at least in his father’s eyes-was heartbreaking to Carole. She held him tighter, trying to prevent the tears from falling until she was on her own or he was no longer watching her reaction with those terrifyingly bright eyes. “Sweetie, I love you too.”
He closed his eyes, dropping his head back down onto her shoulder, and Carole stared at the top of his bald head, thinking about too much and trying to calm the storm of endless possibilities raging in her head. Finally, as she realized he was falling asleep on her shoulder, she twisted her neck, pressing a smooth kiss to side of his skull.
---
Quinn came back four days later-the last day of Kurt’s second round of chemo-wringing her hands and looking chagrined.
Puck’s entire body stiffened with tension when she came down the stairs, and Kurt turned, almost ready to ask what was wrong and spotted Quinn at the bottom of the stairs through the reflection of his vanity mirror. He twisted back around, standing quickly.
She fidgeted for a moment, her eyes darting between the two of them and then a spot on the wall; Kurt stepped forward fluidly, drawing her in for a hug before she could say anything.
“Don’t worry.” Kurt whispered, stroking her luxurious hair and trying not to miss his own, “Neither of us have anything to be sorry for, Quinn.”
“I’m still sorry,” she mumbled into his shoulder, and then she straightened out her head so her chin was resting on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, quiet and breathless. Kurt stayed silent, not knowing that the second apology was not meant for him.
They sat down on the couch and Puck moved over to the single chair Finn had brought down to play his games on. Quinn’s hand rested on his knee, squeezing nervously; he watched her fingers tighten around the muscle, aware that his sensitive skin, coupled with his illness, would mean angry bruises the next morning.
“My mom is a registered nurse-apparently, I was exhausted and dehydrated,” Kurt stayed still, frowning worriedly, “You were right, and I’m sorry I overreacted. Both of you, really, you didn’t deserve that.”
Kurt turned, meeting Puck’s eyes; he had a feeling that he was mirroring the apparent confusion in Puck’s expression. Puck shrugged, so Kurt turned back to Quinn, trying to extend some kind of olive branch. Just like Rachel, Quinn embraced any show of friendship. Unlike Rachel, it was because she felt she didn’t deserve it. “I’m glad you’re here Quinn.”
Somehow, because of how naturally comfortable he’d become with both of them-Quinn due to her friendship with Mercedes and Puck due to his willingness to skip school to be with Kurt during the day-he ended up telling them about his night with Carole, and his developing guilt over what he felt was betraying his mother’s memory.
“Could you do something special for your mom?” Quinn suggested, “You could visit her?”
Puck nodded, even though Kurt was facing Quinn and couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I have to wait until I’m off treatment and my immune system can handle a trip outside.”
“I can come with you.”
Kurt’s smile froze awkwardly on his face; for some reason, he’d seen himself going to the graveyard not with Quinn, or his dad, or Finn, but with Puck. Puck who had tried to kiss him, Puck who seemed to care about him, Puck who had backed off because Kurt had implied that he’d wanted him to.
Puck, who reached forward and started rubbing smooth circles on his back when he started crying-whether it was for his mom or for the fact that he was apparently crushing hard on Puck, he wasn’t sure.
Chapter Eight | Chapter Ten