Rating: PG-13 for foul language (once)
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine, Finn/Quinn (mentioned), Burt/Carole (mentioned)
Spoilers (if any): None, really.
Summary: Blaine's shocked and mortified when something, somewhat normal, happens at the Hummel house.
Warnings (if any): Use of a slur. Once.
Word Count: 1086
A/N: This is generally un-beta-d, but I think it turned out all right, despite that. Please enjoy and tell me what you think! And follow me on Tumblr if you like!
...
Your Arms Like Towers
It's a regular Saturday evening, except for the fact that the Hummel/Hudson house is empty save for Kurt and Blaine. Carole has dragged Burt to some work function, a fundraiser or something; Kurt and Finn aren't too interested in the details. They just want their parents out of the house. They act as though they're just going to hang around, do some brotherly bonding. Play video games, watch movies, maybe even practice a bit for Glee. But as soon as Burt's truck pulls out of the cul-de-sac, Finn is hopping into his own truck. Kurt doesn't ask where his brother is going, he doesn't need to; he already knows he's heading off to Quinn's house. But they've come to an agreement, Kurt keeps quiet about Finn's activities and Finn keeps quiet about Kurt's.
It's not long after Finn leaves that Blaine pulls up to the house. Everything seems to fall into place perfectly. Kurt and Blaine make some popcorn and snuggle together on the couch in the living room to watch When In Rome on Netflix. They're only about halfway through the movie before Blaine untangles himself from Kurt and stands with a stretch.
"Blaine?" Kurt asks, a small frown.
"I just need to use the restroom, and maybe refill the popcorn bowl," he responds with an easy grin as he grabs the oversized bowl.
Kurt just grins and pauses the movie, "Right, I'll wait for you."
Blaine's only gone for at least two minutes when he hears it. He's washing his hands in the sink when there's a loud crash. He shuts off the sink and listens, wondering if maybe Kurt restarted the movie without him, but then he hears something else, though it's muffled through the door, he still recognizes the screech of tires on asphalt. Without drying his hands, he throws the door open, "Kurt? Kurt, what was that? Are you all…." His words die on his lips as he comes to a stop in the living room. His eyes move from Kurt, standing silently, facing the window, to the glass on the ground. Before he's able to snap out of shock, Kurt's moving. Slowly, Kurt turns and looks at the couch, where the offending object landed.
Blaine moves forward to see what Kurt is staring at, his stomach drops, and a brick is sitting on the couch right where Kurt had been sitting. Silently, Kurt moves from the living room and to the hall closet. Blaine's eyes finally move from the brick, to Kurt who quietly comes back into the room, his hands full. Blaine doesn't know what to say, he can only watch his boyfriend; his eyes wide and mortified. Kurt takes out the old Polaroid camera his father insisted on keeping and snaps a picture of the window, the glass, and the brick. Then, he carefully pulls on the latex free gloves, peels the rubber band off and unfolds the paper.
Blaine watches all this with wide eyes, vaguely wondering how Kurt was so calm. Someone threw a brick through his living room window. He moves around the couch and looks over Kurt's shoulder as he unfolds the paper and written in unsightly chicken scratch,
BURN IN HELL, FAG.
Blaine sucks in a sharp breath, horror coiling in his stomach. He's dealt with homophobia before, sure, but never something to this magnitude. He can't blame the neighborhood, because the Hummels live in a rather nice neighborhood, even nicer than their old neighborhood. Someone went out of their way to drive past the Hummel house and throw a brick through their window.
"Oh, my God," Blaine breathes as Kurt slowly sets the paper on the coffee table and snaps a picture of it.
Kurt is still silent, almost on autopilot as he opens a gallon sized Zip-loc bag and drops the brick, the note, and the rubber band inside. Before he seals it, he dates the Polaroids and drops them in as well. He peels off the gloves and moves back to the hall closet. When he comes back with a broom and dustpan in hand, Blaine is just staring.
"We keep them," Kurt says quietly, setting the dustpan on the ground. "For evidence. We don't….we don't know who does it…but if we ever find out…you know, proof."
Blaine is silent as he holds the dustpan, carefully dropping larger pieces of glass in it. Finally he manages to shake himself from his stupor, "Does this happen a lot?"
Kurt sighs, his shoulders slumped, "Not as often as you might think. Maybe…every two months or so, I guess. Sometimes more, sometimes less, it varies. My dad called the police the first few times it happened, but it never really goes anywhere. They just take a report, record the damages and leave."
"I…It's never happened to me," Blaine confesses, almost as though he's regretful. Like he should be able share his own stories, but no.
"Good," Kurt says, his voice tight, dumping the last of it into the trashcan.
Once everything is put away, Kurt settles back onto the sofa, head lowered, shoulders hunched forward protectively. Blaine immediately sits next to him and swallows hard; he barely knows how to act. He wraps his arm around Kurt's narrow shoulders, and that seems to be the right thing to do because Kurt buries his face in Blaine's neck. And suddenly Blaine is acting on instinct; he pulls his boyfriend closer to him, so the slight boy is almost in his lap. He runs one hand up and down his back, the other gripping his waist firmly.
"I'm sorry," Kurt chokes out.
"For what?" Blaine asks softly.
"This…ruining our date," Kurt says, his breath hitching slightly.
"Hey, hey," Blaine murmurs, his tone laced with disbelief. He pulls away so he's resting his forehead against his boyfriend's. "This most definitely not your fault. You didn't know this was going to happen. You can't control what ignorant homophobes do."
A tear makes its way down Kurt's cheek and Blaine is quick to wipe it away and then he smiles, "Come on, no one is hurt, the mess is cleaned up, and nothing else can be done until morning, right?"
"Yeah," Kurt breathes around the lump in his throat.
"So, we're going to finish making that popcorn, call your dad, and finish the movie, okay?" Blaine says, pushing Kurt to his feet and standing himself. He twines his fingers with Kurt's and squeezes firmly.
Kurt rewards him with a small, albeit, shaky smile, "Okay."