Title:Can a leopard Hide his spot?

Author: Crazysnape/psykogleek

Beta : GayforKurt thanks!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but words

Summery: Fed up with bullying Kurt decides to blend in with the surroundings, but there is the limit between mixing and losing himself, isn't it?

NA: this story had been written for the puckurt big bang. There is 10 parts and I am going to poste one chapter a day, I hope you like it.

An awesome banner had been made for it and it can be find there : bumerbmw . livejournal 33253 . html


chapter 1

From the standpoint of all of his fourteen years of age, Kurt Hummel examined himself, standing before his mirror, clad only in his boxer shorts and tried to look at himself as objectively as possible.

His dark hair had a lovely chestnut tint, short on the back, a bit longer on the forehead. At the moment, as it was not restrained by product, it touched his eyebrows with some annoying waves.

He leaned a bit closer and looked at his eyes. Lots of people said he had his father's eyes, some others said his mother's but he knew the truth. He was lucky enough to have both. They shifted from grey-green to blue with a hint of yellow around the pupils; they were the favorite part of his body, the easiest one to look at.

He took a deep breath before observing his nose. He was quite fortunate as he didn't have a hook nose like the witch in Snow White, but even if it was in the right place he really didn't like it. It was too big for his whole face and his baby cheeks didn't help.

The other thing he liked about his face was his skin; it was fair and especially spotless. It would be awful to be like that poor Jermaine McFly.

He shivered just thinking about it, poor kid.

He shook his head and focused once more on his reflection and winced: skinny arms, skinny legs and skinny bottom. To sum up – a skinny body, one of the two things he hated about himself.

He bit his lips and he glared at the second thing: the bruises.

He had a lot of them and, following an impulse, he began to count them. There were two on each arm, a huge one on his left shoulder, five on his ribs, some on the thigh and one on each knee. He looked like a Dalmatian whose spots were in shades of blue, yellow, purple and black – and they hurt.

Kurt sighed, removed his boxer shorts to look at what it hid and smiled: he liked it. Perfect shape – neither too small nor too big and, what was good, it didn't have any bruises because that would have hurt, like a lot.

Still smiling, he headed to the shower.

He wasn't clumsy; in fact, he had always been rather dexterous, flexible and agile like a cat; which was a good thing for him and helped him to avoid being hurt worse.

All his bruises had just one source: school. To be more precise, the other boys of his school who loved to push around people smaller than them; in a word, bullies.

And Kurt, for as long as he could remember, had always been short, even shorter than most of the girls in his classes. If you added the good grades, the fact that he was kind of nice and polite, it was as if he was walking in the hallway with a huge notice saying, "BULLY ME!"

He was putting a lotion on the bruises he could reach when he realized something: he couldn't carry on like this. He had been bullied all through junior high and if he didn't do anything, chances were high that high school would be the same.

With that thought in mind, he closed his eyes and froze as the next four years ran behind his eyelids: four years of bruises, four years of humiliation, four years to be afraid to go to school in the morning.

And he knew that if things were bad in junior high, it would be even worse in high school, he saw it.

One time he'd seen a boy being thrown in a dumpster. Who knew on what he fell? Kurt didn't want that, any of it! He didn't know how but he had to avoid it, he had to make some changes.


The last day of school came with no idea about the change, but it did confirm that whatever it was must be done. And, he now had 12 weeks to find what and make it happen.

The first six days flew by quicker than he expected; between his work at his father's garage and the time he needed to relax and stop stressing out, he only had time to ponder about the changes before going to bed.

Being nervous by nature, he was already worrying he wouldn't find any ideas and he'd end up in one of the dumpsters the very first day of school.

On the seventh day, he watched some stupid movie with Freddie Prinze Jr., went to bed and thought about his problem before falling asleep. That was when it happened: the solution came to him when he was asleep, in his dreams.

It was so obvious that he couldn't believe he hadn't thought about it before and he was mostly annoyed that he hadn't thought about it without Freddie Prinze Jr.'s help.

Despite his eagerness to get his plan organized, he got dressed and he went to prepare the Hummels' special breakfast with his dad like they always did on Sundays.

After that, they went shopping and only then was he able to go back to his room and sit at his desk with a pen and paper.

First thing, though: he definitely needed a makeover.

He loved his tight jeans, his ties and suits and even his proper hair style, but he was apparently the only one. To be honest, he was also the only one dressed like that at school and people always made fun of his colorful pants.

If he didn't want to have the "bully me" sign stuck on his forehead anymore, he had to blend in. What were the other boys wearing?

Large pants – some of them even showed their underwear – plain shirts and sweaters, hoodies, sneakers ... nothing from designers.

On that thought, he shuddered. Then, he asked himself: "Would you rather wear clothes you detest or be scared to go to school as you have been for the last five years?"

That didn't even need reflection.

His thoughts went toward his hair and he wondered what to do with it. He sneered; it was just like him to bet on the bad horse.

He had decided on his usual style so as to have the Malfoys' classy look; maybe he should try the wild Potter style, instead. Oh well, he would ask Paula, his favorite hairdresser, for advice.

He looked at his list and sighed. He couldn't settle for just that.

He refused to have bad grades and often made fun of others in the back of the classroom, so he had to find something else to assure his safety.

He racked his brain for a while, but came up with nothing. Fed up, he threw his pen on the desk and took a little break to get some water in the kitchen.

On his way back, he heard yelling in the living-room. He pushed the door ajar to have a look and smiled when he saw his father lashing out at some players for throwing a shitty pass or something. He shook his head and he went back to his room.

He stopped in the middle of the stairs and he laughed.

Players...

Jocks ... they were the only ones who didn't get bullied! They were usually the ones doing the bullying. That was exactly what he needed.

Kurt didn't like sports, he wasn't even good at it but the good thing was that he had a bit more than two months to change that.

He sat back at his desk, reached for his pen and tried to remember what kind of teams McKinley had.

Baseball ... basketball ... hockey ... football and maybe ... lacrosse? There might even be a swimming team, but swimmers were not very high up on the social pyramid. He looked at his list for a few minutes, wondering what to do with it now.

It was great to decide to become a jock but, to be truthful, he was bad at sports and worse, he didn't even know most of the rules.

He glanced at his computer; he could find answers on Wikipedia or ask someone. As soon as he thought about it, he remembered what his dad was doing at the moment: watching a match of ... something with a ball.

There was his answer.

He was sure his dad would be more than happy to help him. He remembered quite well that his dad used to ask him to watch or to play ball games with him when he was younger but, as Kurt consistently refused, he stopped offering.

Without a second thought, Kurt went to the kitchen to grab some raisins and then he took a deep breath before silently joining his dad on the couch...

It was basketball.

He watched as the players ran onto the court and threw the ball to each other or in the basket and he asked himself, 'Could I do that? Could I learn to like it? Could I be good at it in the space of two months?'

"Do you need something, son?"

Kurt almost choked on some raisins when he heard his father's voice.

Did he need something? Well, yes, but it wasn't as if he could just tell it to his dad, so he shook his head before answering.

"No, I'm good. I just want to watch the end of the game with you."

Kurt saw his father's puzzled look, but acted as if he didn't, staring at the screen. Then, he casually asked, "So, who is winning?"

"Houston, the ones in white."

They watched for a while; Kurt's presence seemed to block his father's yells since he didn't insult either the players or the referees since then.

As for Kurt, he was coldly analyzing the game before deciding that it didn't seem too hard or complicated and that one player in each team was shorter than the others, but had the ball nonetheless.

So he would need to get muscles but his size might not even be a handicap. He took it as a good omen.

"Did you play basketball when you were younger?" Kurt didn't know where the question came from, but now that it was out, he was curious.

"No." The short answer didn't give him any hope for any hereditary abilities he wouldn't be aware of. "But your mum did."

"Really?" That was something he hadn't known about his mother.

"Yes, she nearly accepted a basketball scholarship to Penn State."

To say Kurt was surprised would be an understatement. From his memories, Elizabeth Hummel wasn't a very athletic person. So, he sought for more information. "Why did she refuse?"

Kurt was looking at his father, who was staring into space and waited.

"After what happened to Jerry, she had been unable to touch a ball, so playing was just ... impossible."

Jerry? That name rang some bells, but he couldn't tell why.

"Jerry?" He asked as subtly as possible.

"Your uncle, your mother's brother." The answer was concise and left him with more questions than he had at the beginning.

"I have an uncle? Why don't I know him? Can I meet him?" He cut himself off when he noticed how closed his father's face was.

"You ... you had had an uncle, but he died way before your birth."

Why did nobody ever say anything about him having an uncle? How did he die? What was the link between his uncle's death and the scholarship his mother refused?

Kurt had one rule about his mother: never ask questions about her. His father didn't like to talk about his late wife so when the man offered information, Kurt always jumped at the chance. All without being too direct, afraid the door would close.

"Were they close?" For the first time since the beginning if their talk, his father smiled, a sad smile, but a smile nevertheless.

"Yes, they were very close. Jerry ... they were less than a year apart ... you could never see one without the other, you know? They had the same friends, went to the same activities and they were both very good at basketball. They began the same year and practiced every day in your grandparents' garden. You know, it's through Jerry that I met your mother? He died too young," his dad forced a laugh, cleared his throat and said. "I remember it as if it happened yesterday. I was going out with your mom for a few weeks at the time, and it was a Friday evening. We went to the drive-in, but we didn't watch much of the movie, if you know what I mean..."

"DAD! Too much information!" That really wasn't the kind of things he wanted to know about his parents.

"Okay, well, we were supposed to meet Jerry and ... what was her name?... Mary... yeah, Mary-Jane for a milkshake at Bellet's, but we waited and ... they never came. Bethie was furious because she thought he forgot – it wouldn't be unlikely; your uncle tended to forget the time when he was enjoying himself, but when I drove her back home... the police were there... "

Kurt heard a sniff, but he didn't look at his father. Who knew that asking questions about sport could lead to such an emotional talk?

"Jerry was knocked down by a car and the next day he was dead. It had been awful for everyone, but to your mum it was like a leg or an arm was missing. Many things changed that night, and one of them was no more basketball for your mom. She couldn't..."

Kurt wiped his eyes and nodded. "Too many memories..."

"Exactly."

On the screen, the match ended with the Houston Rockets winning 120 to 97. Without a word, the TV was turned off and they both stayed there for a while. Then Kurt asked:

"Do you think I would be as good as Mum and Uncle Jerry if I were to play basketball, too?"

Kurt felt his father looking at him, puzzled. "You want to play basketball?"

Here was the tricky point. Play the boy interested and be believable.

"Sure. Maybe that's genetic? Give me a ball and who knows? I might be the next Carl Boykins!"

Ten seconds later, his dad was standing and saying: "It's Earl, son, Earl Boykins. Okay, kiddo, I think your mother's basket's goal is still there somewhere in the garage with some of her balls. Let's see if you are the next JaVale McGee!"

Kurt had absolutely no clue who the McGee guy was. He only knew Boykins because he was one of the shorter players in the game they'd just watched, but he smiled and followed his dad.

Nearly one hour was necessary to find and install everything, but if the goal was in good enough condition, the balls were useless and they went to the shop to buy a new one.

His dad wasn't the best player in the world but he wasn't the worst either and he managed to explain the basics.

It took time before Kurt was able to dribble more than three times in a row. He couldn't even block his father once, which led to lots of laughter on both parts.

It was bad because neither one marked yet Kurt's shot managed to brush the ring once while one of his dad's nearly went in but changed its direction at the last second. Things got a little better eventually and Kurt couldn't remember them having that much fun together in a long while.

When they finally put everything away, the sun was slowly setting and they were both exhausted and sweaty. Without a word, they headed to their respective bathrooms for well-needed showers before they began to prepare dinner.

"So, I think it's safe to say that I don't have the basketball gene of the Bensons, right?" Kurt made the comment as he was cutting the vegetables.

His dad laughed and nodded. "True… or it's sleeping really deeply."

Kurt giggled and stuck his tongue out before casually asking, "What about you? What sports-related talent could the Hummel side have given me? Were you a closet gymnast or something?"

His dad looked at him with a smirk. "No closet gymnast here, boy! Sorry to disappoint you. I would be unable to walk on those tiny little beams."

"Dad, those are just for girls!"

"Well, there you go. I used to be on the baseball and football teams; your grandfather played baseball, too."

The food was slowly cooking, the table was set so Kurt sat and asked his father questions about his high school days.

Apparently his parents had been part of the upper echelons of popularity; they were the ones other people looked up to. They had nicknames everybody knew: the Hummer, 3B (Beth the Best Block) and his uncle was Double J (for Jump and Jerry). Those nicknames weren't high in originality but it was still better than the ones he got.

Burt related his first game to a fascinated Kurt as they ate. It was during his sophomore year, the quarterback had been suspended because of his grades and he filled in at the last minute.

At first, he was scared to death; walking onto the field with the team was hard and the first engagement even harder, but he played so well that he won the game and the quarterback's position for the rest of the season.

Kurt was listening to his dad, happy to see him so unusually excited and he made a note of some of the things he needed to look up on the Internet like quarterback, touch down and field goals.

Two hours later, he was in front of his computer and came to some conclusions.

At first, he had been happy to see short basketball players on the court when he watched the game. Indeed, he couldn't do anything to get taller but he could at least work on his muscles.

The thing was that if some of the players look shorter than others, they were still quite a few inches taller than him, so he really didn't physically fit into the sport. If his mom was still alive, he might have given it an honest try, but she was dead and nothing could change that.

So he took his list back, and crossed the basketball team from it.

Next…

He read his remaining possibilities and smiled.

His mom might not be here anymore but his dad was.

Why not give baseball or football a try? He had to get information about the rules first, though. He hesitated before typing 'baseball' in Google.

He liked it. He liked that everybody got a chance to shine and the uniforms weren't so bad. Better than the huge shorts the basketball players wore.

Who liked those shorts anyway? Not him, for sure.

Now he had to try to see how good he was with a baseball bat. Not wanting to read more than necessary about a sport he wasn't even really interested in, he decided to only look for football if necessary.

On that thought, he turned the computer off and got ready for bed: he had work early the next day.

The next morning, Kurt laid there with eyes closed and a smile on his lips, waiting for one of his favorite songs to come to an end. Judy was just perfect!

What a lovely way to begin the day, he sighed happily and started to sit up and froze as an awful pain shot through his legs!

He finally managed to get up and frowned: the pain was still there. What was that?

Realizing the time, he went to the bathroom as quickly as he could manage, taking note of all the hurting places: legs, arms and belly. He made the best of the hot shower, hoping the pain would disappear when he finally understood what it was.

Ashamed, he dressed before going to the kitchen. His father was there leaning against the counter and sipping his coffee. The breakfast was as silent as usual when it was this early.

Kurt was trying to figure out a way to hide his pain when he noticed something. His father wasn't behaving normally.

There was something different...

The way he moved? Then, a light went on and he laughed, "You too!"

His dad turned around and looked at him, puzzled. "What are you laughing at?"

Kurt was laughing so hard that he barely managed to enunciate his answer. "Stiffness! We are bad, so, so bad!"

When he was back to normal, he glanced at his dad and with a teasing smile he said: "Dad, you know what that means, don't you?"

His father sipped some coffee before shaking his head.

"We need a lot more exercise! How about you show me your baseball moves tonight?"

The smile on his father's face was the only answer he needed.


Now, Kurt could say without any doubt that baseball wasn't one of his hidden gifts. If he was bad at basketball, at least he didn't injure himself. He raised his hand to touch his lips and winced. Kurt still couldn't believe it.

At the beginning, the lesson went well. His dad clarified some of the rules and they swapped the ball for a while. If his father didn't lose any of his abilities, Kurt, apparently had none. He only managed to catch the ball a few times and only by luck. Then, they switched to the bat and everything went downhill.

Not only did he not manage to touch the ball but the one time his father threw it directly to the bat – like he would have done to help a little kid – the ball bounced off of it and hit his mouth, hard. It bled so much that they went to the hospital to be sure nothing was broken. One X-ray and two hours of waiting later, they were back home and luckily everything was okay. However, they decided not to play baseball anymore: too dangerous.

True, Kurt wanted to be in one of the school's teams in order to avoid being bullied, not to be hurt in it. However, he would rather play a sport which wouldn't leave him with four lips.

On that note, he went through his list and winced: only football remained. If he wasn't good at it he would have to find something else.

As he did every evening since the beginning of the week, he went to his computer and scanned all websites he could find about football, trying to understand the game. One hour later, he was about to yell (and he would have done it if opening his mouth didn't hurt so much). To say that the rules were complicated was an understatement.

Even Wikipedia was beyond understanding. One of the things he did understand was that some positions were definitively not for him – like linebacker, halfback and quarterback. The only position he would be okay to try was the kicker's because it looked like the one where he was the less likely to get hurt.

Thinking back to the last two days he smiled and decided to go practise kicking without his father: they didn't seem to have much luck together. Since he was only working the morning on Tuesday, he would do it after lunch. He nodded and looked for some video of kicker's practice before going to bed.

He found it!

He finally found what he was going to play the next four years!

He kicked for two hours straight and didn't miss the goal once. If he was rude he would say he was a kick-ass kicker, but he wasn't, so he would only say that he did a great job.

He needed to work on it, though, so that when the coach saw him during the try-outs, he wouldn't have any other choice but to take him.

And that's exactly what he did. The next ten weeks were divided between helping at the shop and a self-made practice schedule. He had to improve his endurance and get some muscles, mostly on his skinny legs. To achieve his goal he forced himself to jog at least three times a week.

At first he hated it. It was tough; he was sweaty, exhausted and breathless in ten minutes at the top. And, there was the unavoidable stiffness.

He didn't throw in the sponge, though, and slowly came to enjoy it. It would never be his favorite thing in the world but it wasn't the worst anymore. Every time he went, he asked his dad to join him and every time the answer was the same: "No." But he kept on trying.

Since the kicker couldn't kick as he wanted, he practiced the three-steps thingy; he worked on his long shot (he was able to do it pretty well until the 20 yards). To finish, every day he did the stretching he found in the football handbook he took out at the library.

With his hard work, he really hoped he would get onto the team.


Kurt would have never thought this day would come.

He had always loved to go to the mall but, today, just thinking about it made him sad. How could he bear the idea of going there and avoid all his favorite shops? It was pure heartbreak.

That already happened when he went to his appointment with Paula, his hairdresser. She didn't cut his hair as short as he feared, but she did something he never thought: she coloured some of the strands dark blue.

It was astonishing but he liked it! To say his dad was happy with the change would be a big fat lie, but he stopped making comments about it after the first day… and one hour-long sermon.

Kurt was pretty sure his father was worried about the shopping to come and he, indeed, told him not to indulge too much with the credit card. Kurt retained a smile; his dad had a surprise coming and he might like it better than the blue hair one.

In order to keep his word, he stayed as far as possible from his shops and went straight to the jeans he needed. He tried at least ten different ones before making his decision. He found four different trousers – a black, a dark blue, a light blue and a grey that were a bit larger than usual, but not by much.

He bought T-shirts and sweaters, too. His only extravagances were a beautiful leather-like coat and some really nice underwear.

After all, he had to settle for plain clothes on the outside but no one said he had to do the same on the inside.

The day before the start of the school year, he stood once again in front of the mirror and this time, he smiled.

His wild blue hair was not so bad and he still liked his skin and his eyes. Thanks to all the exercising, his cheeks were not as baby-like as before and he didn't have any bruises. Even better, he wasn't as skinny as he used to be.

If only things could remain the same… or get a whole lot better.