Title: Reality (Or a Lack of It)
Author: Catsblackmagic
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Puck/Kurt, Carole, mentions of Finn and Burt, OC cat (o.O)
Spoilers: Season 1
Word Count: ?
Warnings: Language, death.
Summary: Kurt visits his mother's grave and sees some unlikely faces.
Author's Note: This is what happens when you have like 10 puckurt fanfic ideas floating in your head and 99% are smut and you write just the depressing one. ._.
After downing two cups of coffee, Kurt gets dressed and gets in his car. It's Sunday and it's eight-thirty and Burt and Finn are still asleep. Carole is in the kitchen, drinking her own coffee. As Kurt got ready, she asked him where he was going. He didn't answer for a while. He'd just said to ask his father. the old man would understand.
It takes thirty minutes to get to the cemetary. Kurt drives slowly, in silence, just staring straight ahead and gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles fade to he gets out of the car, he pushes open the rusty black gates with paint peeling off of them and starts up the path. It's an old cemetary, locked during the night and dirt paths everywhere. Most of the people buried there are before his father was born. The stones are worn and chipping, some wheathered beyond recognition. On each side of him, the main path brakes off into smaller paths, leading to the short way to graves.
Kurt keeps walking forward, towards the end of the path. Halfway to his destination, the boy comes across the black tomcat that hangs around the ominous place. He'd named the small feline Chester. He didn't know why; it just seemed to fit. He thought it was funny that the cat was dressed up in black, green eyes always dancing with youth yet bushy fur always greiving. Crouching down to his eyelevel, Kurt picks up the cat and pets him absentmindedly, continuing on his way.
He likes to think the cat and he have some sort of 'bond', or something. He feeds it tuna-flavored threats and in return it loves him; follows Kurt, lets him pet him. The cat is mostly shy around other people, but not the boy. After more petting and walking, Kurt turns off the path, which has been engulfed by grass and is only a thin strip of a path (you can tell it's not used much here). He steps through a thin line of trees to the rest of the graves. He passes one, two, three, then stops infront of the fourth one. He holds Chester close, staring at the headstone. The stone is shiney grey granite, loosing some of it's luster after nine years in the dirt.
"Katherine Hummel
A mother, a friend, a wife.
1966-2001"
Crouching down, he runs his fingers over the engraved words. They're simple, but they hold a lot of meaning. Kurt gets comfortable, leaning against the side of the stone, staring at the way he came. He holds Chester close, the cat purring inbetween his chest and legs. He puts his head back and starts talking. Telling the granite ('My mom', he thinks) his past week at school and home. It seems odd, but it's comforting talking to the grave ('My mother', he reminds himself).
Yeah, she doesn't respond him, but he never expects her to. It's the best way to get close to her, better than just smelling her perfume sometimes. He's been doing this since the begining of high school ('The begining of hell', he thinks), coming to the old cemetary and emptying his feelings to her. It's reassuring, even if she doesn't answer.
He comes here on Sundays, every week, at nine 'o clock. Sometimes Kurt sees other people, visiting relatives or friends and most of the time dressed in church clothes with big, floppy hats in the summer or thick coats in the winter. If he's lucky, he catches sight of a funeral procession, but he never looks on. The image of people in black and crying bothers him. Every once in a while, he cries. If his week is exceptionally full of dumspter dives, slushies, or instances where his faces meets locker, he cries. Never infront of people, though. If there are other people around, he bites his lip until it bleeds to hold back the tears.
Kurt sighs; he's finished talking and when he checks the time it's only nine thirty-six. He figures he'll stay here a while more, petting Chester and breathing in the scent of carnations around Kate's grave. Closing his eyes, he rests his head back and dozes easily. He flickers his eyes open, hearing a few soft sniffles behind him. When he turns around, he's surprised at the sight.
Noah Puckerman is standing several plots away, sniffling and crying. He's wearing a plain grey hoodie and faded blue jeans, similar to Kurt's. The soprano looks down at his black V-neck t-shirt, then back to Puck. He sighs wearily as he gets up, walking closer to the jock, He stands beside the taller boy, still holding Chester. Neither of them say anything; Kurt just studies the grave. From what he can see, it looks like Noah's grandmother, and she's been dead for just two years. He doesn't look at him, but the fashionista can see the jock wipe at his eyes; in a few seconds it doesn't even look like he's been crying.
Kurt tucks his head into the feline's thick fur.
"How did she die?" Kurt asks hesitently, not looking up, voice slightly muffled.
"Cancer." Noah's voice is unwavering. "Lung cancer."
"I'm sorry."
"Thanks."
They're quiet for a while again, only Chester's purring is heard. People have mentioned petting a cat reduces your stress - Kurt believes it. Puck glances over him, then back at the stone.
"Why're you here?"
"I come here a lot, every Sunday...my mother died on a Sunday."
It's quiet again, but only for a minute because Noah's talking.
"How'd she die?"
Kurt stiffens and swallows thickly. "Car crash."
"Oh... I'm sorry."
"Yeah," he says, then whispers, alsmost inaudible, "Me too."
They stay like that, the start-of-summer air twirling around them, sending scents of wildflowers and McDonald's their way. Reality cuts through him like a knife and everything's suddenly so real now Kurt wants to vomit. He's not numb anymore, doesn't feel sad or greif or what-the-fuck-ever. He can really feel Chester's fur combing through his fingers, feel the breeze tickling it's fingers against his neck.
Kurt breaks into a smile, then turns to Puck.
"Thank you, Noah."
Puck looks at him like he's crazy or something, then all traces of sadness leave; he has a small smile on his face. Kurt knows noah knows what he's talking about.
"Yeah, anytime Hummel," Puck says, and then he's gone, taking a different path than Kurt's. The younger boy smiles, put Chester down and walks -no, skips- back to his car. He's still sad, yeah, but not as much as before.