Kurt Underneath, a Misc. Tv Shows + Glee Crossover fanfic

(Author's note: Elexusniall came to me with this Donutverse-Adam plotbunny, and we ran with it. There might be more, if we're so inspired. It fits right into the Adam/Kurt relationship of season 5, but the actual timing is nebulous, so I'm assuming somewhere in the winter hiatus. -amy and elexusniall)

After Blaine texted him: Something happened to Kurt, the first thing Adam did was call Santana. She didn't pick up her phone, but he knew she was working the same shift as Kurt was, and she'd be the most likely one to have seen him.

"Santana, hi." He shrugged into his leather jacket and locked the door behind him as he held the phone to his ear with his shoulder. "I'm sorry to bother you at work, but I got a text from Blaine, and I'm just... I wanted to check on Kurt? He said something was wrong. I'm being a little overprotective, maybe. Can you call me back and let me know that he's at work and fine and I'm just being dorky? Thanks."

But there was no return call, not even after Adam emerged from the subway and he got his cell signal back. He texted Blaine a reply, trying not to let the panic overwhelm him. What happened?

He's okay, I think. Two guys caught him a couple blocks from the loft. He sounded pretty upset, but I don't think he's actually hurt?

Hurt. Adam had to pause on the curb and hold on to the lamppost for support. Where was he when he called you?

He didn't say. A pause, and then, Thank you, for watching out for him.

It made Adam feel a little sick to see those words from Blaine, when he clearly hadn't been able to do that at all. But he knew it would be worse to say nothing in return, so he replied, You're welcome. And it's not even a question, you know? I love him too.

I know. Thank you for that, also.

He had to smile, even in the midst of his anxiety. Blaine had been nothing but sweet to him since Adam had reappeared in Kurt's life, and Adam had to believe Blaine was telling the truth. He refuted every stereotype of the jealous gay man. It was so refreshing.

It was clear to Adam why Santana hadn't responded to his call when he walked into the restaurant. She was practically running back and forth from counter to tables, carrying orders and struggling to maintain her polite smile. When she caught sight of Adam, she gave him a brief wave before going back to work. He found a seat at the bar and ordered a Coke.

"I thought you didn't drink that stuff," she said when she finally made it over to him.

"I don't," he agreed. "But I need some liquid comfort, and alcohol would be a really bad idea right now. Where's Kurt?"

She blew her bangs out of her face. "I wish I knew, so I could punch him in the face. He didn't show up for his shift, and we're totally swamped. To be honest, I thought he was playing hookey with you."

"No. He's - Blaine texted me. Something happened." He pushed the Coke away, wrestling with sudden nausea. "I think some guys were harassing him."

"Oh my god." She set her tray down and stared at him. "He's not answering your calls?"

"I didn't call him yet. I should just do that."

But she was shaking her head. "No - no, let me go first. If you call second, he might pick up for you." She grimaced. "Jesus. Nothing like that has happened to him in so long, it's like I forgot people could be assholes."

"I think I'm going to go up to the loft," he said, climbing off the stool. "Maybe he's home. If you hear anything, call me, okay? And I'll do the same."

Santana ignored the buzz of the restaurant and the people waiting for their food and hugged him. It was so unexpected that Adam had to blink away tears. "Thanks for being there for him," she said.

Adam could have lost himself in the guilt he felt in the wake of that comment, so similar to Blaine's, but he didn't - although the thoughts distracting him weren't much better. They were memories that hadn't surfaced for years, not since he'd grown up and stopped worrying about what people said. Only he hadn't, of course, because the memories were just as sharp and cutting now as they'd been then: the derogatory comments, the jeers, the intimidating body checks in the hall or on the street. He tried not to imagine the same things happening to Kurt. What had they said to him today? What names had they called him? Had they made Kurt feel as worthless as those boys had made him feel, years ago?

He was shaking by the time he climbed the steps to the loft, scared to death of what he'd see when he slid open the door. He wasn't sure he could handle seeing Kurt's face, bruised and beaten - not at the hands of people like that.

But there was no one there, no sign that he'd been home yet. Adam called him, finally, hoping he'd given Santana time enough to get through to him, but Kurt didn't pick up the phone. He hung up on Kurt's voice mail, not bothering to leave his worried voice for Kurt to hear.

He's not answering, he texted Santana.

Yeah, me either. This is seriously pissing me off.

Adam ran a hand over the back of his neck, pacing the length of the loft. He wasn't going to give in to fear. He was going to stay calm and rational. He was -

He jumped as his phone rang. It wasn't Kurt's ring, but he didn't even look to see who it was, he just put it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Elliot?" Adam had to think for a moment before he recognized the voice. He sighed.

"Dani. I'm kind of in the middle of something -"

"Santana's at work, but I thought you could help me figure out what to do here. I went by the rehearsal space to pick up my amp, and Kurt was there. He was - he sounded pretty wrecked."

"Kurt's there?" He didn't even think about what that would sound like to Dani, someone who maybe knew that Elliot and Kurt were dating, but who also thought they'd only known each other for a couple months. There should be nothing to warrant the broken sound of Adam's words, the obvious relief in his voice. "I mean -"

"Yeah, I thought you would want to know." She paused. "He's singing... this song. By this one singer. And it's... I think you should head over there."

Adam was already hurrying back down the stairs. The rehearsal space was just a couple blocks away on Gates. He almost tripped over a lady walking her dog in his rush to round the corner, cutting off a kid on a scooter. Whatever Dani had seen, she wasn't going to give him details over the phone. Which meant it was bad. He realized she was still on the line and put it back to his ear as he paused on the corner, panting slightly.

"Thanks," he said into the phone. "I'm here now. Where are -"

"I took off," said Dani. "He wasn't interested in being interrupted. Not by me, anyway. I'll call 'Tana and let her know where you guys are."

"Thanks," he repeated. He didn't stick around for pleasantries, tucking the phone back into his pocket and mounting the staircase with trepidation.

The moment Kurt touched the keys of the old rehearsal piano, Kurt could feel performance mode come over him. Even the sound check was painful, but when he closed his eyes and started the song over from the beginning, from the very first word that passed his lips, it was clear that this was going to be a different kind of performance. He had transposed the song to put it into a key that was more comfortable for him to sing, but Adam's Underneath was such a raw, emotional song, it didn't seem to matter. When he added to it all of the bitter, roiling hurt he was experiencing, it was a wonder he was still able to function, much less sing.

Strip away the flesh and bone
Look beyond the lies you've known
Everybody wants to talk about a freak
No one wants to dig that deep
Let me take you underneath

Kurt wasn't thinking, he was just doing, but from the way the first five lines hit the back wall of the studio, he knew there was something more complicated than anger working its way out of his gut. Even though New York was a far cry from Lima, Ohio, he shouldn't have forgotten that there would still be people whose sole purpose would be to cut him down. And, if he was going to be honest with himself, NYADA wasn't any better. The competition there was so fierce that some students would do or say whatever they thought they had to in order to get others out of their way. It was a different kind of painful, but it still hurt.

He wasn't even going to consider Finn's absence on top of everything else. Whatever kind of bizarre sense that might make, it was still unchangeable.

Right now, everything just hurt so much.

The lyrics stripped away his protections, line by line. He had been putting up a strong front for so long, in an effort to take care of the people around him, but now there were hairline fractures in the mask. They'd been there before it had even been donned.

He could never have sung this song in front of all the people he was trying to protect. That was the problem for Kurt about this song. He could tell the act of singing it was eliminating the fashion armor, the façade of being fine. This was letting the world see beyond the lies of him being okay - because in all honesty he hadn't been fine for ten years. Learning to hide it all away, girding himself to prevent the hurt from registering enough to affect his daily life, wasn't the same as really being fine.

It was true that the cutthroat competition and the derogatory comments in public didn't faze him as much as they used to. It was possible that he was actually as fine as an unrepentantly gay boy could be. But the slurs of this afternoon had made a little slit in his armor. Each time someone attempted to undermine him, he suffered a kind of damage that did more than create physical pain. It took a little piece of his heart, his soul.

Baby, better watch your step
Never mind what's on the left
You're gonna see things you might not wanna see
It's still not that easy for me underneath

Kurt wasn't playing to an audience. This performance was for something unquantifiable. Each word was a warning that this was territory that shouldn't be tread upon lightly: revealing this side of him, this buried kind of pain. Even in solitude, even to himself, it wasn't easy to feel it being unearthed.

A red river of screams
Underneath
Tears in my eyes
Underneath
Stars in my black and blue sky
And underneath
Under my skin
Underneath, the depths of my sin
Look at me
Now do you see?

The sheer raw emotion of the bridge filled Kurt's gut with a potent force. He found himself making gestures that went along with the words, mirroring them with his body, while his voice raged, dipping into a brutal chest voice to do the song the full justice it warranted. Carmen Tibideaux would have been appalled.

Welcome to my world of truth
I don't wanna hide any part of me from you
I'm standing here with no apologies
Such a beautiful release
You inside of me.

By the time he'd made it to Welcome to my world of Truth, he felt hollow, calmer, letting his fingers rest on the keys of the piano. He thought the worst had passed, but it turned out to be just another eye in the emotional storm. Here was the truth of the pain that was raging inside him, so profound that he almost couldn't process it. From the bullying of his childhood, all the way through to the events of today... he was so overwhelmed that he was almost numb. And under that numbness, still, the pain bled through.

There was no question that the repeated lyrics of the chorus had been Adam's soul-wrenching plea to be heard, to be understood, to be seen. This pain that Kurt had hidden, that he'd guarded in the fear that even those who loved him best would learn it and love him less - he knew it had to come out. It had been building slowly over the course of years. He'd bottled up the hurt and shoved it onto a shelf, where it had done nothing but grow, larger than he could handle, until now it had become an overwhelming crescendo of furious blame and torment: you're not good enough, no matter what you do.

Maybe by doing this, by singing like this, he could absolve himself of it. Even if no one heard him.

Welcome to my world of truth
A red river of screams
Underneath
Tears in my eyes
Underneath
Stars in my black and blue sky
And underneath
Under my skin
Underneath, the depths of my sin
Look at me
Now do you see?
Underneath, underneath, underneath
Look at me
Do you see?
Look at me
Do you see?

Welcome to my world of truth
I don't wanna hide any part of me from you.

He let the last lines fall from his lips, his hands dropping to his lap as the tears flowed over his cheeks at last. No physical bruises had ever left the kind of pain he was feeling now. It hadn't been a catharsis, but a flaying open of all that had been hidden, and now he was left in the morass of what remained. Drained, exhausted, on the edge of despair - but, maybe, just a little bit lighter for having finally let it out.

Adam had barely recognized the voice at first, but the song was more than familiar. When they'd written it, Tom Shapiro had walked him through every little hurt of his life, dug up every memory that made him wince and cringe, and had written them into something that had taken him weeks of practice to be able to sing without bawling. That's good, Tom had insisted, it has to be authentic. And Adam had done another take, and another, until he could handle it. He still wasn't sure how he'd manage performing it multiple times a week if he ended up touring again. It was draining, that song, and it was clear the man performing it now understood that from the core of his being.

Adam paused outside the studio, quailing at Kurt's anguish. He almost felt angry at himself for having provided Kurt with a song like this, that he could wield like a weapon, aimed inward. Adam half expected Kurt to be literally bleeding when he edged into the room.

He was seated at the piano, facing away from the door. He didn't even notice Adam there, his focus was so intense. The despairing quality of his voice cut into Adam, making him struggle for breath.

Adam ended up standing there long after Kurt ran out of words, giving him space to rage and cry. He hoped Santana had let Blaine know that Kurt had been found, because this moment wasn't one he was ready to share with anybody else, not until Kurt gave his consent. This had been more than a performance. This had been testimony.

Adam was still standing there when Kurt looked over at last, alerted by some unknown sense to Adam's presence. His eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks flushed, but there was no physical damage to his face that Adam could detect from across the room.

"Honey," he whispered, and licked his lips.

Kurt turned back to the piano, hunching into himself, arms crossed protectively across his chest. "Please go."

"I don't think I can do that," Adam said, with more regret than he felt. He watched Kurt's shoulders rise and fall with his sigh.

"How long have you been there?"

"Since the second verse." He took a tentative step toward the piano, and then another. "I've never heard you sound like that before."

"Yeah, well." Kurt's voice sounded ragged and thready. Clearly he'd pushed it too hard. "I don't think anybody has. I sure as hell haven't."

He was close enough to touch the piano now, but he circled around to stand beside Kurt, maintaining his distance. "Kurt.. how long have you been feeling like that?"

"Long enough."

It was clear that part of Kurt wanted to curl up in the safety of Adam's embrace, but Adam could tell that Kurt was feeling too fragile, too raw, like any contact at all could shatter him into a million pieces. Each breath looked like an effort, as though singing the song had eliminated his defenses. Now he had no walls left, no mask, not even bravado with which to cloak himself. Adam took another step toward him as Kurt drew more tightly into himself upon the piano bench. He wasn't going to be able to resume the lie of composure he'd worn every day, not anymore.

His shoulders began trembling again - whether from the effort or from the tears threatening to once more spill over was impossible to guess. Finally a choked whimper fell from his lips, and he fumbled for Adam's support. Adam was right there, stepping in to catch him.

"I'm sorry," Kurt choked out.

"No, no, honey," he soothed, stroking his quivering back, "you didn't do anything wrong, this was - god, I feel like I haven't really seen what you've been dealing with, and - and I'm the one who wrote this fucking song - "

Kurt's laugh was cloaked in a sob, and he clutched tighter at Adam's shirt. "We all wear masks. I think we'd go insane, otherwise."

"Maybe. But..." He backed off far enough to risk looking directly into his face. Kurt looked utterly beaten, more vulnerable than Adam had ever seen him. He kept his own affect to a minimum. Kurt didn't need to deal with Adam's freak-out right now. "That's not what I want from you. I don't want you to feel like you have to hide anything, not from me."

"I don't wanna hide any part of me from you," Kurt whispered, the melody barely coming through. Adam nodded, brushing Kurt's hair away from his face.

"Yeah. I think there are some things I need you to tell me about. Today, for one." Kurt dropped his gaze to the floor, but Adam picked up his chin and held his gaze. "Honey, whatever happened, it wasn't your fault."

"I know." Kurt didn't sound convincing at all, but Adam wasn't going to push him.

"But I'm thinking all this -" He didn't even know what to call it, and made some undefinable gesture in between them. "- you were dealing with in this song? That it happened to you a long time ago, long before I met you. I think you need to tell me the whole story, from the beginning."

Kurt nodded again. He looked exhausted, and more than a little terrified, but he swallowed and said, "Yeah. I think... I think I can talk about that with you."

Adam held out his hand, and Kurt took it. "Can I take you home?"