Home Part 2-A

Apr 04, 2012 21:52

Spoilers: Up to 2.22
Warnings: Kidnapping, violence, ableism, homophobia, physical abuse by a caretaker, a smidgen of Stockholm's, serious injury, tertiary character death.
Rating: R
Word Count: Whole fic: 52, 000; Part 2: 15, 140
Disclaimer: RIB and FOX own everything ever.
Beta: rdm-ation

1A | 1B | 2A | 2B | 3A | 3B | 3C

This prompt. If Will wants a family, Terri will give him a family. And if he wants his precious glee kids - two birds, one stone.



Part Two

There was a pattern to summer mornings in the Berry household.

Leroy got up at five in the morning and stifled the alarm on his phone before it could wake Hiram. He snuck out of the house on his tiptoes and went for a run.

In his absence, Rachel’s alarm blared. She changed into a workout outfit, banging the closet door and doing light vocal exercises along with some stretching. She climbed onto her elliptical for the quietest part of her morning. Finally she got in the shower, singing much more pronouncedly.

By the time Leroy got back from his run, Hiram would be awake and poking at the coffee machine while their daughter warbled away in the bathroom. Most importantly, there was no earthly way Leroy could be blamed for waking him. Rachel was the only person who could wake Hiram with no more punishment than “I was looking forward to sleeping in for once today, but someone was up at the crack of dawn, warbling away.”

Hiram’s mother had assured Leroy he oughtn’t take it personally; once she had woken Hiram for school and he’d thrown a shoe so hard that it lodged in the wall of their apartment and lost them the security deposit.

None of that happened now. Leroy stayed awake all night, hand on his phone in case it rang, in case it was the police or a hospital somewhere, or Rachel herself, calling from a stupid teenage stunt, maybe a road trip, sorry but safe. He couldn’t tell whether Hiram was asleep beside him or just breathing slowly. He was too hot but never threw the covers off and or moved away from his husband.

He still got up at five, but because he couldn’t lie there any longer, these days. Hiram’s eyes were closed, so Leroy went downstairs by himself and stared at the coffee grounds from yesterday. He thought he should clean them up. He kept staring at them instead.

At six-thirty, Rachel’s alarm chimed.

Leroy ran up the stairs, hitting his elbow against the railing on his way to her room. When he entered, Hiram had just silenced the clock and was holding it in one hand, weighing it.

This was the second time Hiram had beaten him. The first time had been that first morning. He had said, “I didn’t turn it off. I left the timer on. It’ll ring again tomorrow.”

Maybe she’ll be back by then, Leroy had thought, that morning and every morning since.

Now, they stared at each other and didn’t say anything at all for too long.

“We should go down to the station today,” Hiram said. He dropped the alarm on the bed suddenly, turning to leave the room. “I don’t, I don’t think the police department is taking this as seriously as they could.”

“I think they are,” Leroy countered, stepping out of his way and following him down the stairs. “You know they had to wait to be sure it was a missing persons case, and I agree that they were slow on the draw when they thought she’d eloped with Kurt because of that rumor during their last week of school about Rachel being pregnant with his child, but I don’t think it’s fair to say they’re not taking it seriously now.”

“Oh, you don’t think it’s fair,” Hiram repeated. “In that case!” He went straight to the coffee maker and started cleaning it out with short, abrupt gestures.

“I just don’t want you to barge in there on the offensive. It’s not going to make us any friends on the force,” Leroy pointed out. “But if you think we should go to station, we’ll go.”

“Well, I do.”

“Then we will.” He twisted his wedding band. “This is going to get big fast, Hiram. They’re not going to ignore it. They’re not going to be able to. Burt Hummel will be very helpful, and no matter what we are, Rachel is a beautiful white girl. She’ll be all over the news.”

Hiram was silent, hands stilling. He set the bag of fresh coffee down. “You think it will have a chance to get big?” he said. “Like that other girl, the one from a month ago. They’re not going to find her today, are they.”

“I don’t know. That isn’t what I meant.” But he didn’t think they’d find her today, he realized. He didn’t put any faith in this thought, since he was occasionally a pessimistic person and was guessing based on little to no evidence; it was perfectly possible that the police would track Rachel down this very afternoon. But still, he didn’t think they would, and it felt like a betrayal.

Hiram’s shoulders dropped, so Leroy chanced walking up behind him and folding his arms around him. Hiram sighed and wove their fingers together, and neither of them cried, not yet.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The house was emptier without Kurt in it, Finn thought.

This was technically untrue. Technically, there were more people now. There were reporters sometimes, because Burt and Mom were willing to do anything to get the word out. They granted interviews at home, with pictures of Kurt and Rachel clasped in their hands. Once Finn was on one of these with them, but he only smiled until his face stopped cooperating and he said please, please come home without knowing who he was saying it to and then they didn’t ask him to do it again.

There was family. A really old lady who smelled like booze was staying at a hotel nearby and spent most of the day at the house making meatloaf so that Carole wouldn’t have to cook. She insisted that Finn call her Aunt Mildred and she tried to smoke in the house until Finn explained that Kurt didn’t allow that kind of thing, and if she tried again he would dump her goddamn cigarettes in the sink. He had been sent to his room, but Aunt Mildred stopped smoking in the house and stopped looking at him with nothing but absent-minded pity.

There was also Andy, who did not insist on being called “uncle” and who clapped Burt on the back a lot. He was staying at the hotel with Aunt Mildred. He promised Finn that he could come up and use “the boat” sometime in order to get some alone time with Rachel. Finn wasn’t sure if that was an actual boat or a metaphor, but as long as someone else got how important it was to plan how to celebrate when Kurt and Rachel got back, he was good with it.

Mr. Schue came over a lot, and so did Ms Pillsbury. Finn spent a lot of time with Mr. Schue, because he got the celebration thing. Everyone was so busy finding Kurt and Rachel, they didn’t get how important it was to be ready when they did. Rachel had schedules planning everything decades in advance, and Kurt could throw together a wedding on a week’s notice; how would they feel if they got back and there was no party?

And it wasn’t like Finn was any use with real stuff, important stuff. Not like Burt, who knew things and what to do, or Carole who held everything together, or the police, who could actually save people.

So he did this instead.

He’d been standing in the little half-aisle of party plates and hats in Wal-Mart when Mr. Schue found him the first time. He’d come running up, but slowed to a halt as he got near Finn and said in the careful tone people used on him now, “Hey, Finn. Your mom was starting to wonder where you went. What are you doing?”

“Do you think Kurt will be mad if I get Wizard of Oz paper napkins?”

“…What?”

“I know they’re probably tacky, or something… but Rachel would really like them. And it would cut down on the laundry load after the party’s over. I think Kurt should appreciate that.” He stared at Judy Garland’s slightly distorted face and the tiny rays of light coming off her shoes. “Rachel really likes The Wizard of Oz. And it would remind them of Wicked. They both like that.”

“Finn,” Mr. Schue said, “I don’t… when they get back, they might be a little overwhelmed…”

“Kurt designed Jean’s whole funeral for Coach Sylvester.” Finn’s temple throbbed. “He would have for you - if you retired or something, he’d throw a party. We have to have a party when he gets back.”

“Okay,” Mr. Schue said. “Okay.” He looked at the paper napkins for a while. “Can I help?”

Finn had nodded.

So now they were the party planning committee, the two of them, while everyone else was busy.

Another person who was over a lot was Quinn. She smelled like cigarette smoke and sweat, and her hair was pink, which really didn’t make sense. Finn didn’t ask her about it because he’d waited too long and now he didn’t know what to say. He always waited too long when girls changed their hair. Usually it was because he didn’t notice, but this time he just didn’t know what the right reaction was. Pink wasn’t a hair color you saw a lot of in Lima. He thought he might have gotten it better if she’d gone with blue, because at least Tina would have sort of eased him into it.

“You need to shower,” Quinn said now, which was not fair, given how she smelled.

“That’s not fair,” Finn said.

“Shut up and take a shower.” She shoved him into the bathroom and leaned against the door so he couldn’t get out. Well, he could, but he was afraid he would like - bounce her across the room with the door or something, so he just showered instead.

He couldn’t find any clean clothes when he got out of the shower, which was okay. Partly it was okay because he just hollered to Quinn that he needed some, and partly it was okay because he was used to losing things lately. Before whenever he needed something, he would just ask Rachel if he was out with her, or Kurt if he was at home, and they always knew where it was. Now he just didn’t know where anything was and he accepted that.

Anyway, it was better to be missing his cell phone and some clothes, or his car keys, or his school ID, or the five dollar bill he needed to grab some chips… all of that was better than when he woke up in the middle of the night and wandered around the house and found everything but it didn’t help. Being up all night with that empty ache inside of him, that was the worst.

Finn carefully dried his hair with a separate towel, which Kurt said was important, and considered hanging it up the way Kurt wanted him to, but ultimately dropped it on the floor, so that the house would be just the way Kurt left it. He did have to send Quinn back for a gray shirt, because Kurt said dark colors went with jeans better, and he didn’t want them to get back and have his brother grossed out by his shirt clashing with his jeans. Maybe Rachel would like it better too. He wasn’t sure she cared so much about that, though.

“I’m hungry,” Quinn said when he left the bathroom.

“For meatloaf?”

“Mr. Schue will take us out.” Quinn grimaced. “I’m starting to smell like meatloaf. Your aunt has got to give it a rest.”

Quinn was wrong about smelling like meatloaf; she still smelled like sweat and smoke. But she was right about Mr. Schue taking them out. She just stood by the couch until he looked up and then said, “We need to get out of here. Take us somewhere to eat,” in her raspy new voice. Mr. Schue shared a look with Finn’s mom and then nodded.

So now they were sitting at Breadstix with Finn’s Party Planning Notebook, and also Mercedes and Blaine. Finn thought Blaine might be living with Mercedes lately; they always seemed to be together and it was confusing and not really his priority right now.

“I’m having trouble with the boat,” Mr. Schue said.

“Well, Andy has one, and he said we could use it. Kurt would totally dig a party on a boat. Rachel is a little afraid of them ever since she watched Titanic, but she could wear a life jacket and if we have a lot of glitter around she probably won’t even notice the water after a while.” Finn looked at Blaine. “Doesn’t Kurt like boats?”

“Yes,” Blaine said. “He loves boats. He can tie all of these fantastic sailors’ knots.”

“See?” Finn underlined boat on his List of Things to Have the Party On, below hot air balloon and over a stage. He was having trouble noticing things, and caring about them, and stuff, so he mostly didn’t care about Blaine. But he was useful to have around to back Finn up on his Kurt and Rachel theories. Sometimes he was just making things up that sounded likely to him, but Blaine always agreed.

“Right,” Mr. Schue said cautiously, “but you know your uncle’s boat is at his house in Massachusetts. I think he meant you could use it when you visit. And… won’t Kurt want to stay at home when he gets back?”

There had been a story on the news a while ago about a girl who was kidnapped and held for a really long time like three blocks from her house, and had gone into town and even been face-to-face with a police officer who was looking for her. Maybe Kurt wouldn’t want to be around home because he already was, right now, and no one was looking hard enough.

“Finn,” Quinn snapped. “Eat your burger.”

Finn lifted it to his mouth and chewed mechanically. He didn’t want Kurt to leave. Ever again. Maybe not Massachusetts, then. “Maybe no boat.”

“I think that might be best.”

“Or, do you think Andy could bring the boat here and we could put it in the back yard? Then Rachel wouldn’t even be scared.”

“…I’ll ask him,” Mr. Schue said. “Whether or not that’s feasible. Were you thinking of any other nautically themed aspects?”

Mercedes moved her fries around on her plate, making designs, occasionally eating one and replacing it in the pattern with one from the pile.

“Maybe I’d better be ready for a few different options,” Finn decided, and went to a new page on his notebook. He drew a line down the center and wrote NAUGHTICAL on one side and MUSIC on the other. He considered this, scribbled out MUSIC, and replaced it with WIZARD/WICKED.

He looked at the door. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if Kurt and Rachel walked in right that second. He wasn’t sure how he would explain Quinn. Rachel could be super touchy about her. But probably they would have more important things to worry about, like hugging so she couldn’t be taken away again.

“Eat,” Quinn said.

Finn took another bite.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Rachel had half-expected the house to be imaginary.

She had no idea how far they’d driven. She was pretty sure she’d woken up at least four different times, only to be soothed and drugged back into unconsciousness. Her arm hurt from the injections, and her sense of time mostly revolved around a foggy concept of light and darkness that probably had more to do with her eyes opening and closing than anything else. She wanted a warm bath and a massage, and she really wanted to eat something. She also wanted to not be hearing this.

“Come on, sweetie,” Terri cooed somewhere above her. “It’s time to wake up. We’re home!” Her voice bounced around in Rachel’s head and hurt her ears, but after a while it went away. Rachel burrowed deeper under the covers and went back to sleep.

The next time she woke up, it was because her head was pounding. There was a glass of water on the bedside table; she grabbed it and had gulped it down entirely before she processed that there was a bedside table - and a real bed, a door, a carpet - that she was in a room. The house Terri kept talking about, they were actually there.

And Kurt wasn’t with her.

“Kurt?” Rachel shoved herself out of bed and promptly fell to the floor, burning her palms against the carpet. They weren’t chained anymore - she could catch herself unhindered, at least. Her ankles were still bound, though, which explained her fall. That, or the way the floor was rolling under her.

“Ooh,” she protested, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. It had stars on it. She looked sideways at the pink walls - and pink dresser - and pink blanket on the bed, adorned with yellow stars.

She turned her head and threw up on the pink carpet.

“Oh, sweetie.” Terri rushed in and helped her up. “Come on, we’ll get you cleaned up. You can take care of the carpet later; we need to get some food in you.” She patted Rachel’s back, walking her out of the bedroom and across the hall to a bathroom. The linoleum was oddly warm under Rachel’s feet, and slightly sticky - in fact, everything felt warm and sticky. The humidity was awful, and there was an awful smell lingering in the hallway.

“Why is it so hot?” Rachel asked, bending over the sink to splash water on her face.

“Give the air conditioning time to kick in, honey, we’ve only been here a few hours. We’ll be cool and dry soon. The weather here really is atrocious, but that’s why God invented climate control.” She fussed over Rachel’s face with a cloth - with both hands; wherever the gun was, it at least wasn’t pointed at her this second. “There. My pretty girl. Now come on, it’s time for dinner! Your brother and I have been waiting.”

The dining room was just down the hall, and Rachel let out a sob of relief when she saw Kurt already sitting in one of the chairs. He stood up and reached over the table to grab her hand as soon as they were close enough.

“Oh,” Terri said, pausing to smile at them. “You two.” She shook her head and pushed Rachel down into the nearest chair. ¬

“Are you okay?” Kurt asked, fingers bruising Rachel’s.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, glancing up at Terri. She didn’t seem interested in what they were saying, busily handing out plastic spoons and bowls, but she was right there. “I’m great, everything’s fine.” She choked a lump out of her throat - she had no idea where they were, what state, what country, how long they’d been unconscious. “That was… that was some ride, huh? How long, um - if you had to guess -”

“I don’t know,” Kurt said, lips tight. He was ignoring Terri, and being way too pointed about it. She had reached to set down a spoon and he hadn’t even moved his arm, forcing her to lean over him. “My headache says a month, but I’m not on speaking terms with my head right now.”

“I know we just got here after I had to drive a trailer for ages - and all by myself, I might add; Howard claims that he’s nearsighted and needs to stay in Lima to work on his relationship, but I think we all know what the likelihood is that Howard Bamboo has a relationship with anyone but his local fast food restaurant.” Terri sighed, sweeping her hair back from her face. “But I also know that my kids must be starving, so against all odds, I have put a little something together for dinner.” She walked out of the room, leaving Rachel already salivating at the thought of something that required a bowl, and thus was not oranges or bananas.

Kurt let go of Rachel’s hand and grabbed his spoon, testing it against his palm. “This is useless. If you held her down for an hour I could probably remove an eye, but it’s not exactly going to win us a surprise attack.”

“Well, of course not. It’s a plastic spoon, Kurt. I accidentally broke one of those once when I was using it as a makeshift microphone in an impromptu performance at a picnic.”

“Somehow, this does not surprise me.”

“My dads thought it was adorable. They made me do it again so they could get it on camera.”

“And the only part I find puzzling is that they weren’t already recording when it happened.”

“Who wants chicken noodle soup?” Terri waltzed back in, holding a tureen in both hands and planting it on the table with an alarmingly solid thunk. Rachel flinched.

“Rachel’s vegan,” Kurt snapped.

“She can eat around the chicken,” Terri said, reaching over and taking Rachel’s bowl. “Did you two know they sell canned soup in cartons now? It feels so much more homemade somehow. Maybe it’s the color scheme. Beiges and browns say ‘just like mother used to make’ more convincingly than red and white, I think. It doesn’t make heating it up any less time-consuming, though.” She winked at Rachel as she filled the bowl. “Don’t think you’re off the hook in the future. I remember what an excellent cook you are, sweetie, and Mommy’s going to be very busy with guaranteeing herself the lifestyle to which she’s accustomed and providing for you two. I may well have to work more than four days a week here, especially after the move and renovation.”

Kurt’s mouth was hanging open, and his eyebrows were climbing every second. Rachel grabbed his hand again, leaning over the table to reach. He didn’t stop making that expression, but at least Terri’s attention stayed on Rachel.

“Elbows off the table,” she warned. “You know better than that.”

“I’m sorry.” Rachel squeezed Kurt’s hand once and retreated.

“Dinner!” Terri held the bowl just out of Rachel’s reach. “What do we say?”

Rachel took her principles very seriously. She believed that it was wrong to eat a living, breathing, conscious thing - or to play any sort of party to its needless demise - and she believed this strongly. She also didn’t need to depend on this abstract belief very often, as her visceral reaction to turkey sandwiches or genuine leather pants was an image of the animal struggling to breathe in some horrible, packed meat farm where it was smeared with its own filth and fed ground-up bits of its neighbors. It was too disgusting to provide any temptation.

But right now, she could have summoned the will to eat her own hand, she was that hungry.

“Thank you,” she said instantly, avoiding Kurt’s gaze and holding out her hands for the bowl.

Terri raised her eyebrows, looking for an instant uncannily like Kurt. “That’s not the magic word, baby.”

“You’ll have to excuse Rachel for not being psychic. Or fluent in crazy talk.”

“Kurt,” Terri said, “I have had a very long day, and I am trying to make this a pleasant experience for you here, but you are getting on my very last nerve right now and if you don’t shut your mouth I swear to the god of interior decorating I will shut it for you. Now, Rachel, to be fair, your brother does make a fair point. Are you not clear on what I’m asking you to say?”

Kurt had lapsed into silence and slumped back in his chair, notionally out of hitting range, but he still stared like he expected - or no, like he wanted but didn’t really expect - Rachel to pick up where he had left off.

“No,” Rachel said. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, I had hoped you might come to this on your own,” she sighed, “but still - I think we’ve bonded enough that it’s high time. Sweetie, I’d like you to call me ‘mom.’”

Rachel’s stomach seized up, clenching inside of her like a fist. She wanted to start crying, and smiled instead, thinking inanely, You can’t read my poker face, and then she remembered why it wasn’t inane.

But she was going to eat. She was going to be healthy and strong, she was going to be ready to escape, and if the police got here before she got her chance, she was going to be ready to run on her own two legs into her dads’ arms. And then they were going to sue Terri Del Monico for enough money to pay for all eight years at Julliard, between her and Kurt, and the woman was going to jail until Rachel’s grandchildren graduated from college, which they would get into with the mere mention of their stunningly famous grandmother’s name.

“Thank you,” Rachel said with excellent elocution, “Mom.”

Terri gave her the bowl and put a hand to her heart. “Oh,” she said. “Now that was worth it.” Blinking rapidly, she took Kurt’s bowl in turn.

“Don’t bother,” Kurt said, very quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“If you expect me to call you that? I know you’ve had a very difficult day, what with the kidnapping, transporting minors illegally across state lines and all that, so don’t put yourself out. I am not ever going to use that word in reference to you.”

“All right then.” Terri continued to spoon soup into the bowl, and still the gun made no appearance. “I understand. You’re a teenager, you feel the need to rebel and lash out, to test my limits. I had hoped that you would set a good example for your little sister, but if this is how you want to play it, Kurt, that’s okay too. You may go to your room for now, and when you’re done with this little act and ready to do the one small thing I ask of you, then you may have something to eat.” She smiled. It was wide and not remotely friendly. “I can wait.”

Kurt stood up, catching the table for balance. “Fine. I hope you’re ready to have your charges raised from kidnapping to manslaughter when I starve to death.”

“There is no call to be so dramatic,” Terri said, shaking her head sadly. “We both know you’ll give out way before unconsciousness sets in. Now go, unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“Kurt,” Rachel said, and tried to catch his wrist when he passed her. He avoided her hand and disappeared down the hall, Terri on his heels.

She made it until she was technically alone in the room before she started crying again. She didn’t realize it was happening until her nose started running. She dropped her face into her hands, too tired to bother trying to stop before Terri got back. She was going to have to give up this small rebellion against her stomach soon too and just eat, because even if Kurt wanted to starve himself to death, she was not going to join him.

“Pumpkin…” Rachel hadn’t heard Terri come in, and started violently, sloshing her soup. “So jumpy!” A napkin slid blurrily through Rachel’s range of vision, mopping up the spill, and then Terri sat down next to her. “How are you holding up?”

“I need,” Rachel said, gulping back the beginning of a sob, “I need some water, please.”

“Okay.” Terri patted her back and returned to the kitchen. Rachel heard a tap running. She had never in her life drunk tap water - her dads had instilled in her a healthy need for purified, organic water from Alpine streams so as to protect her health and throat from the awful chemicals involved in municipal water supplies. Once they had a week-long argument over whether or not it was feasible to install a shower system using distilled water, in order to protect her skin and hair more completely; both agreed that it would have been the ideal, but Leroy insisted it would be too expensive, and they had lessons to pay for.

But now what she had was tap water, and as with everything else, she wasn’t going to reject it.

“Here, baby.” Terri slid back into the chair beside her, handing her the glass. “Can you hold it?”

“Yes,” Rachel said, and belatedly, “thank you.” She did have to hold it with both hands to get it down, though.

“It’s no problem.” Terri paused. “This one time. We are going to have to get you doing things for yourself. I can’t be fetching and carrying all the time.” She smiled almost teasingly and stroked Rachel’s hair. “Do you need to cry some more? I know you’re probably mad at me right now, but I could hold you. It always made me feel better if Kendra held me while I cried, even if it was because she had dropped one of my Barbies out of our attic window. I lost so many perfectly good Barbies that way. Well, at least three.”

Rachel set the glass back down slowly. Empty, it was too light - plastic, nothing useful. She swallowed hard. “No,” she said. “I’d like to eat now. I’m just really hungry.”

“Sure thing!” Terri leaned in, ignoring Rachel’s flinch, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Dig in.” She reached out and took the bowl she’d been preparing for Kurt, sliding it over in front of herself. “I have to say it smells delicious. What with all the running around to take care of you kids and get this place ready, I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in weeks.”

Rachel opened her mouth, considered that technically the meal had been cooked in a home, and anyway this was not worth it, and turned all of her remaining energy toward eating her food before Terri could think of a reason to take it away.

“Don’t gobble,” Terri said mildly. “It’s not polite.”

“Sorry. It’s just… very good,” Rachel tried.

“Do you think so? I added the salt myself.”

“You’re an excellent cook.”

“Aren’t you a sweetheart? I just wish your brother could be as well-behaved as you are. I have half a mind to go in there and make him behave; we were so close to having a perfect first meal together in our new house.”

“Don’t,” Rachel blurted, and then smiled. “We can have dinner without him. You know, just us girls.”

“You’re right.” Terri nodded, pointing at her as if Rachel might be unclear on whom she was addressing. “This is much nicer. I think we’ll have to build some mother/daughter bonding time into our daily routine. You know I love you both equally, but I think Kurt is going to be more emotionally taxing.” She frowned. “Maybe I should have gone with two girls… You two just seemed to get along so well.”

“We do!” Rachel could see, vividly, Kurt left to starve in his locked room while Terri drove back to Lima to pick up a replacement model - Quinn would probably have too many bad memories attached, and surely not even Terri would be crazy enough to physically attack Santana, but Tina seemed quiet and easy to manage if you didn’t know her. “You know, it’s just been a… hard week. He’s upset because he’s worried about his - about Burt.”

“I’d rather we didn’t talk about that,” Terri said pleasantly. “You need to move past those people, Rachel.” She smiled. “Fast.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Kurt’s room was green. This discomfited him a lot more than it probably should have. He liked green, in theory. It wasn’t his favorite color and he didn’t care to be framed by it constantly, but these were not reasons to feel as though the color were actively invasive. Yet he did feel that way, and it was everywhere he looked.

Because of this - the forest walls, the mint accents, and the dark gray dresser - and because of the pounding in his head, it took him a few minutes to realize that there was a window.

It was the first window he’d seen so far, since he’d been completely out of it when Terri had woken him up and dragged him into the dining room, and there were none in either the hallway or the dining room itself. Sucking in a deep breath, he staggered to his feet from his spot by the door, using the doorknob for leverage. Crossing the room to his dresser made him feel nauseous, but he made it and leaned over to touch the glass beyond it.

It stuck to his palm, which was sweating. Behind it loomed bars - actual bars, the kind people installed in dangerous neighborhoods to ward off robbery - and beyond them was very compelling evidence that these bars were not in fact designed to keep anyone out, since there was no one to keep out. They were in the middle of nowhere.

There was a swamp outside his window. Beyond a small, midge-filled, overgrown lawn the trees started, water pooling around their knotted roots. And that was it. No matter how hard he looked, and no matter how far to either side he twisted himself, there were only more trees, on into the distance. They got larger and dropped more branches toward the ground as they retreated from the house; he could see no sign of them thinning out toward another yard. The water grew darker and looked threateningly deep as the distance increased.

Kurt retreated to the bed, tripping once over the chain locked between his ankles, and sat down to breathe for a few seconds. No normal house had so few windows; there should have been some in the dining room. If she’d gotten rid of them, there was something to hide - they weren’t really stranded on a tropical island the authorities would never even think to search, might not even know existed -

He looked around for anything to break the window with - it might not do him any good this second, but in the future, he could definitely see a big slice of glass being a nice thing to have on him, and who knew, maybe those bars weren’t secure. The only things in the room, however, were the bed and the dresser. There weren’t even any drawers in the dresser; it had been made over into almost a shelf, with a spare few t-shirts and sweatshirts folded and stacked in the spaces where drawers ought to have been. They did not look up to his (admittedly exacting) standards.

He looked at the pillow and blankets dubiously. He could probably make a protective glove for his hand and just punch the window out. Maybe that would even be quieter. Puck would probably know about this kind of thing. Or, given the Volvo incident, possibly not.

Realizing that he was so far gone he missed Noah Puckerman was a low moment.

“Kurt?”

He flinched, but it was Rachel’s voice, soft, just beyond his door. Wiping his face dry quickly, he said, “Yes? I’d invite you in, but under the circumstances you’ll have to excuse my manners.”

“I’m going to tell Terri that you’re sorry, and you’re ready to say what she wants to hear,” she said.

“Excuse me? No, you’re not, because when she realizes you’re lying, she’s going to start smacking us again, and I bruise very easily.”

“Come over by the door. Please,” Rachel directed.

Kurt heaved an ostentatious sigh, but did, even making a cursory attempt to see through the keyhole. This was unsuccessful. “Where is she?”

“She’s in the kitchen. She said I could come talk to you.” Rachel was whispering now, but if he bent slightly and put his ear to the crack of the door she was perfectly audible. “Are you okay?”

“I read somewhere humans can go two weeks without food, so I haven’t keeled over quite yet, believe it or not.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I just - I want to go home. I need to get home. My dad…”

“I know your dad needs you, Kurt,” Rachel hissed. “Right now, I need you. And I’m so sorry about this, I realize it’s completely different for you - I never had a childhood with my mother, and I don’t have a new mother figure in my life right now. This is a big deal for you and it must feel like a betrayal on so many levels.” She took a shaky breath, voice wavering as she continued, “And I need for you to man up and just call her mom if that’s what she wants, because you promised we would do whatever it takes to get out of this. You promised me.”

Kurt’s fingers clenched around his arms, nails scraping along his skin before digging in. “No. You’re right about this being different for me, and I can’t call her that. I can’t believe you’re doing this to me - did she put you up to this? Why are you asking me to do something like that?”

“You have to. It wasn’t fun for me either, you know! But neither of us can afford to stand on principle, or even feeling. Not right now.”

Kurt scoffed, and it caught in his throat like a sob. “This is hardly the Clash of the Titans. I’m not going to use that word in reference to Terri Schuester, of all people; she’ll give up and feed me eventually so that I don’t die. I promise I’ll have plenty of will left over for other battles of it.”

“Kurt Hummel, you stop being such a stupid, stubborn boy this second or I will tell Blaine about the Incident of the Sad Clown Hooker the very next time I see him!”

“You wouldn’t,” he protested automatically, distracted by the prospect of how difficult that would be to explain to his wide-eyed “I’ve never met anyone as kind as you, Kurt” innocent of a boyfriend.

Rachel’s voice dropped. “We’re not in a battle, or a clash, or anything like that here,” she said fiercely. “We’ve lost, okay? There’s no more fighting. We have to make her happy so that we survive until we can sneak away or until someone finds us. I need you with me, with as much mobility as possible, as strong as possible. Do you have any idea how - how useless you are right now, starving alone in some room? How much use are you ever going to be, if every day you’re fighting over some little thing with someone who could just shoot you and dump your body if she gets tired of it?”

“That’s not fair.” Kurt could feel himself flushing, which was unattractive and, his dad always said, a sign that he was arguing for something he didn’t even believe was true, generally just for the sake of it. This usually just made Kurt argue more. “I’m not going to sit around twiddling my thumbs and playing the victim because a woman who weighs one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet snuck up on us! We outnumber her, and if we refuse to play along -”

“What? We’ll wear her down and she’ll start over with - with Mercedes or Artie, or - Kurt, the only thing you’re going to accomplish is getting someone hurt, probably you, and I need you with me. Please.”

He leaned into the door, letting his head fall against it. “I can’t. You’re right, and it physically pains me to say that, but I can’t… call her that.”

“But if you don’t, I’ll also tell Blaine why you dressed me up like a sad clown hooker.” She tapped on the other side of the door again, gently, four times, then slid her fingers along it. “Your mom would want you to live through this.”

“So your entire plan is for us to lie back, think of England, and hope that she leaves the door unlocked.”

“Yours is to get locked in one room, probably starving and hurt, instead of at least having a house to rifle through when she goes to work. My plan wins.”

“She did say she was going to be working, didn’t she,” he conceded.

“Yes! She’s going to be leaving us alone eventually, and if she’s happy, she might leave us somewhere other than locked in separate rooms. It’s just a word, Kurt.”

He nodded. It wasn’t, not to him. “You’re right,” he said again.

“So? I’m going to tell her you’re ready to apologize and to tell her what she wants to hear,” Rachel repeated, and Kurt thought that at least there was this constant in his life: arguments with Rachel Berry ended exactly where they had begun, which was with Rachel telling you what to do.

“Okay.”

He could hear her on the other side - breathing, and then taking a deeper breath as if she were about to say something. Instead she tapped the wood again and then she was gone; for a few seconds he could hear the clink of her restrained steps, but even that disappeared quickly.

He backed into the middle of the room, trying to breathe evenly. It’s just a word. He thought about the summer when, during her crafting phase, his mom had spent hours with a book teaching herself to make lanyards and car ornaments from popsicle sticks so that she could teach him, because no son of hers was going to sit in front of a TV screen all day. And the summer they had spent in front of a TV screen because she wanted him to see all of the classic movies while he was young. Carole calling him her friend, and kissing him goodnight.

The door’s lock clicked and it swung back. Terri smiled. “Kurt, is this true? You’re over your snit already? I have to say, I was prepared to wait longer than this. I’m so glad you’re not one of those really stubborn teenagers. I just don’t know what I’d do.”

“Rachel makes a compelling case,” Kurt said. So does the gun, wherever it is. If he could get his hands on it…

“So?” Terri spread her arms. “Come give me a hug and apologize, sweetie.”

Kurt did his best not to visibly retch, and took the small, dragging steps he could manage forward into her embrace. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Mom.”

Her arms tightened around his shoulders until they hurt. She felt soft and tall, and smelled like spices, in a way that made his chest ache and hurt his throat as if he were about to cry. “Thank you,” she said, and kissed his cheek. “It’ll get easier every time, I promise.” She stepped back and pinched his cheek, which was at least appalling enough to distract him. “Now, let’s rustle you up some lunch.”

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Next part...

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Master List

fanfiction: glee, character: terri schuester, character: kurt hummel, mostly: angst, character: rachel berry

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