A/N: I dedicate this fanfic to LunarGuardian27.
Takes place around season 2, but altered quite a bit.
No one ever sees these sorts of things coming.
One moment, his father is fine. He's running the shop, he's his usual campy, quirky self…
And the next, he's collapsed and people are rushing into Kurt's classroom and telling him that his father has had a heart attack, fallen into a coma, and isn't seeming to wake up anytime soon.
And Kurt's world, the world he has known for seventeen years, the world he has clung to and cherished and been supported by for his entire life is suddenly pulled roughly apart by fate's icy-cold, cruel claws.
XXX
Weeks pass.
Finn grows distant; he at first tried to say things like, "It's gonna be okay," and "I know how you feel; he's been like my dad, too," and so on, but Kurt has come to resent his dopey stepbrother-to-be more and more, and Finn has been getting offended and angry, and regressing back to how he used to be.
Kurt doesn't care. He doesn't need Finn anyway; Finn is a hypocrite and a dumb jock who only cares about being on top and having the girl he wants when he wants her.
XXX
Quinn and Mercedes try to urge him to find a foothold in religion; he turns them away. Faith won't do him any good; he's realistic. He knows that his father is most likely going to die, and there is nothing he can do about it, because no amount of praying with make the coma ease up and his father's eyes open.
Mike and Tina don't know what to do. Tina used to be close to him, but now their friend circles have shifted, and they are too awkward to talk to one another about things with more depth than what last night's geometry homework was.
Artie and Puck are quickly becoming friends, but their combined efforts to cheer Kurt up only make him feel like they are mocking his pain. So he ignores them.
The new boy, Sam, is clueless, but polite. Kurt doesn't kind him as much. Still, he isn't looking for Sam's pity.
Santana simply doesn't give a rat's ass. And Brittany is lost on the whole matter, and thinks that her fingers stroking his scalp and her arms around him are comfort enough. It's not. He pushes her away, and eventually, Brittany stops trying.
And after a couple weeks, the majority of the Glee club is too absorbed in their relationships problems to notice how sluggish and unexpressive Kurt has become.
Schuester is no help; Kurt has come to hate him, because the man is shallow and only cares about the little problems, not the big ones, and thinks that singing will cure all ails.
It won't.
Glee becomes more of a daily walk through mist than the highlight of his day like it used to be.
XXX
Carole can't stand the sight of Kurt; he reminds her too much of the man she loves who might never wake, or who might die at any given time, even with life support. She can't stand to have him in her home because she can't be near him without crying, and he can't legally live on his own in his own house.
So, left with nowhere to ho, Rachel offers a room.
He now lives with Rachel and her fathers, but he hates all of them. They are condescending in their pity, and Rachel is intolerable to live with, but they are the only ones sympathetic enough of his sexual orientation to house him.
So, slowly, Kurt curls in on himself like a leaf in a flame, and no one is the wiser.
XXX
He prefers the bullying to facing his own problems, actually. The harassment from Karofsky, Azimio, and the rest of the football team become a welcome distraction from Burt being in the hospital, a semi-permanent resident.
If he's tossed into a locker, he can focus more on the physical pain of the shock of metal against his shoulder blades than the ache in his chest. If he's slushied, he can focus more on the sugar soiling his acne care products and the ice prickling his pores than on the weight crushing down on his lungs. If he's called 'faggot,' he can focus on the raw anger of the derogatory term, rather than on the ever-increasing depth of the sinking pit in his stomach.
The nausea over his father's pallid face void of emotion, the guilt that he should have watched his father's cholesterol intake better, the headaches of hearing everyone's bullshit condolences is collectively rubbed away by the bullying. The bruises and ruined clothes are worth the escape from his inner turmoil.
So when Karofsky shoves him, Kurt's face contorts into a jagged smile, and he spits out, "Come on, big boy, give me another, because nothing you do can hurt me anymore."
And that's the first time Karofsky blinks and looks at him a little differently. And instead of shoving Kurt a second time, the jock walks away, glancing backward once or twice, too startled to say anything.
XXX
Blaine is a decent friend. He might be the only person who at least says nice things to Kurt that don't imply 'finding Jesus' or anything too overbearing. He sends cute texts of consolation, things that say, "Be brave, Kurt; your father will get through this, I know he will," and the like. Blaine is a long-distance friend, someone he only met once, someone he doesn't know too well, but he's sweet, and Kurt could do with a little sweetness, instead of the ignorance of his so-called Glee club friends.
Blaine is safe because he isn't in Kurt's everyday life, and he can't do anything. In some ways, this friendship-through-texting is better than the friendships Kurt has had for years. But he feels nothing for Blaine; the initial attraction and intrigue has melted away, and all that is left is a hollow sort of comfort.
XXX
One afternoon, the day following another visit during which Kurt sings softly to his father and holds his cool hand and listens to the steady beat of the heart rate monitor, Kurt receives the text, "Courage" from Blaine.
He smiles tightly, but not without a fraction of warmth, and that's when everything reaches a boiling point. Because Karofsky comes by and smacks Kurt's phone out of his hands and shoves him into locker, and the adrenaline in Kurt's veins is like steam in an engine, and he takes deep, dizzying breaths and his vision blurs.
And in the next moment, his feet are flying on the tile floor, and he doesn't know what he's doing; he only knows that he feels hurt pain rage sorrow fight-not-flight, and he races after the jock in a burst of melding pot of grief and it's all he can do to stay upright as he crashes through locker room doors.
XXX
Dave jerks against his gym locker and keeps his face carefully composed. He hadn't expected Fancy to follow him. He hasn't been understanding the shorter boy in general lately, come to think of it; he's been rather unpredictable, grinning and asking for more bullying when he would normally shoot back some fiery words that Dave doesn't understand, and normally he would wear brighter clothing, but lately he's been wearing a lot of dark colors, things that make him look paler than normal, and Dave doesn't understand why Hummel's normal friends haven't been hanging on his arm like they used to do.
His confusions are answered as soon as the singer open's his mouth, and Dave is forced to listen.
He screams at the jock, "What is your problem? What are you so insecure of that you feel the need to relentlessly pick on me, even during the few moments I feel a little bit better about myself? What, are you so homophobic that you think I will try to molest and convert you? Do you think all gays are just flimsy little weaklings that you can toss around like hackey-sacks? Well, if so, I've got news for you, pal: your fat head'a way of thinking is way off base! I'm a normal human being just like you are; I have my tastes in people like anyone else, and that excludes a lot of people, and like most people, and I can fight back."
Dave's eyes widen as Hummel gets closer and closer, his face flushed with heated anger and his eyes clouded with tears of deep-seated pain and unabashed fury. He tries to take a step tack, but his shoulder collides with his locker door and throbs dully as he grinds his teeth and tries not to look Hummel in the eye, and yet can't seem to turn away.
He spits Dave's surname out as he gets especially close and leaning up threateningly to lower his voice and utter, "And you picked the wrong time to mess with me, Karofsky, because my father is in a coma and he is probably going to die soon and leave me alone, and no one is going to care because they are all too wrapped up in their stupid love lives to see that real problems and pain are happening around them.
"So I really don't need your bullshit today, and I am more than happy and willing to duke it out with you once and for all, right here, right now, since teachers and principals are useless and I would like to get knocked around a little." He glances down at Dave's clenched fists at his sides, half-raised by his waist. "So are you gonna hit me? Do it. Hit me, I dare you. God, it would make my day if you hit me so hard that my lights went out, because let me tell you, that would be a fucking relief."
Dave is trembling now. He's never seen Kurt like this, never knew the smaller boy could behave like this. He's… really broken. He's shaking with adrenaline and openly weeping through his rage, and now he's putting up both hands and shoving Dave in the shoulders, pushing him back and back and back, until Dave falls against a wall.
Kurt is blindly beating his fists on Dave's chest, and it hurts, but not too much, because Kurt is too overwhelmed with more emotion than Dave thought possible for one human to hold to even fight properly.
"…Whoa. Shit. Hummel, come on, chill out for a second!"
"Chill out? You keep harassing me, and I am finally standing up for myself, and you want me to chill out? Touch luck!" and he hurls his words at Dave, along with a fist or two, which Dave catches and eases downward.
"I didn't know, okay? Fuck. I had no idea that your dad… God, that explains how weird you've been the past several weeks. Man, I can't even… Because if that happened to my dad, I wouldn't be able to even…" he's choking on his own words, tripping over himself, because at first he was really snubbed – he wanted to deck Kurt one – but once Kurt started breaking down and pouring out all his grievances, how could he think about harming him? How? How could he, when all he has ever wanted to do was get closer to Kurt and touch Kurt without anyone knowing the truth, the truth that Dave is actually gay, too, and likes him, but was so scared of it and so angered by it that he –
He severs his thoughts before they can finish. He gently (as gently as he can with Kurt still weakly bringing down his fist and sliding it down Dave's chest as he loses momentum) walks Kurt backward and sits him down on one of the changing benches in the center of the room's rows of lockers. He awkwardly removes his hands and watches as Kurt wipes his face and sniffles.
The jock worries his bottom lip and attempts to find somewhere to begin in all this mess. "Um… I didn't mean for it to get this far. And… and I know we're not, uh, friends…"
"Not by any stretch of the imagination, no," Kurt snorts.
"No," he agrees, "But… uh, do you want to talk about this?"
The other gives pause and looks Karofsky in the face, finding it oddly honest, and murmurs wryly, "What, you're going to play therapist now? And maybe become my new best friend?"
Dave heaves a sigh. "Er, no. Look, I can't… I can't be seen with you or anything, but here, right now, we can talk. Shit, I won't even bully you anymore if you're under this much pressure. I don't do it 'cause I like seeing you hurt – well, I mean, I kind of do, because you really piss me off, being as out and proud as you are, but Jesus, no one should be bullied when their only parent is, like, in the hospital in a fucking coma. I'm not that heartless. That's just… wrong, if I bully you while that's happening. I have some standards; I didn't harass Fabray when she was pregnant last year. So, like, I wouldn't have touched you at all these past few weeks if I'd known."
"No?" Kurt scoffs, disbelieving, but he looks up at Karofsky again, and he thinks he can see some honesty there.
Kurt's eyes are puffy and pink and his nose is flared and a little wet, but somehow, he's still as stunning as ever, and Dave has to look away.
Giving the jock another once-over, he nods. "Huh. I think I believe you. So far, you're the only person who's noticed, and who wants to talk about it. Everyone else just finds it 'too sad' and brushes me off. I hate it. I'm even starting to hate them."
"Hate is such a… heavy word," Dave tries and fails to say with a slight wince and a rub at the back of his neck. "I don't think you're the sort who is, um, fully capable of hating someone entirely, right? You always seem so… I don't know, kind-hearted? You're actually the best person I know. You're not like everyone else around here."
"I'm not like that anymore," Kurt grumbles. "I hated you, too, you know. For so long, I just wanted to be rid of you. But you're just a dumb jock who goes along with what his friends do, aren't you? So I can't say I blame you for shoving me around and calling me names."
"Yeah. And, er, it's not like I've done anything worse than that. I was never there when the others have locked you in porta-potties or threw you in dumpsters or called your dad and told him his son is a fag, or anything like that."
Kurt almost smiles. His mouth twitches. "True. You're limited to slushies and shoves, but even then, you've only slushied me personally once. Otherwise, it's been my friends, not me. You're not as bad as the rest of them; you just want to be stay popular. I get it," he sighs. "But you still set me off today."
"Yeah, and, um, I kind of apologize for that. I had no clue, Hummel, really. I can't imagine what you're going through," Dave offers meekly.
Kurt smiles a bit. "At least you're honest. Everyone else keeps saying to me, 'Oh, Kurt, I know what you're going through. I know how it feels, I understand,' and so on. I makes me want to scream."
"Well, uh, you did get to scream at me, so hopefully that helped, right?" Dave offers, and Kurt looks at him oddly for a moment. Then he laughs. Actually laughs.
"Yeah, I guess it did, in a weird way." He sighs and dabs at his face again. It's no longer as pink or swollen as it was. "I never thought I would put these words in the same sentence, but… thank you, Karofsky. You somehow managed to lift some of the burden from my shoulders." And he looks up at him, and Dave's heart does a skipping sensation that makes his fingertips tingle.
"Um… good. Yeah, I'm glad. It's just weird, 'cause I know we're… um, well, bully and victim, but… I'll let up. And you can text me if your dad gets better, or even if he doesn't. You just shouldn't be alone in this. It's kind of messed up that your friends aren't there for you, and… actually really backwards that I want to be, but I do. Here –" and he fumbles in his gym bag for a pen. He finds a scrap sheet of homework and jots down his cell number and hands it to the fashionable boy. "There it is. Just… text me when you want to, and make sure you tell me it's you the first time. I'll answer; I always text back, and no one will care, since I text everyone and don't like to talk on the phone much. No one will even ask, so that's good for me, I guess. Sorry, I just… I'm going through my own stuff right now, and I can't have anyone know I'm befriending the resident gay kid."
"While offended, I can see your position, and I'll take you up on the offer, thanks," Kurt responds with more composure. He stands and dusts himself off and picks up his forgotten bag. "See you around, Karofsky."
"Yeah… see you 'round."