Title: See, I Can Tell
Beta: None
Rating: Teen
Disclaimer: Dude, if I owned this, I would be filming it, not writing it, not even the title is mine; it's from the Remy Zero song 'Fair'
Warnings: Angsty Kurt, mentions death, one use of the f-word
Summary: The sunlight is cold on his skin
A/N: First ever Glee fic. Just some introspective angst. Not sure if it's good or not.
See, I Can Tell
The sunlight is cold on his skin. It was one of those heavy days where he felt weary down to his bones. The gentle aching of his heart was something so familiar, it was hard to remember a time without this pain. It wasn't something overwhelming, and it wasn't like he was never happy, but this was something constant he carried with him. Something that would never leave him.
"How do you connect with a ghost?"
Half-formed memories, impressions of someone that was no longer there, just stories and smells and pictures to remember her by. He'd been too young to recall her clearly, really, and some of what actually happened has become jumbled up with what he's been told, so sometimes he dreams of a beautiful woman with dark brown hair and blue green eyes dancing at her wedding to a song that hasn't been written yet, a song she'll sing to her baby boy every day that she's alive. His father had videoed her once, singing it to him. Whenever the heartache, the pain, the unrelenting lonely yearning becomes so acute he can barely breathe, he'll watch it in secrecy. No one needs to know just how much it hurts sometimes, his own private little world of grief.
"How do you connect with a ghost?"
In the beginning, his dad didn't talk about her much afterwards; just tried his best to cope with his own sharp pain, feeling so useless as he also attempted to care for a sweet six year old with no mother, only talked about her sometimes, and always with searing tears in his eyes. As he grew older and it became less raw, less like a gaping wound, the hurt fading into that ache he will always have, he asked more questions and was told more stories of her, how beautiful she was, how joyful and strong and loving and fierce she was, and how amazing a singer she was. Although his father was only aware of John Mellencamp's existance when it came to music, his mother had been a little bit into everything, reasoning that if it was a good song, it was a good song, never mind what kind of music it was or who sung it. She could sing, high and clear and perfect, a beautiful voice belonging to a beautiful woman. Our memories of those that have died sometimes become viewed through a rose-tinted filter, but this woman was a wife and a mother and a wonderful person, someone gone before her time.
"How do you connect with a ghost?"
Sometimes, just when the ache is harsh but not intense, just that chill in the air that no one else feels, just that little moment where everything seems so wrong, he'll wonder what it would be like if she was still alive. He knows, or at least thinks he knows, that she'd be there waiting for him everyday after school, that she'd go down to McKinley High and skin every person that threw a slushie or tossed him in a dumpster or called him one of those awful, awful names alive, that she'd just smile with a casual shrug when he came out and that she'd listen to and try to help with any boy troubles. She'd hug him everyday- he can still feel her arms holding him lovingly, in that strange state between sleep and wake. She'd tell him how good it was to be different, she had always been different, she'd tell him just how talented and special he was. How proud she was of him. She'd be the world's best mother, but that's not how it turned out to be. He grew up with her ghost, with her broken dresser and her perfume, mixed up dreams and so many memories that faded in the night when he tried to hold onto them, with her voice and that damningly heartbreaking song playing like a soundtrack to his life, and it is a bittersweet haunting. It isn't like this consumes him, doesn't mean that he hasn't moved on from her death, but he does miss her every day, and that bone deep ache will never go away. He has such a bright future ahead of him, even when times are so rough and so wrong right now, that he knows he'll be truly happy someday, but no one can ever be completely happy; call it cynicism, call it a fact, but at least he knows how he hurts, knows to have accepted it as part of him. The ache is familiar, his oldest friend.
"How do you connect with a ghost?"
And then there is Glee, which is at times both fulfilling and frustrating. He can sing, just like her, he's so like her, he may sound and sing like a girl but it doesn't matter because here, at least he gets a chance to be accepted. He'll freely admit to being a little bitter over the whole Wicked solo thing, having to make a sacrifice to save his father pain, to having had to audition for the chance (wasn't it supposed to be about expressing who you really were?) in the first place, but he is nothing if not strong. He adapted, and it will take a while, but his father will, too. After all, they adapted after his mother died; they can adapt to the homophobia as well. It might even be easier this time, seeing as one of them has been coping for years already. He's quite happy to let Rachel take the solo, let her have the spotlight (she's still irritating, but at least she doesn't rub it in his face, and considering the fact that she has two fathers, he wonders briefly for a moment if he were to tell her about it, tell her why, if she could actually understand, but he dismisses it quickly; it's Rachel, after all) that he knows he deserves but never can have; that's alright, he's used to it. He's used to all of it. He doesn't mind.
"How do you connect with a ghost?"
Until, that is, when fate decides to give him the finger; of course Mr Schuester would one day suddenly decide, hey, Rachel needs yet another solo and guess what? It's that damn song. The song he heard every night from the day he was born to the day she died. Six years of a mother's love, a decade on and there is no fuckin' way that he is going to let her have this one. For a little while he worries about that decision, because although the song doesn't have a high F in it, it was still sung by a woman, and although he thinks his father would want him to sing it, would want him to express the love he'll always have for his mother, he worries about the anonymous phone calls and what if it gets worse because he'll be performing her song in front of a thousand people, but then he thinks screw it because he is proud of who he is, and it's what his mother would want. He will not give this up without a fight. He'll die before he lets Rachel Berry sing Kathy Hummel's song.
"How do you connect with a ghost?"
Fortunately, they don't need to get his father involved this time (which means that this can be a surprise, and maybe it will help bring them closer, maybe) but there will be another Diva-Off, an audition and voting and nobody knows why he wants this so much, but he is going to sing it absolutely perfectly- he's going to sing this for her, and damn the rest of them.
"How do you connect with a ghost?"
But Mercedes is with him one day, listening to him rehearse (he doesn't point it out, but he thinks he sees tears in her eyes when he's finished, and he's kinda a little happy he can bring forth such emotions in people) and then she asks why, so he tells her and tries not to let the ache make him cry, lets it hurt for a little while before he's smiling again. His best friend hugs him close, and he does love her dearly; he'd do almost anything for Mercedes, especially when he knows that she'd do the same for him. Then she whispers four words, four little words that aren't necessary but still important, still good to hear.
"I'm proud of you."
He lets a few blue tears escape then, the sunlight a little less cold that day. Three days later, he stands there and what would you know, he gets that solo. He gets what he wants, he actually gets what he wants. What she would want. He smiles and the day is so, so warm, everything is bright and it feels… it feels beautiful. The ache eases away for a while, he forgets about it and he's happy, he's happier than he's ever been. For the first time in a long while, he watches that video not because he is hurting, but because he is happy. He dreams again that night, of them singing it together, mother and son, and it feels amazing. His dad tells him he loves him the next morning, just because, and he loves his father, and this is his broken little family, but it's alright because for the length of one song, the world is perfect.