Title: Angel Whispers
Characters: Kurt Hummel, Burt Hummel, Ensemble (Featured Artie/Tina and Fin/Rachel)
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Word Count: 14,037
Warnings: Character Death. There are a few choice curse and hate words as is violence, with bits and pieces of blood and gore.
Spoilers: None
Summary:
A lot can happen in the course of a weekend and planned or not, his life is in the hands of fate. But it is up to you to see the signs and hear the whispers. Would you sit idly by and take it as it is? Or are you willing to find him before it's too late?
His life is in the hands of fate, it's up to you to hear his whispers.
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
A/N: I originally started this as a fill for a prompt but it turned 'round into a whole new different direction and I just had to write it down. I feel bad for doing this to Kurt but I hope though you guys would still enjoy this piece, and my sincere apologies to the OP for going off-tangent on this one. Completely un-betaed so all mistakes are mine.
Today is his day.
Kurt felt it ever since he first set foot off his bed, took the step out the door and waltzed into McKinley High with nary a drop of today's grape slushie and the 21st of September couldn't have felt so good.
He's got that extra spring in his Prada loafers because for the first time in a long while, Kurt hadn't started first period smelling like a dumpster. And for some reason, Karovsky and Azimio steered clear of his path, switching directions before they could actually come across each other. Not that Kurt was complaining though...he had very very much appreciated it (his delicate new Marc Jacobs jacket wouldn't be able to survive a little rough housing).
And the rest of the day wasn't bad either because it continued on, much like his rare feel-good morning. It went incredibly well and he's smiling his way around campus. Kurt even aced a pop quiz (that he hadn't studied for) at Algebra, got to sit with the Cheerios during lunch, did his very first no-handed back flip during free period under Santana and Brittany's supervision (Coach Sylvester had given him an ultimatum that if he were unable to do a single back flip, he'd be off the squad. And thankfully the two Cheerios were backing and helping him out). Kurt had also managed to successfully make Rachel shut her mouth for the longest time during Spanish class with Mr. Schuester (estimated at 10 minutes. It's not much, but it's a feat in itself); and the new kid, Sam, actually came up to him to say hi; which of course sent him and Mercedes into a whole freaking frenzy once the boy was out of sight.
And despite having a rather curious shadow in the shape of one Sue Sylvester (Kurt thinks she's mostly the reason why the jocks stayed away from him today), his day couldn't have gone any better.
He enters the choir room for glee with Mercedes in tow, the latter gushing about the new store that would be opening at the mall that weekend and the possibility of it having an opening day sale. Kurt's glad at the new opportunity to shop (the almost daily afternoon Cheerios practices were starting to take their toll on his fashion as much as Kurt hated to admit), and his free weekend meant that he'd get to spend time with his bestie and splurge on much needed clothing and accessories. And with Mercedes practically reciting the shop's entire catalogue, Kurt has a very clear view on what he's planning to get.
So he breezes through Glee (he credits the daily exercise regimen Coach Sylvester has the Cheerios on. He's gained more muscle, his body becoming leaner), the lifts Mr. Schue wants them to do comes easier than ever. Then again, it's not like Brittany weighs a ton.
And when their entire set is done, everyone is heaving and huffing, with grins splitting everyone's faces as they hold their final positions.
"Alright everybody, that was a job well done." Mr. Schue grins as he sees his kids all breathless and beaming after a good run. He clasps his hands together before he motions the group to gather. "If we don't win Regionals with that set, I don't know what will."
A set whoops erupts through the jubilant group, high-fives and fist bumps are passed around; not because they finally had time to breathe after that behemoth of a 12-minute set, but because they truly feel like this is their year. The songs chosen are great, and the solos are somewhat dispersed (Puck and Santana, Tina and Artie have their own duets), and everyone's genuinely happy.
And when Mr. Schue finally gives in to Finn's request for a break, bodies are in motion, each going off in a different direction. But an errant shove suddenly sends Artie barreling towards the piano, his surprised yelp and a shriek cuts through the celebration and Artie, having lost all reflexes to shock, could do nothing but close his eyes and wait for the pain.
But it never came.
Artie cracks open an eye and is greeted by a sly smile from none other than Kurt, whose hands are firmly gripping on his arm rests. "You alright there, Artie?"
"I-I'm fine." Artie adjusts his glasses before grabbing hold of the wheels, composing himself. He takes time to wave off the others, watching them go do their own business when he convinces them that he's alright. "Thanks, Kurt."
Kurt gives a nod and moves back as Tina takes her place in front of Artie, concern written all over her face. He watches the goth girl, shaking at her current ensemble (it's her style, he knows. But he thinks she needs a few more pieces to correctly accentuate the style that he mentally makes a shopping appointment for her). But before Kurt could go back to his seat, he feels himself being pulled by the elbow. He spins and finds himself taken into a hug by Mercedes. He's not at all surprised by the gesture; it was Mercedes' shriek after all that caught his attention early enough for him to grab hold of Artie's chair before he became intimately acquainted with the mini grand. So he keeps her in that hug until Mr. Schue calls them to the floor once more.
They get in 2 runs before Santana calls Mr. Schue on the fact that they're running late. The teacher relents, of course, already quite satisfied with the group's performance. And with a wave, he dismisses the group, chuckling at how everyone's moving in a blur to get out of school.
Puck is the first to step out of the room and he's followed by Mike and Matt, both hurrying off with a final wave to the rest. After grabbing her bag, Santana takes Brittany's hand, leading them out the room while Brittany throws a smile. Tina wheels Artie up to Kurt, Mercedes and Quinn, and both thank Kurt once more before heading out themselves. The three are currently in a comfortable conversation until Finn dashes to Kurt, nearly stumbling into him as he informs his almost step-brother that he'll be 'spending the rest of the afternoon with Rachel' and that 'mom and Burt already kinda know' and that he 'would be back before curfew'.
Finn's still looking at him all wide eyed and Kurt's almost positive that Finn hadn't really properly asked permission. But since he's already had a soft spot for the big lug even before they became house mates, he nods in agreement before he feels himself get squashed in an embrace. Finn takes Rachel's hand and practically skips off to do god knows what and all the while Kurt manages not to roll his eyes at the sight. Both Mercedes and Quinn only suppress a groan as the couple disappears into the hallway.
Mr. Schue looks up from where he's been sitting, his hands fiddling with some sheet music, eying the group. But before his last three students could leave the room, Mr. Schue calls out to him.
"Kurt? You mind staying for a moment?"
The soprano spins on his heel, as does the two girls. Mr. Schue sees Kurt say something to the girls before he waves Mercedes away, letting the two girls go on ahead and promising to be at her house that evening for a weekend slumber party.
"How you going to get home? You don't have your car." Mercedes crosses her arms over her chest, clearly not liking the delay in their weekend plans as she keeps her stand.
Mercedes has a good point, he thinks. His car's still at the garage for some fine tune-up and he's only dropped it at the shop this morning. There was no way he's getting it back today, not with all the cars that still needed to be worked on. The only way Kurt would ever get his baby back was if ever he'd go down and get dirty himself. But he wasn't about to do that now, he doesn't want to piss the always time-conscious diva.
He thinks for a while, looking back and forth between his friends and his teacher before considering that this might not take long at all.
"I'll be stopping at the garage before I head down to your place." He says, "I'll walk it out. Try to get some exercise before we pig out for the rest of the weekend."
"Whatever you say, white boy." Mercedes steps away hesitantly, but the ringing phone in her hand signals her need to be home. So she takes Quinn with her as they leave. "Just don't forget the movies!"
Kurt shakes his head as he sees his two best friends leave before he turns his attention to Mr. Schue who leads them both to his adjacent office.
"I know how much I haven't really given you a chance to sing out, Kurt." Mr. Schue starts as he sits behind his desk and arranges the sheets in his hand. "And I've come to realize that with a voice like yours...it's unfair. And I figured that if we were to win Regionals, we have to show just how good every single one of you are."
Kurt looks on a little confused. Okay, he may be a little perturbed at not being given a song, but he has been able to sing it out in Glee. And Kurt inwardly cringes at his attempt to sing to Finn and his little Mellencamp exposure. And it seemed that Mr. Schue had read his mind.
"Kurt, those really weren't the right songs for you." Kurt merely blinks at his teacher. What exactly is he trying to say?
"Now, what do you say about a solo?" Mr. Schue sends a smile to his student, watching his face light up. "A song that only you would sing."
"A solo?" Kurt tries hard to contain his excitement. He's had more than his fair share of disappointments when it came to this department, but the squeal that Mr. Schue may or may have not heard still escaped him.
"Yes, a solo. Are you familiar with the song Rose's Turn from Gypsy?" Kurt has to bite back a squeal. Of course, he knows that song! How could he not? He tries to channel his excitement somewhere else and he ends up fiddling with his fingers as he watches Mr. Schue fold his hands on his lap and lean back in his chair. "You deserve it, Kurt."
"Rachel does know about this right?" Kurt eyes the sheet music handed to him, still wary at the chance as a mental image of a furious Rachel Berry already invading his mind. But he steels himself and swallows the lump in his throat as he speaks his next words slowly. "You know I can't take this if Rachel decides that this is her song and only she gets to sing it when she finds about this on Monday."
Kurt watches Mr. Schue's face intently. He knows that this is his chance for a big song, but he's not willing to go through another Defying Gravity fiasco, with the teacher relenting to his star's demand and ending up giving the solo to her. No, Kurt will be having none of that and he needs to know if his teacher will back him up this time instead of chickening into a diva-off just because he gets a complaint from his dad.
And there's this awkward minute of silence that nearly leaves Kurt gutted, but then he sees that little gleam in his teacher's eye and he knows he's got it that Kurt breaks into a grin.
"Rachel will understand Kurt." Mr. Schue says with a wave. "And as I have said, this is your solo."
And it finally sinks in. His very own solo, one he didn't have to fight for, a song that was only given to him. Kurt could feel his heart pounding in his chest to the point that it hurt and his smile only widens as he stares at the sheet music in his hand with his name printed legibly that there was no doubt whatsoever that this really is his song.
And when he steps out of Mr. Schue's office, his free hand immediately flew to his phone, ignoring the low battery life warning as he hurriedly texts Mercedes of his new song, his fingers expertly flying over the keys. He gets an immediate response from her, but it's all gibberish and Kurt only chuckles at the thought of his best friend 'keyboard smashing' her phone. But it isn't even 5 seconds later he gets another text that entails him to spill at their little slumber party tonight.
He agrees of course. There was no way he was going to miss a relaxing weekend with his best girls and besides, they need to create a strategy on how to rub the solo in Rachel's face on Monday.
And as Kurt steps put the building, his phone issues yet another battery warning. He pays it no heed as fingers are flying over the keys yet again that he barely gets a text through to his dad, reminding him about the weekend sleepover he's having with Mercedes and Quinn and Finn's little date night with Rachel before his phone dies with a pitiful beep.
But Kurt could care less about dead batteries; he's finally gotten a solo handed to him instead of fighting for it. Add to the fact that he still was slushie-free and didn't have a chance encounter with the dumpster today, his cheeks already hurt from smiling. And saying that he's happy is the understatement of the century because Kurt is fucking happy and by golly, today really is his day.
The Cohen-Changs living room is a disaster-in-the-making.
No, really it is. With piles of magazines and random books everywhere from couches to coffee tables to floors, the room is a hazard zone. Especially for a kid in a wheelchair.
There's not much place for Artie to maneuver around and it didn't help matters much when Tina decides to make him her little book-retriever from the bookshelf across the room.
"You are going to look beautiful, Tee." Artie watches Tina go through a pile of magazines, her face set in concentration, occasionally slipping to reveal a frown and that saddens him. "You're going to look beautiful in any dress you choose."
All he gets is a mumble and Artie could only shrug as he picks up a magazine and puts it on his lap. This really wasn't what he wanted to do on a great Saturday morning. He actually had planned that he and Tina would go to the park and maybe get some ice cream, but when Mr. Cohen-Chang had helped him into the house; the sight of Tina surrounded by various magazines and books caught him by surprise. And as soon as she saw him, she had given him the task to help pick out a dress for her to wear to a party she doesn't even want to go. But being the good boyfriend that he is, Artie helps out. And this is how he winds up flipping page after page of colorful dresses that Artie was almost sure that he's going to go blind.
They've been at this for nearly 2 hours, scouring the racks of magazines the Cohen-Changs had in their living room for a dress that Tina is supposed to wear at one of her cousin's Sweet 16. Artie wheels to Tina, handing her yet another bunch of magazines. He cringes when she practically tosses a magazine to the floor in frustration.
"Why do I have to go to this stupid party? I'm 18. What am I supposed to do with a bunch of sixteen year olds?" Another magazine becomes a casualty of Hurricane Tina as it lands a good 5 feet away from her. "I don't even like her and I'm pretty sure she doesn't like me either!"
"Were you invited?"
"Yes."
"Then she doesn't hate you."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I just am." Artie heads back to the bookshelf with a shrug but not entirely dismissing the fact that Tina's shoulders sagged, obviously unconvinced. "But I'm pretty sure that you don't hate her either. Just because she stole one of your
"Well, yes. But…" Tina started, but soon realized that she's never going to win an argument like this one against Artie. The guy just knew so many things about her and with that knowing smile of his; she can't help but drop the topic because yes, she doesn't really hate her cousin. She just hates the fact that her Sweet 16 has a theme of princesses and unicorns like it was some kind of children's party. "Unicorns! Who the hell has a Sweet 16 party that involves unicorns!"
Artie merely laughs at his girlfriend's distress, but continues to reach for a book that's high up on the shelf which later results in a mini book avalanche that has Tina rushing over to his side. He waves her concern off as they pick up the books that fell.
"What about this?" Artie picks up a sheet that's been sandwiched between the pages of her fallen History book. Of all the books that managed to fall onto Artie's lap, it had to be the heaviest one. It took much effort for him not to yelp at the sudden pain on his groin, but the delicate markings on the yellowing sheet of paper simply caught his eye. Tina grabs it, her eyes widening at the all too familiar sketch that had sent Tina and its maker to their very first detention class during their first year. She chuckles at how they've only managed to spend their entire detention sketching more of the designs.
"Where did you find this?"
"Inside your History book. Did you make this?" Artie peers over Tina's shoulder, amazed at attention given to the fine details. "It's awfully well done."
"No, Kurt made this." Artie lets out a whistle. Wow, Kurt. They've been friends since ever, but why didn't he know the boy knew how to draw!
"We spent our classes together back during freshman year. It was actually how we became friends." Tina starts with a chuckle. "Tell me, who doesn't become friends when you spend a whole lot of detentions together just because you thought that annoying Mr. Fletcher was funny?"
"Wow, Tee. Didn't know you had it in you. And misbehaving during Fletcher's class too!" It was practically a legend in McKinley that Fletcher's the worst teacher to ever be under in. He's a by-the-book type of educator, but what he's famous for is that he gives detentions around like it was candy. Caught talking during the lecture? Detention. Caught yawning? Detention. Speaking up when not asked? Detention. Answering a question wrongly? Detention. His classes are usually more subdued, which is a miracle especially when you have teenagers as students. But he made it happen anyways. "I got to say, you got balls to do that."
"You tell Kurt that. He's the one who started talking to me!" Tina gave Artie a shove. "If he hadn't expressed his 'need' to redefine my atrocious wardrobe choices, then we wouldn't have gotten detention in the first place."
"Yes, well, if you hadn't spoken to each other then you wouldn't have become friends at all." Artie says matter-of-factly. "And you wouldn't have a dress to wear to that party either."
"You really think I should wear this to the party?"
"Why not?" Artie puts an arm around her shoulders, drawing her as near as the chair would allow to him. "Your mom did say that she's willing to shell out some cash for a dress you're willing to wear."
"It is quite pretty..." Tina eyes the sketch admiringly, her eyes dancing at the prospect of actually looking quite beautiful.
"And it would be great if Kurt found out that you're wearing something he's practically made. He would have a heart attack!"
"It would definitely be a surprise for him." Tina breathes deep before turning to Artie. "Alright. I'll wear this dress."
And Tina has this big beautiful smile that she's finally found the perfect dress. And Artie silently thanks the gods of dropping a pound and a half on his dick and eventually finding that piece of scrap paper because there was no way in hell he was about to spend two hours more on flipping page after page, hauling books and magazines and being Tina's personal fashion adviser (which he clearly wasn't. Suspenders with a matching belt, anyone?).
"You know what? I'm going to take back what I said earlier." Tina pulls away just enough to look at Artie with a slightly confused look. "That cousin of yours doesn't hate you. But she'll definitely loathe you 'til the end of time for wearing that smokin' dress and end up lookin' way hotter than she ever could on her best day."
And as much as Artie thinks that his logic is crystal clear, he still ends up getting a face full of pillows. But that melodic sound that's Tina's laugh ringing in his ears is enough to make his stomach do flip-flops.
And he doesn't mind that at all.
-o-
It's dark.
It's the first thing he realizes as his unfocused eyes waver to find a source of light amongst the shadows. But he finds none.
The next thing he notices is that he's alone…and tied to a chair with ropes that have started to dig into his wrists and ankles. His mind is still pretty clouded at this point to fully comprehend what's actually happening until he hears a door slam open as a burst of light erupts from the opening, bright enough that it threatens to make him blind. But before he could actually make out whoever just came in, he suddenly feels like he's drowning, his chest tightening at the cold impact of a bucketful of ice cold water that hits him in the face along with the prickly pain that comes with it.
And this jolts him back to full consciousness that he could literally hear his mind whirring back into action and his eyes widen in realization as panic starts to set in. It's here he realizes just how tight his bounds are that they're enough to pop his shoulder out of its socket if he tries so much as move, how the ropes snake around his body from his legs up to his naked torso, how cold the floor seems to be against his bare feet, and how he actually feels something other than the cold water dripping from his temple, warm and thick. It's quite the sensory overload that he doesn't even notice that there's another man who's entered the room, sneering at his direction.
"Well, look who's finally decided to join us."
Shadows
It's all he sees. The dark silhouettes of two men approaching him in a steady pace, their gravely whispers getting louder as the sounds of their measured steps bounce against the walls. He squeezes his eyes shut, unwilling to look up and let whoever has him see the tears that were forming in his eyes. And he tries hard to steady his breathing; to slow down the pounding in his chest and willing his mind to wake him up from whatever nightmare this is because there was no way this is happening. It just can't.
But the fact that he still couldn't move and his wrists are starting to sting as rough ropes eat away into his skin only sends a sense of reality and dread back into him; that this actually is happening.
I was just walking. Just walking.
"Wake up, Hummel." Kurt keeps his head down, fighting the wave of nausea that's threatening to crash into him as the harsh voice sends ripples of terror along his spine. It only takes a moment before he feels his head being yanked up by his hair, grimacing as the tense muscles in his neck is being stretched. "I said wake up!"
He opens his eyes and is met with dark, malicious ones. And it's terrifying. Kurt could feel his heart miss a beat at the shock. The man was so up in his face that he could literally smell the stench of alcohol wafting in his breath, the sharp bristles of his bearded face barely touching Kurt's smooth cheek.
"Ease up on the boy there Brett." Kurt shifts his gaze to the other man, his voice oddly soothing as the hand in his hair is gone with a pull. But instead of making Kurt feel any better, it only manages to increase the boy's already heightened apprehension. "We don't want to scare him any more than we already did. We need him to cooperate with us. You're willing to cooperate with us, do you Kurt?"
Kurt couldn't help how the hairs at the back of his neck started to stand at the mention of his name, but the man still has his eyes trained on him, waiting for a response. A minute passes before Kurt could formulate any type of sentence at all, and it comes in garbled, barely audible considering the way he's trembling right now.
"Y-you k-know m-me?" Kurt tries hard to bite back the stutter, to gain somewhat of a sense of control, but he fails miserably, and he feels his cheeks flush at it.
"Of course we do." The man called Brett, drunken or otherwise, slurred at him, spraying saliva at his face as he did so. "You're that Lima fag who just couldn't stop flamin' about. We could practically see rainbows coming out your ass from a mile away kid."
Kurt purposely directs his attention to the other man, who's quite contented staying a good 3 feet away from him, ignoring the hateful remark that was just thrown his way by Brett. He swallows a lump in his throat, that when he speaks, he's grateful that his voice has somewhat steadied. "What do you want from me?"
There is a brief pause with neither man moving. That is, until they both break into barks of laughter, their voices reverberating in the poor-lit room. And it's only then that the other man, whom Kurt's yet to get a clear look from, took the remaining steps up to him, rounding the chair and grabbing the back of it, dragging him effortlessly across the room and against the wall, the bang of wood against concrete shaking Kurt to his very core as his wrists erupt into a burst of pain.
"You already know what we want, Kurt."
His voice is grave now unlike the almost airy one he's heard from him before. It's low and harsh and too close to Kurt's ear that he's sure the other man could feel the shiver that runs through him. Kurt feels a hand snake up to hold his jaw in a strong grip, making him meet the eyes of his captor. And his eyes were eerily bright, far different then Brett's, and it's disconcerting. He was looking at him as he were looking through him, and Kurt couldn't help the whimper that escapes him, hot tears streaming down his face as he sees the man grin as if he found whatever it was he was looking for.
"God, you're just like Burt. Aren't you kid?" Kurt tries to hide the surprise in his face when he hears his dad's name before his head is being thrown back against the concrete, leaving a pounding head in its wake. "Bravado wasn't always his strong point. Nonetheless, he's going to pay."
"You're both going to pay."
And with a bang of the door, Kurt finds himself wet, shivering, and alone in the dark. And it takes a lot for him to keep silent before everything that's happened comes crashing back into him, his whimpers turning to sniffles, and sniffles turning into sobs.
-o-
To say he's relieved is an understatement. Once Tina finally told her mom about the dress she wanted to wear, Artie felt his shoulders finally relax only to tense back up again when he sees what a mess they've made in the living room, knowing that they had to start cleaning if he still wanted to take Tina to the park.
And so Artie is loading books onto his lap, returning each and every material back to its place while Tina has a pile of magazines in her arms, trudging up the stairs to return them back to her room. But as Artie starts to wheel himself across the room, the stack of books on his lap start swaying towards the right, and to stop them from falling, he quickly wheeled to the right, not knowing he's backing himself up towards the stairs going down to the basement.
When Artie feels one of the wheels start to dip, he immediately stops moving, his one free hand flying to the wheel handle, trying desperately to keep himself still. And with the number of times he's spent hanging out with Tina in her house, he's quite familiar of the design of the living room that knows that he's somewhere dangerously close the stairs.
Artie keeps a wary eye on the stack of books still on his lap as it wavers perilously. He thinks about calling for help, but he knows that if he'll move any more, he'll fall.
He can already feel his arm straining to hold the chair still. But his chair somehow remains unmoving long enough that just when he couldn't hold on, Tina had come back into the room, gasping at him.
"Artie!"
"Tee, help." Artie manages to breathe out, hoping hard that it wouldn't disturb the precarious balance he's currently in.
Tina rushes toward him, but quite unsure as to how she was going to help. If she right away grabs Artie, the chair could slip and send them both flying down the flight of stairs. But in her mind, she tells herself that she would risk it. But when she moves to grab him, Artie nearly screams for her not to as his chair wavers as she took a step closer.
"Don't, Tee. You'll fall."
"But Artie…" Tina starts to reason out, but Artie is keeping his gaze on her steady as he gulps when a squeak cuts through their shared silence, the chair dipping just a little bit lower.
Tina, becoming totally confused, calls out to her parents. When Mr. Cohen-Chang comes to the living room, he steadies himself before he tells Artie to keep as still as possible. The boy slightly nods behind the pile of books on his lap and it's here he starts to move around Artie, careful not to touch him or the chair as much as possible.
"I'm going to push you from behind, alright? And Tina…" Tina looks just about like she was about to cry, looks up to her father. "Stay clear."
She nods and clutches her arms around her mother that has also made her way into the living room. Mrs. Cohen-Chang holds her daughter tightly with one hand held close to her chest as she sees her husband finally and safely gets behind the chair.
And with a big push, Artie is sent rolling towards Tina who quickly lets go of her mother before launching herself at Artie, the books haphazardly discarded to the floor.
"Oh, my God, I thought you were going to fall!"
"I'm okay, Tee." Artie lets himself be hugged as he reassures Tina that he's alright. But that doesn't stop his heart from thrumming wildly in his chest at just how close he came from falling. "I'm okay."
"Somebody up there must be looking after you, Artie." Artie looks up to see Mr. Cohen-Chang's hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm, knowing squeeze before leaving the two alone."That would have been quite the fall."
That was like saying: you could have died, and that line keeps repeating in his head. And Artie doesn't know how to reply to that. Instead, he simply nods his head because despite not believing in those kind of things, Artie knows that he would have been a dead man.
And with Tina practically holding on to him for dear life, Artie could only offer a silent thank you as he clutches at Tina's blouse, his fingers trembling, with knuckles turning white.
He's late.
Finn bounds down the stairs, taking 2 steps at a time as he hurries down to the floor. He had promised Rachel that he'll be over at her house by 10:30 am, and it's already…he takes a look at his watch, his face blanching when he sees that it's already 11:15. But as he reaches the living room, Carole's head pops out from the kitchen.
"Finn, where do you think you're going?"
"Uh…" Finn fights his way through his uncooperative jacket, its long sleeves getting caught in a twist. "I'm heading over to Rachel's. I promised we'd hang out today. And I already told you about it yesterday!"
"Damnit, it's not funny!" He yells to no one in particular (okay, maybe at the jacket), but manages to stop himself though before his mom hears and might think he's crazy (though it's not uncommon for him to yell at things. He remembers how he used to yell at his shoes because they always ended up being tied too tightly before he gets to wear them. It's only a week later that he finds out that it's Kurt who ties them. A brotherly prank as he calls it). And it takes Finn a couple of minutes before he is able to untangle the sleeves, cursing his way through a lot, enough to send his mother out the kitchen.
"Finn," He turns around as he hears Carole call out to him. "Come to the kitchen and eat some lunch before heading out."
"But, mom…" Finn starts, whipping his arm around to let his mother see his watch. "It's already quarter to 12 and I was supposed to be at her place by 10:30. We were supposed to have lunch together. Rachel told me she'd cook."
"It's raining hard outside, Finn." Carole keeps her stand against her fidgeting son. "I'm not about to let you go out and get yourself sick because of it. Now get into the kitchen and grab yourself a bowl of chili."
Always unable to fight his mom, Finn trudged along the room and into the kitchen, situating himself on the kitchen island and grabbing a bowl of said chili. But as he sits down, he feels something poke at his side. His hand immediately digs through his pocket and what he finds is most surprising.
It's keys. And not just any keys…it's Kurt's keys. He quickly stumbles off the stool and presses his face to the kitchen window, and lo and behold, Kurt's Navigator is sitting in the driveway.
It confuses him at first because Finn remembers accompanying Kurt to the shop Friday morning, leaving the car there as they walk together to school. And it's also company policy that keys of cars to be serviced are to be left there and as far as he knows, Kurt wasn't exempt to that rule.
But then he remembers that this is Kurt. He somehow always manages to find a way around these things and Finn thinks that maybe this is just one of those. Then a thought runs by him just as his mom comes back to the kitchen.
"Didn't I tell you-" Finn cuts his mother off, running up towards her asking if he could borrow Kurt's car.
"I'll return it I promise. And he's staying at Mercedes' house for the weekend anyway, and he told me himself that he would have no use for it 'til Monday."
Carole keeps a wary eye at her begging son before relenting. "But you have to ask for Kurt's permission first. It's still his car whether he's using it or not."
Finn nods fervently, grabbing his phone and dialing up Kurt's number. And Finn expects his call to be picked up by the second ring because that's just how Kurt answers his calls that when the third and fourth ring goes by, Finn drops the call, putting on a pleading face for his mother.
"He's not answering. He's probably busy doing all those girly stuff…" And Finn hopes this is enough reason for him to take the car, but Carole shakes her head no.
"Try calling Burt then. If you really need to use the car, go ask him."
Finn hesitates. He knows that Burt has forgiven him over the thing he had with Kurt at the basement, and really, he was truly sorry for that, but Finn couldn't help but still feel a little bit intimidated when he had to face the older Hummel. But he desperately needed to go to Rachel's house, and the rain still hasn't let up even just a bit, and the car is just sitting there, and if he calls off this thing with Rachel, Finn's sure he'll be dead by this time tomorrow that he gathers enough courage to ring up Burt who answers with a light hello.
"Hey, Burt. Uhm…can I ask a favor?" Finn shifts from foot to foot, his shoes squeaking against the kitchen tiles. He nervously bites his lip and turns his back quickly around from his mother when he practically sees her chuckling in her place. "Can I borrow Kurt's car for the day? I really need to get to Rachel's place but it's raining cats and dogs and mom wouldn't let me outside unless I drive to her house."
Finn says this as quickly as he could, hoping that the older man gets it the first time because he wasn't sure if he could ask it again without dropping the phone and mentally preparing himself for an angry Rachel encounter tomorrow.
"Have you tried asking Kurt? If he allows, I'll allow."
"I tried calling him but he's not answering." And Finn really hopes that this is enough a reason for him to be allowed to get behind the wheel. And surprisingly, Burt says yes, ticking off a few cautionary rules, of course.
Finn can't help the grin that's splitting his face in two. He gets to drive the Navigator! But then his face falls when he remembers how Kurt looked like that one time. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, Finn. I am giving you permission to drive Kurt's car." Burt says into the receiver. "Just as long as you take good care of it and avoid any speeding tickets...or any mailmen for that matter." Finn tries not to cringe at that.
"But it's Kurt's car." Finn says, still unconvinced. "He could get pissed. He freaked out this one time when I so much as touched the steering wheel."
The line stays silent for a moment that it makes Finn regret for ever questioning Burt at all. And that maybe the older man knew about the situation because he had purposely left out that he had tried to touch the steering wheel as Kurt was driving. But he finds himself sighing in relief when Burt's voice returns.
"But we bought that car using my money."
And this time, Finn wasn't about to challenge that that he quickly thanks Burt before bidding his mother goodbye, jumping into the Navigator and driving towards Rachel's house as fast as he could without breaking any speed limits, all the while leaving a bowl of uneaten chili behind him despite his stomach's growling protest.
-o-
Kurt wishes he has a watch. Or at least a clock so he could at least get a bearing on how long he's been here. He's gone so far as measuring time by the number of times they've shoved scrapped bread into his mouth. He's had 2 of those now…and he still has no idea how long he's been here. Because if he was missing long enough, then his dad would be out looking for him…right?
But then he remembers that he's supposed to be having a slumber party for the whole weekend. His mind then flies to Mercedes and he could only guess what she's feeling right now. They've been planning this weekend for a month now and he doesn't show up? Kurt wouldn't be surprised if she's angry at him by this point. And just thinking about it made his heart hurt more than his head does.
His thoughts are briefly interrupted when Brett comes trudging into the room, grabbing his jaw and forcing them to open as he shoves yet another dry piece of bread into his mouth before promptly leaving him without a word.
That's the 3rd time that's happened and Kurt still has no idea what time or how long it's been. But he has a vague idea that maybe it hasn't really been that long because Kurt's never felt hungry. His stomach is usually a good sign of what part of the day it is, but then Kurt thinks back on how these guys were feeding him before he even got hungry. And it strikes him then and there: They know what they're doing.
Now, Kurt really wished he still had his watch. At least to tell him what time it is.
But isn't that the point, right?
He finally resigns to the fact that there would be no way for him to find out what time it is unless one of the guys tells him so. He couldn't really rely on the light that bursts in every time the door opens (it's artificial, like it's from a fluorescent lamp or something like it) and the room had no windows and not even a creak in the concrete wall. And it's this depressing thought that sends him scouring his memory for a song because it's what he does. When he's happy, he sings. If he's sad, he sings. When he's downright angry, he sings. And if he's scared, he finds it in himself to sing. It distracts him, it calms him.
So Kurt tries to hum a tune (his throat is so dry, not to mention he's still got a piece of bread in his mouth that singing is out of the question. He wouldn't risk it). He searches his cloudy memory for a song...any song just so he could forget this awful situation he's currently in. He swallows the dry piece of bread pitifully, grimacing as the bread scratches its way down his dry throat. And when he finally finds that first note, he tries not to cry when he realizes which song he had unconsciously chosen.
Something has changed within me…
-o-
"How 'bout this?"
"No."
"This?"
"No."
"Okay, how about this one?" Finn holds out the sheet music in front of Rachel's face long enough for her to read the song title before she dismisses it…yet again. Finn's eyes shift from Rachel to the paper he's holding, his face contorted horror-struck. "This is 'Don't Raiin On My Parade'. How can you say no to this!"
"No." Rachel turns back to the stack of sheet music beside her, taking them one by one before dismissing them…one by one. "Just no."
And this repeating motion of picking up and putting down a sheet is slowly driving Finn insane, but he should have known better when he started dating Rachel Berry again at the start of their senior year.
"Oh, come on Rachel." Finn stands and heads over to where Rachel is sitting, situating himself behind her chair before he wraps his arms around her shoulders as if to draw her away from the song sheets. "Just pick a song, and you'll sing it once because you're that good, and we get that on tape, then we send it on its way. It's a simple 3-step process. And then we could get out and get some ice cream!"
Finn knows he's a charmer. And he usually succeeds. But not this time. Rachel merely shrugs his arms away before concentrating yet again on another sheet. "You don't give Julliard just a 3-step process, Finn. I have got to find a song that's perfect for me, one that would showcase my obvious vocal talent as much as my acting capabilities because it only takes one song. That first impression that should last you long enough for you to get accepted."
"And Julliard's not some kind of honky-tonk college like the one we have here in Lima. It's one of the most prestigious art academies in the whole wide world, and I know I'm destined to study there to cultivate my craft so I can show the world just how much of a star Rachel Berry is."
Rachel finishes her speech with a dramatic sigh and flair as she puts another sheet music aside. "And it's becoming particularly discouraging since I can't find the right song."
"Then how would you know that…" Finn peers over Rachel's shoulder as she holds one paper in front of them. "that 'On My Own' is not the right song? Isn't that your go-to song for auditions?"
"It is." Rachel shrugs, brushing away some stray bangs. "It's my go-to song for every audition. But it's not my song for Julliard."
Finn pulls back with a frown, returning to his seat in front of Rachel. They've been at this for over an hour and Finn's patience can only go too far. But he's had practice (if you lived with one Kurt Hummel, you'll learn patience. Especially when it comes to bathroom time.), and he's rather thankful for that. So, he leans back down on the chair and waits…patiently.
"Sherbet."
Finn snaps his head up to see Rachel, her head still down to the papers before she slowly raises her eyes to meet his confused ones. "What?"
"Sherbet. I'm vegan remember? I go for raspberry sherbet."
And Finn, for all his joy, can't contain his excitement as he quickly gets around the table, turns a shrieking Rachel's chair towards him, before swiftly planting a kiss on her lips, smiling against them as he draws back slightly. "I'll go get the car warmed up."
And Rachel could only giggle as she watches her boyfriend speed out the hallway that it's not 10 seconds later, she hears the roar of the car engine and Finn calling her name through her bedroom window. She knows she needed a break. Finding the perfect song was such a daunting task, and Rachel feels quite attached to every song in her repertoire that it's such a daunting task for her to pick just one. She went through dozens and dozens of songs, but she can't find it that she's frustrated enough to relent to chance of stuffing herself with frozen treats.
When she hears the car horn blaring, Rachel takes this as the time to move. She quickly arranges the gathered sheet music, piling them up on her desk before laying a paperweight on them. But just when she was about to get out the room, she sees that her window is still open. So she makes her way across her room, and proceeds to shut the window. But as she does, a rush of wind comes through before she could entirely close it. The window closes with a click before she turns to leave.
But as she takes a step, she notices a sheet of paper on the floor and she's mildly perplexed because she was quite sure that she had gathered up every paper. Her eyes fly over to the stack on her desk and it's still there, sitting almost undisturbed. Rachel walks over the overturned sheet, her hand barely hovering over it as she hears Finn call out to her again.
She could just leave it there and come back, she thinks. But somewhere, in the back of her mind, is telling her to pick it up.
So she does.
And as she holds the sheet music in her hand, reading through the notes as it scales up towards the penultimate high F, Rachel knows she's found her perfect song. And she's too caught up in the feeling of actually finding it that she doesn't here that Finn had come back up.
"Rach?"
Rachel stands and spins to see Finn standing at her doorway, concern written all over his face.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Finn." Rachel takes one last look at the sheet music before laying it down carefully on her desk. "I've actually found my song."
"You did?"
"I certainly did." Rachel takes Finn's hand into hers as she leads both of them out the house and into that frozen treats store, a smile never leaving her face. "I've found my perfect song, and I'll be damned if I don't defy gravity with it."
Quinn rummages through her closet, jamming in every piece of clothing she deems fit into an overnight bag.
It's been a whole 24 hours since Mercedes had called off their weekend slumber party for reasons she has yet to know, and she's tried texting and calling Kurt but he never picks up. If only her mom hadn't asked her to stay that evening, Quinn would have gone to Mercedes' house, slumber party or not because she'd heard how the girl sounded over the phone, distressed and if Quinn were to guess…crying. And for all the years she's known Mercedes, before and during Glee, she has never seen the diva cry. So whatever it is bothering her now is really something major and she's not about to leave her friend alone to deal with that.
Quinn still keeps an eye on her phone, seeing if either Mercedes or Kurt would text her what the hell is going on, as she dumps all her necessities in the bag. But just as she pulls up her already heavy bag, she hears something tinker its way to the floor, and Quinn sees it, that familiar silver band that she shares with her two new best friends, a friendship ring as they say.
She carefully places her bag back onto her bed before she bends and picks the ring up, holding it cautiously between her fingers, remembering just how she felt when Kurt and Mercedes had surprised her one night with it.
It was common knowledge that Kurt and Mercedes had a friendship like no other. It's strong and difficult to destroy, and even more difficult to penetrate that if viewed from afar, their tandem can be quite intimidating. It's full of bitchery, sarcasm, fashion and wit, but what many people don't see is the genuine love and respect those two have for each other. And this is what sets them apart from everybody else, because you just know that 10…20 or even 30 years later, these two would still be bitchin' merrily along together.
And to be able to be part of that…it's special. They were the two people who actually gave her what she needed, a shoulder to lean on, a friend you can talk to and all those other sappy cliché terms people would use and she's not adverse to using them either. Because it's only when she was staying at the Jones' residence and later being integrated into their little circle, that she truly felt like she was a part of something, and not just someone there to be pitied at.
And Quinn smiles as she remembers vividly of how Kurt actually got down on one knee, and he'd jokingly kissed her when she accepted. And all the while, Mercedes had held a camera.
It may only have been a day that she hasn't seen them, but Quinn would be lying if she said she hadn't missed them even just a little bit, because she isn't sure as to where she'd be right now if it weren't for them.
So she quickly puts the ring on her finger before she grabs her phone, texting Mercedes that she's coming over whether she liked it or not.
-o-
57
That's the number of -, no wait, make that 58, 58 blows he's taken so far. All coming in from different angles, landing in different parts of his body with pain erupting from places Kurt didn't even know he had. It's a blurry of fists and feet that it's a miracle that Kurt's still manages to keep score.
59…60…
But as a particular blow (#61) lands on his chest, Kurt feels himself instinctively curl into a fetal position, and the act of cowering only aggravates his attacker more that hits number 62 to 68 comes in, in rather quick succession. Though Kurt vaguely remembers how he ended up off the chair and into a fairly odd position on the floor, he still finds himself sprawled face down on the floor, his left arm lying awkwardly at his side.
"Move you little, faggot!" Kurt hears Brett breathing at the back of his neck, but he's too tired and too hurt to move even a single finger, so he isn't surprised when the larger man hauls him off the floor before banging him against the concrete wall. The movement in itself made Kurt dizzy, but it was the way his head connected to the wall that did him in. His eyes crossed at the pain, his vision going in and out that he doesn't even realize that the hands that were holding him up were gone.
His weight drags him down against the wall, and Kurt could feel the skin on his back scraping. But despite him being obviously down and out, Brett keeps on hitting him and all Kurt could think is that: It could have been worse.
Kurt knew he could handle punches and kicks, but anything beyond that well…he shudders at the thought. But it didn't escape him though when his that little voice in his head tells him that he'd much rather die before they could do that to him.
So he takes it all in.
It doesn't take long before Kurt realizes that he can't feel the pain anymore. It seemed that somewhere between upper cut #72 to the surprisingly good 93rd round house kick, Kurt's lost the ability to feel. And for a moment, he wonders just when did they ever decided that keeping him ties to a chair and throwing buckets of ice water weren't enough?
And then everything stops.
No kicks, no punches, no nothing. And when his eyes search his immediate periphery, Kurt sees no one except that little crack in the doorway, the door not fully closed.
It's artificial light (as it's always had been), that seeps its way through into his darkened abode, and it comforts Kurt despite its minimalistic character.
And then he finds something glinting in the dark and something pulls from within him when recognition slams everything back to his face. It's his ring, the ring he shares with only two people in the world. And just when Kurt thought he wouldn't be able to feel anytime soon, the emotion comes crashing into him, his chest tightening, his head throbbing, his shoulders shaking, his heart pounding, his breathing hard…and he feels.
And every bit of pain he thought he'd numbed over just minutes (or was it hours?) before came back in a blinding white wave, almost knocking him back into unconsciousness. But it only takes a minute before Kurt stops screaming, his voice finally too hoarse to function. And he feels the hot tears on his face as he remembers his friends, that solo…Finn, Carole… his dad. Oh God, his dad. He'll kill himself if he finds out.
But just then, another wave of pain washes over him, wiping out any thought in his head, forcing yet another strangled cry from him. But the pain soon had disappeared just as fast as it had come only to be replaced by something Kurt could only describe as tranquil or serene. But that little moment of peace didn't last long as his body starts to tremble and he feels like his stomach is turning up and he feels the all too familiar taste of vomit as his whole body continues to quake...and he. can't. stop. it.
The door slamming open doesn't stop it either and it just goes on…and on…and on.
When Brett finds the boy convulsing on the floor like some rat that he is, he feels an odd sense of satisfaction course through him. He waits until the shaking stops before he pulls up his phone, holding it against his face.
"Yeah, he's here." He nudges the unmoving body on the floor with a foot and getting no response from it at all. "He's still alive, yeah."
-o-
I'm coming over whether you like it or not.
That was such a Kurt-like line that it physically hurt for Mercedes to know that it hadn't come from her boy, but instead, the text came from Quinn. And she's relieved to find that somebody still thinks this slumber party had meant something. Although she had called it off yesterday, she couldn't help but feel hurt that she was being stood up…by her best friend no less. She's hurt and upset and angry at Kurt for not showing up, or even just answering a call or text. Sure she gets that he's excited about that solo, she gets how somebody could get pre-occupied with it, but no word for more than 24 hours! That's ridiculous even by Kurt's standards.
And despite a seemingly gnawing feeling at the pit of her stomach, she can't help but dismiss it, letting the anger course through her because she's hurt damnit! She reaches for her phone across the bed as it vibrates again, another text from Quinn.
I'll be there in five
Mercedes feels her ire recede though when she takes a look at her phone, knowing that she wouldn't be alone in just a couple of minutes.
A tub of rocky road, please. I feel the need to eat away my misery. Mercedes replies. And it doesn't take a minute before she gets Quinn's reply, and it takes a lot for Mercedes not to cry right then and there when she sees her reply and how it really really reminds her of Kurt: Already a step ahead of you. Brought two tubs. Ready the spoons.
Mercedes is grateful to have Quinn as a friend, and she would even go as far as saying that she's her best friend now. They've come a long way since sophomore year, and it's amazing how two years can change almost a lifetime of hurt and hate. But then her phone beeps again, taking Mercedes away from her train of thought. She reaches for it again, but couldn't help the frown that forms on her face when she sees who it's from. But the frown only grows when she finds that all she got was a blank page.
Mercedes slams her phone back down on the bed because for the way he's been treating her this whole weekend, Mercedes had the right to be angry.
Another beep rings through. Another text comes in. And when she sees that it's still Kurt, she ignores it.
Or at least she tries to because it only takes her a moment before she's pressing the 'read message' button, but instead of frowning, her expression becomes more of confusion as she reads the second text message.
I'm sorry.
And somehow those two little words got to her. Kurt never apologizes unless he knows he's in the wrong (as he is in this case, she thinks), and for some reason, Mercedes just can't bring herself to hold a grudge against her boy. But before she could reply to the message at all, a third one comes in, bringing about just as more confusion as the second one had been and Mercedes can't help that little lump growing in her throat as she reads his message out loud:
Love you, 'cedes.
She finds it in herself to push down any worry growing, thinking that maybe Quinn just got to him before she ever did and eventually knocking some sense into that stubborn head of his because random messages of love really weren't Kurt's thing. But Mercedes takes it as it is and replies: You owe me a weekend, white boy. She collects herself quickly, wiping any stray tears that managed to fall, fingers quickly typing away because for some reason, she just had to text him back: Love you too, Kurt.
And right after she sends her message, Mercedes can feel a smile growing and it warms her for reason she can't quite place. So she waits patiently for Kurt to text back to tell her that he's coming and bringing his skinny ass over to her house, or that he'll actually call despite being right at her doorstep. But after a few minutes, she gets nothing.
There's a knock on her door and she thinks that: Finally, he's come to his senses!, but just as she bounds off her bed and opens the door, Mercedes tries hard to quell the surging disappointment when she finds that it's Quinn (with an overnight bag over her shoulder, a bag which she knows contains the ice cream, and a big smile on her face) at her door.
It's a bright Sunday morning and Will trudges his way up to McKinley High, his face weary and worn. He had felt incredibly stupid for not remembering to put his 9:30's Spanish essays into his bag when he had the chance yesterday morning after the teacher's weekly Saturday meetings, which then resulted to him driving back to school, thus wasting gas he could have saved.
But what can he do now? Those papers were due to be returned tomorrow so as to give his students ample time to study the corrections so at least they could answer the same question correctly next time. And by ample time, Will means a week. Oh, the lengths he'll go through just so his students passed his class.
Will rounds a corner, scrunching up his nose as he passes by the dumpster. Somebody really needs to look into that, he thinks.
That had been a particular problem since yesterday morning before their scheduled meeting. Teachers were refusing to take this route (the shortest route to the conference room), and going the long way 'round because of the stench. And talk circles among their group quickly as to what exactly caused it:
Friday's Meatloaf Special for sure, one teacher says.
Probably some stray dog's shit, another whispers.
No, it's more like a dead rat or something, the other counters.
Will had heard so many whispers, but none of them actually made the move really find out what it exactly is.
But today, Will is kinda in a hurry because checking 30 kids' badly written essays can take a whole lot of time, and he thinks that if he takes this route, he'll be in and out his office in no less than 10 minutes.
And he's right. Will had grabbed the papers off his desk, sprinted along the hallways, and ended outside of the building in 8 minutes, even less. But as he made his way over to his car, passing that damned dumpster yet again, he feels something move against him that he spins around quickly, brow furrowed in confusion when he sees no one in sight. So he continues his steps and-there it goes again. And this time, Will couldn't help the shiver that runs up his spine as he hears something (hissing?) in his ear.
Will stops in his tracks, willing himself to forget how the hairs at the back of his neck stood up, or the way his heart begins pounding so hard that he could literally hear it in his ears, and for some reason, his gaze drifts to that dumpster, his eyes never wavering as he stares at the cold metal bin.
He takes a few tentative steps toward it, shifting slightly to the left so he approaches it at an angle. But just when he does, Will spots a familiar looking satchel behind it and it only takes a second for his mind to register who it belongs to. And just as quickly as he makes the connection, his eyes widen, his heart nearly skips a beat, and his breath gets caught in his chest when he notices a scarf he's seen somewhere before drenched in blood, draped haphazardly on the bag. And it seems that now, his mind can only perceive one word; and like a mantra, it repeats in his head, going around in circles, making its way to his tongue as he finally feels himself utter the word beneath his breath.
No.
Will didn't care anymore. He didn't care how his bag dropped to the asphalt, ruining it, or how dozens of badly written Spanish essays are flying across the parking lot. All he knows is that somehow, his mind is stuck with a twisted mental image of what he might find that Will doesn't even realize he's already running.
-o-
Kurt wakes up to whispers.
It's not the recognizable roar of an engine that breaks him from his slumber, or was it the rough terrain that sends him bouncing up and down against cold metal that wakes him up, nor was it the morning radio dj informing his listeners that it's 2:51 am on what he thinks would be a beautiful September 22 either. No, it's the whispers.
At first he thinks that it's his mom. Kurt remembers her soft voice, breathy on his ear when she used to tuck him to bed at night; the way she sang lullabies until he closes his eyes, breathing light and steady as sleep claims his little body.
But the hushed voices he hears are harsh, rough, and demanding and Kurt couldn't make out the words that were said. He tries to look up from his position, to see where exactly he is, but he only finds himself blindfolded with a gag up his mouth, his hands and feet back into familiar binds
And from his position, he can hear the man (not Brett) dial a number and Kurt couldn't help but let out a gasp when he hears that familiar musical sequence the pads make when a certain set of numbers are keyed in. And he could only hold on his breath when he hears the man say a phrase that he and his family has come to know: You're son's a fag.
And Kurt tries hard not to cry, to not shed tears knowing that it is most definitely his father on the other line. How he is so close yet so far. But Kurt knows the cry he lets out (weak as it is), comes out nothing more than a muffled noise through the mouth gag despite hoping against hope that his dad would recognize him, that his son is right there with the caller and that his dad would come and find him, ready to kick some ass.
But the line is cut off as quickly as it was made and Kurt couldn't help but feel like he was being watched and he imagines the man grinning with malicious intent.
"So where to M.T.?" A voice Kurt can attribute to Brett cuts through the silence, and for some reason Kurt feels relieved. He can finally put a name on the monster. Initials aren't much, but it's a start.
And try as he might to listen in on the conversation, Kurt feels just too tired and his senses unclear that he gets nothing but garbled whispers. But then a particularly nasty road bump caused him to hit his head hard against the metal flooring and Kurt could feel his senses blurring as he lays idly by, waiting for whatever final judgment he's yet to face.
And it's in this span of silence, Kurt allows himself to drown in memories…the memories that help him get through each punch and kick. Memories that drive him to take in each and painful breath, ones that remind him of what he tries to keep living for. But try as he might to search for them, to seek them out from his subconscious…he can't find them.
His mind only draws blanks, empty voids that seem to be getting larger and larger as he much as he thinks about them, and he finds nothing.
Nothing.
They're talking now, but Kurt isn't sure if it's to him, or just about him, his clouded mind doing nothing to help, everything coming in in a dream-like state that his mind could only conclude that everything that's happened is just a dream because there was no way he was actually with these monster, there is no way he's left tied in the back of some van, there was no way he heard that tell-tale cock of a gun. So, yes this is just a delusion, some trance he finds himself in.
And Kurt thinks that all he needs is to sleep and that when he wakes up, he'll see that this is all a nightmare and that maybe when he opens his eyes, he'll see his dad by his bed, ready to shake the slumber away so they could start working on that Mustang, or maybe he'll find a stack of Carole's delicious pancakes being shoved to his face by Finn, hell, he'll even take Rachel singing some horrendous love song to him if that's what it takes.
And he nods. Or at least he thinks he did, he can't feel anything anymore.
It's all just a dream.
So he takes one long painful breath, ignoring the bubbling sounds that come with it. His body shuddering in response, but he holds it, desperately trying to retain some sense of control over his failing body. And as he feels his breath leaving his chapped, bleeding lips, Kurt feels himself begin to fall into a rightful slumber that's evaded him for days.
And just like that, a weight he didn't know he bore lifted; relief coming in waves as he finally closes his eyes, welcoming the darkness as it swallows him whole.
-o-
He's jittery. His every move doesn't come without a tremble, his steps come in rigid and stiff; and the fact that some of his workers are noticing is disconcerting enough to Burt because nothing's wrong with him, and as far as he knows, nothing's wrong with Kurt, Carole or Finn.
But the heavy weight in his chest hasn't lifted ever since 3 am Saturday morning (notwithstanding the anonymous calls he kept getting. The worst one though, was that Carole had answered one of those calls. It was her being upset that woke him up at 3 in the morning) and it's making Burt all jittery. He hasn't felt like this since- he cuts himself off, unwilling to put that dreadful fact back into his head just when he felt that he'd finally moved on. But the weight is still there no matter how hard he tries to shake it off.
And for some reason, his mind always drifts to Kurt. He knows his kids at the Jones', and he's found out the hard way to never call or disturb any of their sleepovers, but this time it's different and Burt can't dismiss the fact that this worry is growing as every hour passes by, his hands itching to dial up and call him. But he controls himself because he knows that Kurt's a smart boy, and if there was something wrong, he'd be calling right away.
He would call. His son would call.
And despite reassuring himself, that Kurt will stride into the house just in time for dinner and happily relaying his weekend activities as they have Carole's chicken bake, it doesn't keep Burt from keeping a vice-grip on his phone.
Burt continues walks around the garage (He knows it's a Sunday, but yesterday's work load had to pool over 'til today and Burt's glad that he's got a few willing men coming over for some overtime pay), checking how his guys are doing, how the cars are getting along, but then he reaches the far end of the shop where he keeps an old Mustang. He looks at it fondly, remembering the hours he and Kurt spent on it, refurbishing and restoring the vintage automobile back to its former glory. Seeing that he still has time before he closes shop, Burt pops the hood open, chuckling when an image of his son, half-bathed in grease, trying to get in there to reach the cylinders, the major bump they've encountered during the whole restoration process.
But when he gets a good look at it, Burt's surprised to see that the piece is in the right where it should be with nary a screw or rivet out of place. And the work is too clean and too perfect that he knows it's Kurt's doing. It would be no one else's work but his because his people knew which cars were okay to work on and which ones are off limits lest you have Hummel as a family name. With the exception of Finn, of course, but the boy was too clumsy with the tools that it would be quite the surprise if it had been him.
But Burt knows for a fact that Kurt hadn't worked on this car four days ago when he'd all but given up on it, the cylinders not cooperating with him. And he knows that his son hasn't been to the shop for quite some time now (those Cheerio practices usually kept him out late that he goes straight home right after it) except for Friday when he'd dropped his car off for some fine-tuning.
But before Burt could think of any other reason besides divine intervention, he hears Finn calling out to him and he waves a hand in response.
"Hey, Finn." He watches as the boy makes his way across the shop, a familiar white box in his hand. And if it's not the logo that's on the top of the box, Burt would still have known what they were as he sees white sugar powder cake along the sides of the younger man's mouth. "Jelly-filled?"
"Yeah! How'd you know?"
"I just do." Burt shrugs and gives the boy a smile. As far as he's concerned, Finn's already part of his family, and it's such a joy when he finds him in the garage. "Thanks, Finn. Just don't tell Kurt about this. He's banning me from sugary sweets…"
"Mmm…grape. How'd you know which flavor I wanted?" Burt looks at Finn as he takes another bite of the doughnut, amused at his mildly confused expression.
"I didn't." Finn states quite frankly that Burt just had to raise a brow to allow Finn to explain further. "I just found them inside the car after I dropped mom off at the grocery this morning and she said to come get you so we could have lunch out. I was surprised when I saw them really..."
Burt listens in on Finn's explanation and couldn't help the way his grip on the doughnut slackened, how it felt like somebody just dropped a 50-ton weight onto his chest. His eyes quickly snap to the old red Mustang by the corner of the shop, then back to the doughnut in his hand.
Finn looks on to Burt, his confusion growing more and more as he sees a flurry of emotions run across the older man's face. But before he could ask him what's wrong, both men are jilted by the shrill ring of Burt's cellular phone.
"Hello?" Burt's voice comes in raspy, his throat dry as he forces the word out. And he would have apologized for it, calling some kind of cold for his excuse, but when all he hears is harsh breathing on the other line, Burt feels himself tense up. "Who are you?"
And after a pause that lasts just a few seconds longer, Burt feels horrified when he hears a man chuckle from the other end, the worry in his heart escalating.
"An eye for an eye, Hummel." The voice on the other end starts, and Burt searches within his memory for that voice. He was pretty sure he'd heard it before. "You take something precious from me, I take away what's dear to you."
And then something clicks within him, and before he knew it, Burt was already moving about in the garage gathering his things.
"Thompson." The name rolls off his tongue like poison. Burt remembers the times when he was struggling to get his business up and how it was 'Thompson's Tires 'n Things' that had helped him along, loaning machines, tools, and whatnot. And Burt remembers how they've even talked about making a partnership out of it. But then Burt found out that Thompson had been getting his finances from under the table, and you could imagine Burt's surprise when he sees 'Michael Thompson, Businessman, Charged of Monetary Theft' as a headline in Lima's Official Gazette. And by this time, Hummel's Tire and Lube was starting to grow that money wasn't even an issue anymore. Burt could afford the tools and labor he needed. But Thompson had reached out to him that time, asking for help, and Burt all but turned his back away. And he had good reason to. Burt had a young family in his hands, he wasn't about to expose them to that, nor was he going to deal with a criminal. He'd settled his own accounts with the law, and they had let Burt off without a hitch. And it ended there. Or at least he thought it did because apparently he was wrong. "This argument was over years ago, Thompson. And as far as I know, you're supposed to be in jail."
"I got paroled, Burt. On the grounds of good behavior and all." Burt tries to stop the rise of anger in his chest as he finally pins Thompson's voice to call those anonymous phone calls."I lost everything when I got convicted, Hummel. My job, my life. Living on the streets ain't easy, you know."
"Well, that's what you get for stealin' other people's money." Thompson chuckles and it just irks Burt even more.
"Then you must be a thief too, Burt eh?" Burt keeps his mouth in a thin line, refusing to reply whatsoever, red-faced as he storms out his shop and gets in his car, to drive his way home remembering how he'd come home to a wrecked house with a lovely little note from Thompson thanking for him the 'help'. It was a good thing his wife had brought Kurt over to her parents' house that week. Burt wouldn't have known what he'd done if they weren't. What could have the bastard done!
"An eye for an eye, Burt." He's already by the intersection, ready to make a turn home when what Thompson says next freezes him. "Oh, and you really shouldn't let your kid leave school alone, Burt. You don't know what could happen to him, ya know?"
Kurt.
Burt slams on the brakes before wholly focusing on the phone in his hand, the heavy weight in his chest threatening to rip his heart apart.
"What have you done to my son, you bastard?"
"I did nothing I'm not supposed to do old man. I merely took out the trash, that's all. McKinley's a dumpster site, Hummel. Who would have known?"
And with that, the line is cut leaving Burt to stare at his phone in horror before he hurls it over to the side, making a hard u-turn back to the highway and on his way to McKinley High, all the while trying to keep tears at bay because Burt knows he'll find Kurt. He'll find he's son alive, and maybe a bit shaken, but alive.
That bastard has my kid. He's got my son.
And as he races past traffic lights, violating them left and right, Burt can't help the terror in his mind when he sees everything click in place, all signs pointing him to something he's definitely not ready to address yet.
But when Burt makes that turn to the school, the sight of a police cars did nothing to quell his worry. And before he even could park his car properly, Burt's out the door, running and pushing his way past police.
He ignores the way he feels hands grab on to him, he ignores their call to stop, he ignored the way his eyes prickle with unshed tears and he most definitely ignores the sight of his son's Spanish teacher sitting by the curb, clutching his son's messenger bag for dear life because once he reaches the perimeter, his eyes zone directly towards the dumpster by the side and toward the black bag a few guys are hauling out from it.
Maybe it's just trash, he thinks. But the way the men are handling it so carefully, laying it on a stretcher from the nearby ambulance makes Burt think that that's no trash bag, but a body bag instead. It's only then that Burt collapses on to his knees, the sharp jabs of loose gravel doing nothing to him as he literally crawls his way to the stretcher, blocking out every pitiful look sent his way.
He reaches a shaking hand as his mind still willingly telling him that this is not his son. That there is no way that this is Kurt because he's son's alive god damnit!
His hand stops short from opening it as Burt tries with all his might to control his breathing. He is so overwhelmed with pain that he barely gives heed to the hand that's firmly on his shoulder. "Mr. Hummel, we would like to have a word with you."
Burt couldn't find it in himself to even shake his head. He knows he's not alone, and that the sight of him might shock people, but he doesn't care. Not when it comes to this. And despite being at a distance from him, Burt couldn't help but hear the others talk, his face blanching as their conversations progress.
"How long do you think it's been?"
"Give or take 36 hours…"
"Damn. That's what? Late Friday, early Saturday?"
"Looks like it."
"Damn."
He snaps himself out of his shock from their words quick enough that when a gentle gust of wind hits him...he feels it. It's not cold like the usual draft, it's warm, it's tender...it's different. Burt stills as the breeze continues on, wrapping his already shaking body as he extends yet a quivering hand because he needs to know…he has to know.
And Burt, who's been desperately controlling himself, crumbles when the gentle rolling of the breeze reaches his ears, soothing...whispering...I love you.
His fingers fumble for what he feels like forever.
His mind numb for what he perceives as hours.
But it takes less than a second for the tears to come, glistening drops dropping onto porcelain skin.
My boy. My little boy…
-Fin-
A/N: Crazy time line is crazy but I hope you still enjoyed it. I've typed this in quite a hurry, ended up quite choppy IMO, so I apologize for all the wrong grammar and whatnot.
Anywhoo, thanks for reading and reviews will be much appreciated :D