Title: Steel and Diamond
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, which is why it's actually funny.
Pairing: Blaine/Kurt
Rating: T
Warnings: Rape, non-explicit mentions of/references to sex, profanity, emotional trauma, drug abuse, lethal illness (but no major character deaths)
Spoilers: AU from just after Burt and Carole's wedding in Furt - Karofsky doesn't return, for starters
Summary: In a darker turn of events, Karofsky rapes Kurt while under the influence of crystal meth - obtained from an unclean, used needle. As events unfold, meaning repercussions that Kurt struggles to deal with, it's up to Blaine to teach Kurt the difference between diamond and steel - between hard stubbornness, and true courage.
Other: The second sequence in this is a semi-dream/memory, which is why it's written like that - sensory/flash thought exploration. It's a bit experimental, but I hope it works!
Thanks for reading, and if you have time, please do leave a review xx
"Kurt? Kurt? Oh God, Kurt, where are you?"
He stirs for a moment, because is that his father's voice?
But then the voice dims, footsteps passing the room as though it's not there.
Something's wrong, he knows. He can hear it in his father's voice, and maybe that's his ringtone but it's so far away and his head hurts and everything hurts and he's so fucking tired…
And then darkness takes him again, and he sleeps.
And he dreams
And he remembers.
Hey, Hummel.
What – what the fuck are you doing here, Karofsky? You're not allowed on school grounds anymore, remember?
(Footsteps going forwards, footsteps sliding backwards)
(Indomitable pressure of electrical impulses to the brain)
(Instinct)
(Override – courage-stupidity-whyamIdoingthis? Two heads think same thing but one can't care)
Karofsky, (calm, calm, keep calm) get away from me.
Why should I?
(Hands shoulders pressed wall hurts bones, he should eat more but then this would be harder and what why am I doing this why don't I just run and who is thinking this pretty boy or balding oaf)
Get away from me, Karofsky. I swear, I'll scream.
(No one's coming no one's here too late why did I come back Finn's sheet music locker room not worth this how could I know)
What, Hummel, you think I'm stupid or something? We both know there's no one around. And if there was, it's not like anyone would care.
(Head hurts head hurts, something in back of mind saying something illegal hurting don't hurt him Mum will cry again don't give a fuck why is he so pretty? His fault not mine fucking tempting fag making me a fag )
What are you doing, Karof-mmph!
(Lips rough memories stench of alcohol something else something strong disgusting heavy friction hurts teeth biting tongue hands push him away holding my hands can't get them away why so strong not fair not fair)
You're so pretty, Hummel, you know that? Fucking girl fairy, skin's so smooth, bet you never have to shave or anything. Sure you aren't a girl?
Don't-please, Karofsky, don't do this-
(Other hand buttons jeans, these cost a bloody fortune Dad's going to kill me)
(If he doesn't first)
Knees, Hummel.
Karofsky, please, I won't say anything I promise I promise just don't please
(Pressure shoulders weak knees can't stand weight of stupid fucking jock why not fair thought I was safe finally why no, no, no)
Call me Dave, baby.
(I hate you I hate you I hate you)
Gonna hear you scream it when I fuck you, Kurt. Mmm, that's right…
(Hand calluses down there why can't be happening can't be meant to be with someone I love someone I want this isn't happening where are you Blaine save me someone save me isn't going to happen why, why why?)
(Push out stumble adrenaline rush or something strong for his size, this fag)
Don't think you're getting away that fucking easily, Hummel!
(Ankle pain hurts arm hurting fall bag phone need speed dial must remember if I get out alive bag thrown please don't break, iPod)
Now, suck it like the fucking girl faggot you are, babe.
(Don't call me that don't dirty Neanderthal never going to win)
How dare you fucking spit on me, you bitch!
(Pain.)
(More pain.)
(Cold.)
Please don't
(Too late for prayers and usel- oh God. Oh God.)
(Dad, I love you.)
(Pain.)
The first thing Kurt registers, when he regains consciousness and sits up, is that he can't feel his arm.
He looks down.
It's still there.
"Alright," he says.
His voice doesn't waver, and he's sort of aware that it's shock more than anything (but he's grateful to himself, all the same.)
He swallows.
"I've been raped."
He's got two arms and two legs. When he stands and walks to the mirror, he sees that he's also got two eyes, and skin.
Nice skin.
A nose.
Hair.
His hair is a mess, and his nose is bloodied and probably broken. One of his eyes is blackened, and the other one sits just over a purpling bruise on his cheek. He can feel the fracture in his left ankle, like what's happened (rape, rape's what's happened, you're fine and you have to face it) has given him some superhuman awareness of himself, and his arms are covered in scratches and bruised and he's fairly sure his left arm is broken and you'd think for the sake of symmetry it'd be his right arm instead because otherwise that's honestly just lopsided and you'd think there was some sort of justice in the world that would prevent this kind of thing from-
Kurt barely makes it to the sink in time to vomit.
Dave sits in the police station, on a hard-backed wooden chair. The policewoman assigned to keep an eye on him, a young blonde chick who's probably just started working because she looks like she's barely older than Dave, keeps glancing at him warily, as though he's going to do something weird like explode or shoot fire or something fucked-up like that.
She's the sort of girl Dave likes, the type he finds attractive – skinny and all fine-featured or whatever, subtle curves and long limbs-
Like Kurt.
His nails dig into his wrist, right over a blue vein thing that he thinks is called an artery.
For a moment, Dave wishes he didn't have that stupid habit of biting his nails, like Mum was always telling him not to do, because then maybe if they were long enough, he'd be able to slice into his skin like those emo freaks do, and end it, and stop thinking that name when he fucking knows that he's got no fucking right to.
Not anymore.
After he's watched the remnants of his vomit spiral down the sink, after he's rinsed out his mouth a thousand hundred million times till the sour, bitter, disgusting taste of digested food has left his mouth (though another sour, bitter taste lingers no matter how many times he tries), he looks up at the mirror.
"Alright."
The word is sucked into the dead silence, but he sees his lips form it, and for a split second, he hears the echoes in the emptiness.
He's about to reach into his pocked for his phone, till he realises that he doesn't have his jeans on anymore.
Or his coat.
A wave of panic rises up within him (never touching them again, never, never, never) till he remembers that it's in his bag.
Turning away from his reflection, Kurt sees it, thrown under a bench by Ka-
Him.
"No."
That word does waver – it trembles like Rachel's fucking shit vibrato when she tries and fails to sing opera, like someone on a roller-coaster trying to sing the last note of Don't Rain on My Parade.
Karofsky. Not 'him'.
"Karofsky." That's better. Sort of.
He thinks it's better, but his stomach doesn't seem to agree.
But he continues, anyway, whispering "David Karofsky" as loudly and as confidently as a whisper can manage. Because he has to do this, has to realise that this is how it is, or like with Mum it'll never go away, not really.
That can't happen no, no, no, I just want to forget-
Kurt shakes his head, side to side, slowly then faster, more violently, till there's not enough coherency for terror and nausea.
And then, turning back to the mirror, Kurt takes a deep breath.
And the door opens behind him.
It's Finn's face in the reflection – Finn's and Rachel's, and he'd never have thought Finn would have had better reaction times than Rachel, but it's Finn's face that's already contorting into a rather unattractive melange of shock and pure fury that might have made him smile.
As it is, he speaks.
To them, and for himself.
"David Karofsky raped me."
"David Karofsky raped me," Kurt repeats for the millionth time, meeting the policeman's eyes calmly for the few seconds that the man can stand to look at him.
"We know," the man says brusquely, and Kurt's Dad looks like he's going to snap (or break or shatter because someone has to and Kurt refuses to) but Kurt reaches over to the chair next to the hospital bed to place a hand on his Dad's shoulder.
Burt turns to him immediately, concern and worry flickering like a shutter over the anger, and Kurt smiles.
He saw the policeman's eyes, after all, shadowed and haunted, and he knows it's not disgust or impatience or even homophobia that's sharpening the man's tone.
Pity.
Burt reaches out to take Kurt's right hand – the one that isn't bandaged and slung, that only hurts because Karofsky stepped on his fingers and not because he shattered the bone.
His father's hand is warm, and Kurt feels cold though he's had a shower now, after the doctors finished with him.
"He walked into the station at around 8:30," the policeman continues. "Gave himself up straight away. Says he was on 'crystal' when it happened – that's meth-"
"Methamphetamine," Kurt finishes quietly. "I know, sir."
"Right." The man seems slightly taken aback, as though Kurt isn't a seventeen year old guy who sits in the same class as addicts of every single drug ever created. "Well, he's got needle marks on his arms, which seems to show that he's been using for at least the last two weeks-"
"Two weeks ago," Finn blurts out. "That's when he got expelled, that fucking son of a bitch."
His voice is too loud, too sudden, and Kurt flinches.
Bitch.
My name is Kurt Hummel, he thinks to himself.
Burt's hand tightens around his in a death-grip and Kurt looks up, startled, to see his father make to stand, his face livid.
"Finn." Carole's commanding, softly admonishing tone overrides the beginning of what was probably going to be a scathing reprimand from Burt.
Finn looks at Kurt, their eyes meeting for a long moment, and Kurt's step-brother seems to see something in them that Kurt knows isn't there because he bites his lip and looks away, and are those tears in his eyes?
"Sorry, Kurt," Finn mutters.
"It's fine," Kurt says quickly, quietly, carefully not flinching again at the sound of his name (because Finn isn't like Karofsky at all, Finn is kind and warm and sort of stupid but in a hilarious and not terrifying way, and Finn's voice doesn't sound like Karofsky's, gasping his name…)
I'm fine.
The door opens, and a doctor – one of the ones who had performed the…tests…on Kurt, not the one who'd bandaged his arm and cleaned his cuts – walks in, a folder in hand.
"Everything's been sent off for testing," the doctor says briskly, but she belies the clinical words by smiling warmly at Kurt. "The DNA test for Mr…" her lips thin in disapproval and a little anger "…Karofsky's sperm will be in by the end of this week. As for the HIV blood tests, that should-"
"Wait." Kurt frowns. "HIV tests? What?" He looks over at Burt – but his Dad isn't meeting his eyes. "Dad, what HIV tests?"
The doctor raises a finely plucked eyebrow. "You didn't tell your son, Mr Hummel?" Burt looks down at the hand he's linked with Kurt's, as the doctor glances at the policeman. "And Evans, I expected better of you."
No one replies.
"What HIV tests?" Kurt repeats, and he's not sure who he's talking to now.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," she sighs, moving forwards to place her folder on the end of Kurt's bed before sitting on the chair on the other side of his bed – the broken-arm side, Kurt's starting to think of it as. "It's not a big deal, really, Mr Hummel-"
"Kurt. Just call me Kurt."
My name is Kurt. Not faggot, or bitch, or fairy. It's my name.
"Alright," she says, smiling at him. "Well, HIV tests are standard for any sexual assault case, anyway."
"Right," he says slowly. "But there's something more, isn't there?"
The doctor sighs again, and leans forward to put a hand on his leg (probably because his arm isn't available). Her hand is cold, even through the cloth. "The needle marks, Kurt," she replies quietly. "There's a…possibility…that he wasn't using clean needles."
Kurt bites his lip. "You mean…"
She shrugs. "Even if he wasn't, there's only a 0.67% chance that he was infected. And if he was, there's only a 1.7% chance of that being transmitted to you."
"I see…" Kurt hates math. "Um…so how much-"
"A 0.01% chance," she replies with a slight laugh. "You'll be fine, Kurt."
I'll be fine.
My name is Kurt and I'll be fine.
My name is Kurt and I was raped three hours ago.
My name is Kurt and I might have HIV.
I'm not fine.
This isn't fine at all.
He wants to go home, the next morning when he wakes up from dreams that are void of anything, from dreams where he wakes up on that locker room floor and can't see or hear anything, where he's stumbling around in the darkness till arms wrap around his waist from behind – big, thick arms that refuse to let him go when he kicks and screams till his throat is sore.
"I want to go home," Kurt whispers to his Dad. "Please."
I can't stand it here anymore.
And so after only a few protests, his Dad caves in.
About five seconds after he limps through the door, Kurt wishes he hadn't.
It's not that he minds that Finn told everyone in glee, because, let's face it, 1) they were going to find out anyway and 2) they're his only friends anyway.
It's not that he doesn't love his friends, really.
But not right now. Right now, they're just too much.
But he's fine, and he's going to get through this, because he's fine – so he can stand leaning awkwardly against a wall as Mercedes almost throws herself onto him. He can stand Rachel's tears, and Tina's tears, and oh god Santana knows how to cry? Since when?
Quinn's the best. She just leans forward to ruffle his hair, before laughing at his instinctive reaction and hissed complaint.
All the same – by the time the girls have parted (reluctantly) and let the guys through, he's seen enough tears to last him a lifetime.
(Not that the guys are much better. If Kurt had known how much of a girl Puck really was…)
Mostly though, they're alright. Finn's looking suspiciously teary-eyed again; but Mike just smiles awkwardly at him and asks if he liked the hospital food. Sam doesn't say much, but the guilt in his eyes almost breaks Kurt's heart – as though he hadn't already done enough, as though he could have known that Finn was an idiot who once left his entire bag behind at school, as though he could have stopped Karofsky from getting drugge-
"Guys," Carole calls from the kitchen, "I've made some food."
The others move to the kitchen, slowly, but Kurt shakes his head as Rachel makes to pull him along.
"Not hungry," he says quietly. Rachel seems about to protest loudly, but Carole (who Kurt is admiring more and more by the minute) rushes forwards to take Rachel's arm.
"I'm sure he already ate before coming back from the hospital," Carole says gently, smiling at Kurt. "Just don't stand over here by yourself for too long, alright?"
Kurt smiles and nods, and even Rachel can't resist the subtle but insistent hints that Carole's throwing her way.
Sighing and shifting his weight to his right foot again as he leans against the wall, Kurt tries to think about maybe moving to the couch when he can muster up enough energy. He's lucky, he supposes, that the fracture is small – he can't use crutches, after all, because of his broken arm.
"Hey."
His eyes snap open at the sound of that familiar, beautiful voice.
"B-Blaine," Kurt stutters, hating himself slightly (more) as he does so. It's the first time since he said those words, staring in the mirror
David Karofsky raped me
That he's slipped up.
"You're here," he says softly, after swallowing heavily to make sure the words didn't come out in a rasp.
Blaine chuckles. "Yeah," he replies sheepishly, one hand running self-consciously through his curls. "Mercedes called. Um. I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable-"
"No," Kurt says quickly. "No. I-I'm glad you're here."
"Good."
If Blaine had asked him how he was – if he'd done what Rachel had done, and burst into tears, or said how sorry he was – Kurt might have snapped. Might have broken.
But instead, Blaine merely smiles. It's one that carefully holds no pity; but even as Kurt meets Blaine's eyes, resigned to finding the same sadness and confusion and pain that he's found in everyone else's eyes, all he sees is affection and compassion.
Warmth.
Blaine doesn't ask "are you okay?" with watery eyes like the girls did. He doesn't talk about beating Karofsky till the 'motherfucker' is begging to die, till all his bones are shattered and, as Finn so colourfully put it, his hair bleeds.
Instead, Blaine steps forward and wraps his arms around Kurt – not tightly, and obviously careful to avoid moving the broken arm. But one arm goes around Kurt's back, fingers pressing into the small of his back to support his weight against the fractured ankle.
Blaine's arms are warm, and his breath tickles the back of Kurt's neck as he breathes.
They stand like that for a long time, and though Kurt's ankle starts to ache, he doesn't say anything, doesn't move. He doesn't want to move, ever, because this is the best he's felt in weeks, since Blaine smiled at him as he sang and Kurt thought that maybe everything might be okay…
"Kurt? Kurt-oh." Kurt looks up but Carole's already gone around the corner again, calling out "don't be too long!" over her shoulder.
But by then, Blaine's already stepped back – just in time for Kurt's ankle to finally give in.
He almost reaches out his left arm (his strongest arm) to break his fall, before the cast impedes the instinctive movement. By the time his right arm is outstretched, it's too late.
"Oh God, Kurt!" Blaine exclaims
"Shh!" Kurt hisses, agony forgotten for a moment as he panics.
Blaine freezes – but the sound of talking and the occasional short, guilt-filled laugh doesn't pause. Painfully, Kurt pushes himself up onto one knee, as Blaine wordlessly helps him stand, letting Kurt support himself on Blaine's shoulder without him having to ask.
"I'm fine," Kurt says automatically, though Blaine didn't ask.
Blaine smiles sadly. "No you're not."
Kurt's heart stops.
"I'm fine," he repeats, and Blaine exhales heavily.
"I'm fine." Kurt is starting to hyperventilate, and he doesn't care because Blaine has to understand that he's not broken – that he's fine, that everything's normal, that-
"Kurt, sweetling," Blaine says softly, voice sweet and calm and soothing, "you're not fine. You're not okay. You're not going to be fine for a while. And it doesn't matter, because no one is expecting you to be. No one is going to think badly of you, if you cry, if you scream – if you tell us all to go away and leave you alone because we don't understand."
Kurt gazes at him, wide-eyed, and he knows they're the same age but why does Blaine sound so mature?
One arm reaches around, to support the small of his back again, the other gripping his waist.
For a moment, the dream arises in Kurt's mind – but then Blaine leans forwards, eyes warm and softly intense.
"You aren't fine, Kurt," Blaine whispers, before leaning forwards and brushing his lips against Kurt's forehead.
"But you will be."
Kurt meets his eyes for one long, shocked, endless moment. And then, he can't see anymore through the veil of tears. And, as Blaine helps him to the couch and wraps an arm tenderly around Kurt's shoulders, pulling him closer till Kurt has no choice but to soak Blaine's shirt with salt water, Kurt cries for the first time since David Karofsky entered that locker room where he stood, sheet music in his hands.
"Kurt? Kurt, sweetie, are you okay?"
"Kurt? Are you hurt?"
He hears the voices, and he hears Blaine, calm and quiet, repeating the same words over and over again.
"He's not okay. But he will be."
Against the thin white cotton of Blaine's shirt, Kurt's lips curve upwards.
My name is Kurt Hummel. I was raped on the 23rd November, 2010, by David Karofsky, while he was under the influence of legal and illegal substances. I might have contracted a variety of sexually transmitted infections, including and not limited to HIV AIDS. I'm not fine.
But I will be.
(Somehow.)
TBC