The Bosch Altarpiece

Everything felt green. He never knew that he could feel a color, but he certainly felt green. His stomach sloshed sickeningly and his face felt clammy. He swallowed hard, trying to push back the bile that threatened to come up. Laughter fell on his ear hollowly, as though he was trapped in a dark tunnel that he could never get out of.

"He'd deserve it."

He physically flinched at the harsh words obviously spat his way. Face pale and body cold, he kept his head down, staring intently at the blank page in his open notebook, waiting for the bell to save him.

When the shrill noise sounded at the end of the hour, he was out of his seat and out the door before it finished, barreling down the corridor, desperate to be anywhere but in that classroom. In his frenzy to get away, he ran into a body.

"Kurt?"

He blinked the blurriness away and found his boyfriend staring at him intently. When he saw the hard concern and fear in Blaine's hazel eyes, he fully broke down, throwing his arms around the younger boy's neck and sobbing into his shirt.

Instantly, two arms slipped around his torso, pulling him close. "Sweetie, what happened? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Kurt took a few very deep, shaking breaths and pulled back. "W-when do y-you have AP Art History?"

Confused, Blaine answered, "I'm headed there now. Kurt, what—?"

"It's nothing, Blaine," Kurt sighed, brushing his tears away angrily. "I'm overreacting. Just—just go to class. I'll talk to you later." He stepped around his thoroughly baffled boyfriend and tore down the hall.

Blaine felt the urge to charge after Kurt to make everything better, but the desire to understand the problem won out. He hurried to AP Art History, determined to figure out what upset Kurt.

The class took notes on the Northern Renaissance. Blaine glued his pictures into his notebook, keeping an eye out for something that would trigger Kurt's meltdown.

Then he saw it. It was a close-up of an altarpiece by Hieronymus Bosch. It depicted Hell, a hell in which sinners were being tortured by earthly instruments of pleasure. He almost didn't see it—but then the sniggers started.

In the altarpiece, one man was being raped by a flute in Hell.

Blaine's blood boiled, because he knew exactly why his classmates were laughing. He tried to block out their derisive snorts and sly comments, but he heard every one.

"He was probably a fag."

"Too much buttsex in life."

"He probably enjoyed that."

"Disgusting."

"He deserved it."

Why is she letting this happen? Blaine thought, utterly livid. The snide remarks from the class were now definitely loud enough to be clearly heard, but the teacher ignored them all.

Finally Blaine couldn't take it anymore. He stood up, glaring at everyone. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled, effectively silencing the room. "No one deserves that. No one. Not me, not you, not anyone. That man—everyone in that damn painting—is being tortured! That is never a laughing matter! You have no idea if he was even gay or not—and what if he was? God, you all are disgusting. You sicken me." Blaine snatched his things from his desk and stalked out of the classroom, leaving a sea of astonished glares behind him.

Blaine rushed down the empty hallway, knowing exactly where he needed to go. There was no way Kurt would have been able to sit through his next class—AP Calculus AB—in his emotional state. He darted around a few corners until he skidded to a halt in front of the girls' bathroom near the rear exit of the school. Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down, he pushed open the door. "Kurt?" Violent sniffles answered him. Blaine entered the restroom, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. He looked down and to his left to find Kurt curled up on himself under the sinks. "Oh, love," Blaine whispered, kneeling in front of his shaking boyfriend. "Come here." He pulled Kurt into his arms.

Kurt melted easily into Blaine's embrace, willing the tears to stop. He knew that he was overreacting, that the things his classmates had said weren't actually directed at him, that the altarpiece was painted over five hundred years ago, that he needed to calm down. But he saw the raw anger in Blaine's eyes, and he knew that what he felt was real. "So..." he began, mumbling into the crook of Blaine's neck. "I guess you know what I was—am—so upset about."

Blaine nodded. "They are wrong, Kurt. No one deserves that. No one deserves to have something so sacred as sex taken from them. No one deserves to be raped. I know what they said, Kurt. I know they said that that's what happens to gays, but they're wrong. We are right, and they are most assuredly mistaken if they think I am going to let some crazy, cynical zealot from half a century ago strike fear in my heart."

Kurt pulled back at the end of Blaine's vituperative diatribe, surprised by the fire in his voice. "Blaine..." he sighed, "...you're right. I'm being silly. I just—"

"No!" Blaine exclaimed suddenly, grabbing Kurt's face in his hands and staring intently into his watery glasz eyes. "No, you have every right to be upset—look at me, I'm in a rage! This is the maddest I've ever been—or pretty damn close to it, anyways. I'm mad because they joked about rape, I'm mad because they're homophobes, I'm mad because the teacher didn't stop them, I'm mad because they made you cry. And it's okay to feel sad about all those things—because your emotions are okay."

"Is okay...good?"

Blaine smiled. "Kurt...okay is wonderful!" Blaine gathered his no longer sobbing boyfriend in his arms, rocking him back and forth on the floor of the girls' bathroom. A few minutes later, the bell rang, signaling the end of third period. Blaine knew that a small rush of girls would head into the bathroom during the five-minute break, so he stood and offered a hand to Kurt. "Ready to go, love?"

Kurt smiled up at his boyfriend. "Sure thing." He placed his hand in Blaine's and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. The two left the bathroom arm-in-arm without being detected. They headed to their next class—AP Chemistry, which they mercifully shared together—with their heads held high, proud, safe, and happy.

Wow. This was random. I started this in AP Art History, when we were looking at the Bosch altarpiece. I mean, my class didn't make an homophobic comments, but they did laugh at the guy being raped, and I was thoroughly pissed off. So I wrote this, figuring that McKinley would probably react similarly. This story kind of ran away with me, and I'm not quite sure how the ending happened, but it did. I didn't mean to put those AVPM/S references in there, but they just fit so well and I couldn't resist. Anyways, this was just a little one-shot that I wrote during the day ('cause it's not like I pay attention in class or anything). Hope you enjoyed it!