Don't I Get A Dream For Myself? [Chapter Eleven]
Title: Don’t I Get A Dream For Myself [Chapter Eleven]
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.
Summary: Kurt is diagnosed with the same disease that killed his mother.
Word Count: 2355
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten
“So seriously, when are you going to make a move?”
“You and Kurt would make cute babies.” Santana shrugged when Puck looked at her, ignoring Brittany in favor of glaring demandingly at Puck; he mumbled under his breath, hoping she’d drop it.
“Come again, I can’t hear you when you act like a pouty five-year-old.” Brittany stared at him expectantly, a pleasant smile on her face, while Santana grinned.
“I kissed him already, okay?”
Santana pushed herself towards him, grabbing at his leg to stop the swivel chair she was perched on from continuing its spin, “Spill, stud.” He closed his eyes against her penetrating gaze; Brittany clapped her hands together excitedly and Puck tried to turn away from the two of them.
Santana let out a breathless laugh, “Holy shit, you got denied by the virgin gay.”
“Shut up, San. I’m not afraid to hit you.” She grinned, devilish, and he turned towards her, trying to be firm, “I’d really prefer not to talk about it.”
“Puck. Come on, it’s me.” She flicked her hair out of her face; it was still so strange to see her without the Cheerio ponytail, “You have so much dirt on me-on us-” Brittany nodded, reaching out to hold his hand in what he assumed she thought was comforting, “What are you afraid of?”
Santana sighed, and Brittany patted him awkwardly on the arm, “Why did he reject you?”
“Cause he’s scared. Seriously, we’re not talking about this.”
“God, fine.” She stood up and he followed the movement. Brittany stared up at them, startled, “You think we’re going to stick around here when we could be having sex at my place?” Brittany smiled, standing and practically sprinting out the doorway. Santana giggled, following behind her.
“Can I watch?” He didn’t really want to, but he was still a warm-blooded and straight-well, mostly straight-male, not to mention how bored he was from avoiding Kurt and Finn’s place.
“Don’t be an ass.” She paused in the doorway, “And stop being selfish. You really think romance is what he needs right now? Go visit him, you prick.” She disappeared down the hallway and he felt an explicit sense of déjà vu.
“You told me to make a move, you bitch!” He shouted after her, slamming the door against the laughter that sprinkled up from the main floor.
---
Puck clenched his fists at his sides, trying to focus on the story Mike was telling: apparently, he’d gone out on a date with Quinn.
Kurt leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter and smiling politely at the boy across the counter. Kurt was off treatment again, so they were back at the bowling alley, but Kurt was avoiding Puck as much as possible, and as far as Puck knew, only Santana and Brittany knew that anything had happened between the two of them.
Kurt smiled, his mouth moving around words that made the boy across from him laugh loud enough that Puck could hear it over the music. Puck gritted his teeth.
“What the hell does he think he’s doing?”
The question had been more to himself, but Tina leaned towards him, keeping her eyes on Artie, who was rolling towards the lane with a ball at his side, “Hmm?”
“He’s flirting.”
Tina’s hair swept against his arm as she turned her head, following his gaze, “I’m glad.” Puck only growled in return, and then Tina’s hand rested on his upper arm, trying to get his attention, “Kurt is allowed to flirt. Nothing bad is going to come of it.”
Puck shook his head, “That’s bullshit.”
“Puck, you’re acting crazy. It’s scaring me.” Puck blinked; Tina hardly spoke to him, but he knew the subtle inflections in her voice well enough to know she wasn’t exaggerating-he was creeping her out.
“Sorry.”
She met his eyes, her concern for his sanity growing, “Why are you mad that Kurt is flirting with a hot guy?”
“That guy is not hot!” Santana kicked him, making a face at him that let him know he was being loud-and gay. He nodded his thanks, even as Tina laughed awkwardly.
“That doesn’t answer my question.” He ignored her in favor of watching the boy hand Kurt a napkin-a small, folded square of paper that he’d obviously written a phone number on. His eyes honed in on the napkin, wondering if Kurt would notice if he stole it and burned it in the bathroom. Tina was still watching him, “Oh.”
He glanced at her; it didn’t take more than a second to know that she’d figured him out, “Shut up, Goth chick.”
“Have you told him?” Her tone suggested she didn’t think he was stupid or that is was cute, like Santana and Brittany respectively, but that she was genuinely trying to give him advice.
“Yes,” he intended to end this conversation as soon as possible. It was no use having another person looking at him like they knew better than he did, “He shot me down.” He stood up, moving past the group and slamming himself into the counter.
Kurt scoffed, moving out of his way, and Puck ordered a drink and a plate of nachos. Kurt twirled his fingers at the boy cutely and then stalked past Puck, grimacing when Puck’s hand slipped down and tried to catch his wrist. He swept it away easily, walking swiftly back towards their friends.
---
“Hey, Rachel needs a ride, so I’m going to take off for a little while.” Kurt shifted uneasily in his bed, listening to Finn snapping his cell phone shut, but kept his gaze focused on the article he was reading in his magazine, “Puck, you’ll stay until I get back?”
Puck nodded, smiling comfortably at Finn and watching Kurt out of the corner of his eye; it would be the first time they’d been alone since the graveyard, and Puck had finally decided what he wanted to do-and say, if he got up the courage.
He waited until Finn’s footsteps were somewhere in the living room, and then he leapt out of the bed, crossing to Kurt’s desk and shuffling through drawers angrily.
Kurt dropped his magazine on his lap and propped himself upward, “What, in the name of Ellen, do you think you’re doing?”
Puck grunted, “Looking for something.”
“What, exactly?” Puck didn’t answer, plucking one of Kurt’s school books off the desk and shaking it upside down. Several sheets of loose leaf fell on the floor, and Kurt pushed himself out of the bed.
His legs nearly gave out when he first stood, but then Puck dumped his entire makeup bag out and shoved his chair in frustration, turning to enter Kurt’s expansive closet; Kurt’s anger pumped adrenaline through him and he followed, reaching out to grab one of Puck’s arms with both of his hands, “Stop ransacking my bedroom!”
Puck turned towards him, bringing their faces an inch apart, and growled lowly, “Where’s the napkin?”
He didn’t wait for an answer; sweeping through Kurt’s hanging jackets and turning pockets inside out. Kurt, incredulous, watched meekly, “The napkin? What napkin!?”
“The one with that weasel’s number on it.” Puck pushed past him, nearly knocking him backwards into a rack; if Puck hadn’t also reached out with one hand to catch Kurt around the waist and balance him, he would have fallen.
Kurt braced his hand against the doorknob, trying to ignore the blurriness around the edges of his vision-he could handle a little lightheadedness-and watched Puck start rifling through his bedside table, “The boy from the bowling alley?”
Puck imitated his voice rudely, “Yes, the boy from the bowling alley. You can’t tell me you’re not looking for anything and then accept some twerp’s number.” He turned to face him, face red and jaw set, “How’s that fair, Kurt?”
“I don’t have the napkin, Puck.” Kurt kept his voice as flat as possible; he was insulted and starting to feel worse physically, but he didn’t want Puck to know he was getting to him, “I gave it back to him and told him the same thing as I told you. Watered down, naturally, because I hardly know him.”
Puck’s jaw twitched, and Kurt merely lifted an eyebrow; he could feel heat in his cheeks-whether it was his fever or from anger, he didn’t know-but Puck didn’t seem to notice, “Really?”
He sighed, taking a weak step forward into the room, “Yes.” Puck’s eyes narrowed, but Kurt could tell he was fighting a smile. He was happy that Kurt had turned down the other boy as well, “I’m not going to change my decision, Puck. I don’t want any kind of romance. It hurts too much.”
The turn of Puck’s lips changed into a downward twist, “How is that fair?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your excuses are bullshit, and you know it. You’re just scared of actually getting hurt.” Kurt opened his mouth, and Puck took a step toward him, “Finn was a safety crush. You know it, I know it, I’m sure half of glee club knows it. You only liked him at all because he was safe.”
“Puck, stop it. You don’t know what you’re-”
Puck laughed, cutting him off and catching his arm as he tried to pass back to his bed-he was starting to feel nauseous and was already dizzy-and turned him around to face him, “I think I do. I think you liked him because you knew he couldn’t like you back-he would never-but he would never hurt you either. Never beat you up if he found out; never have some crazy freak out at you for being flirty.
“But he did. He broke your girly little heart and now you’re afraid of liking anyone. Quinn was right-it’s low of me to go after weak people. Thing is, it’s low of you to use your cancer as an excuse not to date people.”
Kurt scowled, trying and failing to break Puck’s grip on his arm, “I’m not weak, and you’re being an ass.”
“Whatever,” he let go of Kurt, pushing him slightly backwards as he did so, and Kurt stumbled, “You’re just a scared little boy who needs to hide behind diseases and bitchiness so nobody knows just how scared you are.”
Kurt rubbed his arm, watching Puck back away; they were wearing matching scowls, but Puck wasn’t going to back down no matter how hurt Kurt looked.
Puck took three steps, and then stopped, his hand on the pole on the pivot of the stairs, “I never thought you were weak, Kurt.”
He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice, “Oh, thank you.”
“I do now.” Kurt’s breath hitched and he listened to the sound of Puck leaving; it was interrupted by a roaring in his ears and then the floor rushed up to meet him.
---
Finn dropped his the keys to Kurt’s Navigator in the small glass dish that sat on their side table; he kept quiet, trying to hear the telltale sounds of whatever music or movie Puck and Kurt had decided to put on, but the house was silent except for Fiyero’s pitiable whimpering. It wasn’t unusual for him to be locked out of Kurt’s room during the days leading up to and during treatment-the risk of infection was too much-but he was a well-behaved dog and him whimpering and scratching at doors was unusual.
“Hey, boy, what’s wrong?” Fiyero barked once and swiped his paw across the door-Finn paled. They’d be in so much trouble when their parents saw the door: it was scratched badly and it looked like Fiyero had tried to chew the bottom right corner of the door. “Fiyero, stop! Bad dog!” Fiyero didn’t seem to care that he was getting reprimanded, lifting his paw again, “Okay, hold on! I’ll let you go see him.”
The sound of Kurt making hitched little breathy noises reached him as soon as he opened the door; Fiyero launched down the stairs. When he got low enough on the stairs to see into the room, he swore, nearly falling down the rest of them. Where the hell was Puck?
Kurt was laying face down on the floor with his head turned away from him. Fiyero had crossed Kurt’s body and lowered his head to lick at Kurt’s face.
“Hey, puppy,” Kurt whispered at the dog. If Kurt hadn’t been breathing so loudly, or he hadn’t spoken, or Finn hadn’t noticed the rise and fall of his shoulders, he’d have thought he was dead. Finn vaulted down the last few stairs, dropping to his knees beside Kurt and rolling him away from the pool of vomit on the floor.
“Don’t feel good.” Kurt’s voice was slurred-his eyes were unfocused-and he started coughing violently. Finn had to use his own sweater to wipe the vomit from Kurt’s chin, watching his lidded eyes flutter open and then squeeze shut. He lifted his hand, pressing the back of it against his forehead: hotter than Finn thought was healthy.
“C’mon Kurt, get up.” When Kurt made no move to stand on his own, Finn twisted his arm under Kurt’s shoulders and then the other under his legs, lifting him easily; Kurt’s head lolled backwards and he groaned, and Finn hoisted him up so his head tipped forwards and rested under his chin, “It’s okay, Kurt.”
Kurt’s left hand twisted in his sweater; the other hung limply from his side and hit Finn’s knee on every other step and Finn kept talking, “I swear it’ll be okay, Kurt. We’ll go to the hospital and they’ll fix you. You’ll be okay.”
He managed to adjust Kurt in the passenger side of the Navigator with relative ease, tucking the seatbelt around his limp form and balancing his head against the window so it didn’t roll around.
It wasn’t until he was sprinting back up to the house to get the keys that he allowed himself to think what he’d wanted to say: You’d better be okay. Please be okay.
Chapter Ten | Chapter Twelve
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.
Summary: Kurt is diagnosed with the same disease that killed his mother.
Word Count: 2355
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten
“So seriously, when are you going to make a move?”
“You and Kurt would make cute babies.” Santana shrugged when Puck looked at her, ignoring Brittany in favor of glaring demandingly at Puck; he mumbled under his breath, hoping she’d drop it.
“Come again, I can’t hear you when you act like a pouty five-year-old.” Brittany stared at him expectantly, a pleasant smile on her face, while Santana grinned.
“I kissed him already, okay?”
Santana pushed herself towards him, grabbing at his leg to stop the swivel chair she was perched on from continuing its spin, “Spill, stud.” He closed his eyes against her penetrating gaze; Brittany clapped her hands together excitedly and Puck tried to turn away from the two of them.
Santana let out a breathless laugh, “Holy shit, you got denied by the virgin gay.”
“Shut up, San. I’m not afraid to hit you.” She grinned, devilish, and he turned towards her, trying to be firm, “I’d really prefer not to talk about it.”
“Puck. Come on, it’s me.” She flicked her hair out of her face; it was still so strange to see her without the Cheerio ponytail, “You have so much dirt on me-on us-” Brittany nodded, reaching out to hold his hand in what he assumed she thought was comforting, “What are you afraid of?”
Santana sighed, and Brittany patted him awkwardly on the arm, “Why did he reject you?”
“Cause he’s scared. Seriously, we’re not talking about this.”
“God, fine.” She stood up and he followed the movement. Brittany stared up at them, startled, “You think we’re going to stick around here when we could be having sex at my place?” Brittany smiled, standing and practically sprinting out the doorway. Santana giggled, following behind her.
“Can I watch?” He didn’t really want to, but he was still a warm-blooded and straight-well, mostly straight-male, not to mention how bored he was from avoiding Kurt and Finn’s place.
“Don’t be an ass.” She paused in the doorway, “And stop being selfish. You really think romance is what he needs right now? Go visit him, you prick.” She disappeared down the hallway and he felt an explicit sense of déjà vu.
“You told me to make a move, you bitch!” He shouted after her, slamming the door against the laughter that sprinkled up from the main floor.
---
Puck clenched his fists at his sides, trying to focus on the story Mike was telling: apparently, he’d gone out on a date with Quinn.
Kurt leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter and smiling politely at the boy across the counter. Kurt was off treatment again, so they were back at the bowling alley, but Kurt was avoiding Puck as much as possible, and as far as Puck knew, only Santana and Brittany knew that anything had happened between the two of them.
Kurt smiled, his mouth moving around words that made the boy across from him laugh loud enough that Puck could hear it over the music. Puck gritted his teeth.
“What the hell does he think he’s doing?”
The question had been more to himself, but Tina leaned towards him, keeping her eyes on Artie, who was rolling towards the lane with a ball at his side, “Hmm?”
“He’s flirting.”
Tina’s hair swept against his arm as she turned her head, following his gaze, “I’m glad.” Puck only growled in return, and then Tina’s hand rested on his upper arm, trying to get his attention, “Kurt is allowed to flirt. Nothing bad is going to come of it.”
Puck shook his head, “That’s bullshit.”
“Puck, you’re acting crazy. It’s scaring me.” Puck blinked; Tina hardly spoke to him, but he knew the subtle inflections in her voice well enough to know she wasn’t exaggerating-he was creeping her out.
“Sorry.”
She met his eyes, her concern for his sanity growing, “Why are you mad that Kurt is flirting with a hot guy?”
“That guy is not hot!” Santana kicked him, making a face at him that let him know he was being loud-and gay. He nodded his thanks, even as Tina laughed awkwardly.
“That doesn’t answer my question.” He ignored her in favor of watching the boy hand Kurt a napkin-a small, folded square of paper that he’d obviously written a phone number on. His eyes honed in on the napkin, wondering if Kurt would notice if he stole it and burned it in the bathroom. Tina was still watching him, “Oh.”
He glanced at her; it didn’t take more than a second to know that she’d figured him out, “Shut up, Goth chick.”
“Have you told him?” Her tone suggested she didn’t think he was stupid or that is was cute, like Santana and Brittany respectively, but that she was genuinely trying to give him advice.
“Yes,” he intended to end this conversation as soon as possible. It was no use having another person looking at him like they knew better than he did, “He shot me down.” He stood up, moving past the group and slamming himself into the counter.
Kurt scoffed, moving out of his way, and Puck ordered a drink and a plate of nachos. Kurt twirled his fingers at the boy cutely and then stalked past Puck, grimacing when Puck’s hand slipped down and tried to catch his wrist. He swept it away easily, walking swiftly back towards their friends.
---
“Hey, Rachel needs a ride, so I’m going to take off for a little while.” Kurt shifted uneasily in his bed, listening to Finn snapping his cell phone shut, but kept his gaze focused on the article he was reading in his magazine, “Puck, you’ll stay until I get back?”
Puck nodded, smiling comfortably at Finn and watching Kurt out of the corner of his eye; it would be the first time they’d been alone since the graveyard, and Puck had finally decided what he wanted to do-and say, if he got up the courage.
He waited until Finn’s footsteps were somewhere in the living room, and then he leapt out of the bed, crossing to Kurt’s desk and shuffling through drawers angrily.
Kurt dropped his magazine on his lap and propped himself upward, “What, in the name of Ellen, do you think you’re doing?”
Puck grunted, “Looking for something.”
“What, exactly?” Puck didn’t answer, plucking one of Kurt’s school books off the desk and shaking it upside down. Several sheets of loose leaf fell on the floor, and Kurt pushed himself out of the bed.
His legs nearly gave out when he first stood, but then Puck dumped his entire makeup bag out and shoved his chair in frustration, turning to enter Kurt’s expansive closet; Kurt’s anger pumped adrenaline through him and he followed, reaching out to grab one of Puck’s arms with both of his hands, “Stop ransacking my bedroom!”
Puck turned towards him, bringing their faces an inch apart, and growled lowly, “Where’s the napkin?”
He didn’t wait for an answer; sweeping through Kurt’s hanging jackets and turning pockets inside out. Kurt, incredulous, watched meekly, “The napkin? What napkin!?”
“The one with that weasel’s number on it.” Puck pushed past him, nearly knocking him backwards into a rack; if Puck hadn’t also reached out with one hand to catch Kurt around the waist and balance him, he would have fallen.
Kurt braced his hand against the doorknob, trying to ignore the blurriness around the edges of his vision-he could handle a little lightheadedness-and watched Puck start rifling through his bedside table, “The boy from the bowling alley?”
Puck imitated his voice rudely, “Yes, the boy from the bowling alley. You can’t tell me you’re not looking for anything and then accept some twerp’s number.” He turned to face him, face red and jaw set, “How’s that fair, Kurt?”
“I don’t have the napkin, Puck.” Kurt kept his voice as flat as possible; he was insulted and starting to feel worse physically, but he didn’t want Puck to know he was getting to him, “I gave it back to him and told him the same thing as I told you. Watered down, naturally, because I hardly know him.”
Puck’s jaw twitched, and Kurt merely lifted an eyebrow; he could feel heat in his cheeks-whether it was his fever or from anger, he didn’t know-but Puck didn’t seem to notice, “Really?”
He sighed, taking a weak step forward into the room, “Yes.” Puck’s eyes narrowed, but Kurt could tell he was fighting a smile. He was happy that Kurt had turned down the other boy as well, “I’m not going to change my decision, Puck. I don’t want any kind of romance. It hurts too much.”
The turn of Puck’s lips changed into a downward twist, “How is that fair?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your excuses are bullshit, and you know it. You’re just scared of actually getting hurt.” Kurt opened his mouth, and Puck took a step toward him, “Finn was a safety crush. You know it, I know it, I’m sure half of glee club knows it. You only liked him at all because he was safe.”
“Puck, stop it. You don’t know what you’re-”
Puck laughed, cutting him off and catching his arm as he tried to pass back to his bed-he was starting to feel nauseous and was already dizzy-and turned him around to face him, “I think I do. I think you liked him because you knew he couldn’t like you back-he would never-but he would never hurt you either. Never beat you up if he found out; never have some crazy freak out at you for being flirty.
“But he did. He broke your girly little heart and now you’re afraid of liking anyone. Quinn was right-it’s low of me to go after weak people. Thing is, it’s low of you to use your cancer as an excuse not to date people.”
Kurt scowled, trying and failing to break Puck’s grip on his arm, “I’m not weak, and you’re being an ass.”
“Whatever,” he let go of Kurt, pushing him slightly backwards as he did so, and Kurt stumbled, “You’re just a scared little boy who needs to hide behind diseases and bitchiness so nobody knows just how scared you are.”
Kurt rubbed his arm, watching Puck back away; they were wearing matching scowls, but Puck wasn’t going to back down no matter how hurt Kurt looked.
Puck took three steps, and then stopped, his hand on the pole on the pivot of the stairs, “I never thought you were weak, Kurt.”
He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice, “Oh, thank you.”
“I do now.” Kurt’s breath hitched and he listened to the sound of Puck leaving; it was interrupted by a roaring in his ears and then the floor rushed up to meet him.
---
Finn dropped his the keys to Kurt’s Navigator in the small glass dish that sat on their side table; he kept quiet, trying to hear the telltale sounds of whatever music or movie Puck and Kurt had decided to put on, but the house was silent except for Fiyero’s pitiable whimpering. It wasn’t unusual for him to be locked out of Kurt’s room during the days leading up to and during treatment-the risk of infection was too much-but he was a well-behaved dog and him whimpering and scratching at doors was unusual.
“Hey, boy, what’s wrong?” Fiyero barked once and swiped his paw across the door-Finn paled. They’d be in so much trouble when their parents saw the door: it was scratched badly and it looked like Fiyero had tried to chew the bottom right corner of the door. “Fiyero, stop! Bad dog!” Fiyero didn’t seem to care that he was getting reprimanded, lifting his paw again, “Okay, hold on! I’ll let you go see him.”
The sound of Kurt making hitched little breathy noises reached him as soon as he opened the door; Fiyero launched down the stairs. When he got low enough on the stairs to see into the room, he swore, nearly falling down the rest of them. Where the hell was Puck?
Kurt was laying face down on the floor with his head turned away from him. Fiyero had crossed Kurt’s body and lowered his head to lick at Kurt’s face.
“Hey, puppy,” Kurt whispered at the dog. If Kurt hadn’t been breathing so loudly, or he hadn’t spoken, or Finn hadn’t noticed the rise and fall of his shoulders, he’d have thought he was dead. Finn vaulted down the last few stairs, dropping to his knees beside Kurt and rolling him away from the pool of vomit on the floor.
“Don’t feel good.” Kurt’s voice was slurred-his eyes were unfocused-and he started coughing violently. Finn had to use his own sweater to wipe the vomit from Kurt’s chin, watching his lidded eyes flutter open and then squeeze shut. He lifted his hand, pressing the back of it against his forehead: hotter than Finn thought was healthy.
“C’mon Kurt, get up.” When Kurt made no move to stand on his own, Finn twisted his arm under Kurt’s shoulders and then the other under his legs, lifting him easily; Kurt’s head lolled backwards and he groaned, and Finn hoisted him up so his head tipped forwards and rested under his chin, “It’s okay, Kurt.”
Kurt’s left hand twisted in his sweater; the other hung limply from his side and hit Finn’s knee on every other step and Finn kept talking, “I swear it’ll be okay, Kurt. We’ll go to the hospital and they’ll fix you. You’ll be okay.”
He managed to adjust Kurt in the passenger side of the Navigator with relative ease, tucking the seatbelt around his limp form and balancing his head against the window so it didn’t roll around.
It wasn’t until he was sprinting back up to the house to get the keys that he allowed himself to think what he’d wanted to say: You’d better be okay. Please be okay.
Chapter Ten | Chapter Twelve