None of the shows on television, or even the conversations he had had with his teammates, had ever really warned Finn about the boring side to being in a relationship. Oh, don't get him wrong, there were parts of it he loved - especially the sex parts - but there were other things. Having someone look upon him as if he was the most important person in the world to them was one of the greatest feelings he had ever experienced for example, and, if he really thought about it, Finn was certain that he could come up with many other things. Nevertheless, there were moments when Finn wished that he could be like Puck and just have a series of friends with benefits or one night stands. That, he thought, might be a lot easier to deal with than him trying to pretend to listen to whatever it was Rachel was talking about now. He liked her, he could easily admit that. If he hadn't, he would not have risked social suicide to date her, especially not when he had had (and still could have) the queen of the school Quinn Fabray. But Rachel was different; yes she was self-centred and had an unhealthy obsession with golden star stickers, but, whenever he needed her, truly needed her, she was there for him. He liked that, and it was why he had left Quinn for her. But now, when she couldn't shut up about whatever musical number she had seen and wanted him to duet with her...? He didn't like her quite so much and she talked too fast for him to even get in a word edgewise that could potentially turn the conversation into a more interesting direction, say about football, or hell, even food.
Finn actually had to pull her back when they got to her locker - she had actually passed it - and, without missing a beat, she opened it and started digging around, still talking about the play. Finn resisted the urge to sigh as, to distract himself, he started looking around. Further down the corridor, he caught sight of a bright yellow shirt complimented by dark, patterned pants (and he was sure there was a name for that). Even if he had not seen the loud outfit himself that morning, he would have known it belonged to his stepbrother. He rolled his eyes; did Kurt really have to look like he stepped out of some sort of high fashioned magazine every morning? It made him look bad in comparison. He had seen the way his mother had cast a judgemental eye downwards to his now three weeks since last washed jeans. But hey, his jersey was clean! Well, at least it didn't smell and that at least meant something, right? Kurt was leaning against a locker with Tina as Mercedes rummaged through hers. Tina seemed annoyed by something if the way she was waving her arms meant anything, but then again, when wasn't there something that had earned the ire of Tina Cohen-Chang lately?
Finn saw what was about to happen before the trio did, and, even if he wasn't so far away, he honestly didn't know if he would have done something to prevent it. He and Puck had had this very conversation only a few days ago after Finn had barely dodged a slushie aimed (mostly) at his girlfriend. His reputation had taken a nosedive recently. Puck had managed to save his own reputation by successfully propagating the lie that he had been forced into the glee club as punishment, and the Cheerios in the group had only had to mention once that they were on a mission for Coach Sylvester to keep their social standing. But Finn's own status as the team's quarterback had not been enough to protect him from the ramifications of joining the Glee Club. Add that to his break up with Quinn and, unfortunately, the fact that the resident homo was his stepbrother (their words, not his), and Finn's own social status was often up in limbo. A stellar performance at the last game had redeemed him considerably, but dating Rachel had put that status back at risk again as well as the fact that people were starting to realise that Finn was starting to become a lot more protective of his step-brother.
Puck had had to hold him back after he had seen Azimo slam Kurt into a locker last week. Kurt had gotten up within seconds, and though slightly shaken, had immediately launched a verbal tirade on Azimo before stalking away, shoulders firmly squared. He had paid for that later on with a particularly nasty dumpster dive, but overall he had seemed okay. Finn had wanted to intervene then, or at least have told Azimo off. Insults were one thing, but that slam had to have hurt Kurt badly. Puck however had managed to talk him out of that. After all, he would lose all shred of respect within the school if it got out that he was now actively protecting Kurt. He would lose the ability to argue that he couldn't help it if Kurt was his family, and Puck, for all that they had been friends for years, would walk away if Finn made himself a target. Hell, Finn knew that Puck himself would probably initiate any slushie showers directed at him for punishment for breaking the status quo.
And, the quarterback didn't want that. Perhaps it was shallow of him to say, but he did like having the respect of those around him, and being the popular kid with girls whispering about him as he passed. And if that meant Kurt having to scrub off slushie from his clothes (and ouch the grape one stained the worst) then that was a sacrifice Finn was willing to make. He would make it up to him later, he told himself, as he allowed Rachel to take his arm and lead him away to their first and only shared class for the day. He'd treat Kurt to frozen yogurt at the shop not too far from their new house. Kurt would be okay; he knew how to take care of himself. He didn't have anything to worry about.
"You need to stop antagonising them, Kurt," Tina said tiredly from her spot on the counter. They were in the girl's bathroom, trying to help Kurt salvage the latest victim to the Neanderthals' antics. Kurt didn't answer at first, too busy gently rubbing at the stain. They were more than prepared; he already had stain remover in his bag and Mercedes was currently getting a spare outfit for him that he had stashed away.
"I didn't do anything," he answered her, almost absentmindedly, as he turned on the faucet and ran the bit he was working with under the water. He breathed a sigh of relief as the product did its magic, leaving the area clean. Good, now for the larger stain...
"Then why did he target you today?" Tina pressed.
"His outfit," Mercedes said, entering the bathroom. "The shade of yellow isn't exactly the same as your boots, but I figured this jacket would match, honey-boo."
Kurt looked up, taking in the paler yellow coat he hadn't even remembered he had at school. But then again, he tended to just add clothes randomly ever so often for just such an emergency. "It'll work," he said decisively, "Thanks Cedes."
"I passed Karofsky on the way back," Mercedes said, darkly. "Apparently your outfit is too fabulous for them."
Kurt looked at her briefly, smiling at her wording of it. Leave it to his friend to spin a positive out of what they had stated. He knew he really should stop dressing so extravagantly; if he tried being normal and blending in, they probably would indeed, as Tina suggested, leave him alone a lot more. But why should he, he thought darkly, briefly scrubbing a bit too hard at a spot. Why did he have to change how he wanted to represent himself? It wasn't his fault that no other male in the school had fashion sense above that of a doorknob. Why should he be punished for that?
"I just think you should be a bit more careful, Kurt," Tina told him. "They're targeting you a lot more now. Don't think I didn't notice how you winced in practice yesterday. You're still sore from the last time they locker slammed you."
"I'm fine," he said, with finality as he straightened, shaking water off his sweater. "There, perfect."
"Good," Mercedes said, reaching for it. "Now go get changed and we can head to class."
He nodded, only then grimacing as he realised that the inner shirt he was wearing was also covered by seeped through slushie. He didn't have as much as an attachment to the shirt though; it was one of those five for twenty dollar deals type of clothing that he didn't mind just disposing off. Actually, he had started wearing such inner shirts for this very reason and, as he took the clothing from where Mercedes had left it, he gave her a grateful smile as he saw that she had had the foresight to pick up one of them for him as well.
"This can blow dry right?"
"Yeah," he answered, as he headed into one of the stalls. It wasn't for their benefit really; truth be told they had seen each other in various stages of undress by this point, one of the benefits of being a gay guy friend, he supposed. However, there was actually something he had to hide from them now. He didn't want Tina to see exactly how right she was.
Kurt hissed as he eased the shirt off himself, and, after a brief check, the vest as well. Wiping the sticky residue from his chest, he restrained a whimper as the gesture pulled on sore and bruised muscles. They didn't know that that locker slam had not been the only abuse he had experienced recently. Looking into the small mirror the stall had, Kurt winced as he took in the bruises, and scrapes alongside his torso from the day before. If only Tina knew how bad the situation really was becoming. But then again, what did it matter, he thought, pulling on his shirt and starting to button it.
It wasn't as if there was anything anyone could do about it.
Kurt huffed out an annoyed sigh as he checked his watch yet again. Where was everyone? It wasn't as if he had misheard the message. Mr. Shuester had given it to him after all just that morning to pass along. He had booked the auditorium for practice and they should all meet there for three thirty. He huffed again, annoyed that today of all days he didn't have any afternoon classes with any of the other club members. Maybe something had happened to change the venue? Biting his lip in agitation as a next minute passed, Kurt decided that he should not waste this opportunity. Even if practice had moved, it wasn't his fault he wasn't wherever the hell the rest of them were. Someone would eventually come find him and there was no need for him to waste time in the interim. It took only a brief effort to pull himself up onto the stage, and he dusted his hands off after the effort it took. He may not be the fittest guy in the school, he acknowledged, but he was getting better by mimicking Finn's home workout routine. Just that morning he had been pretty certain that when he flexed he had actually seen muscle.
The auditorium was empty, but Kurt's imagination was vivid. Looking out he saw faces staring back at him, heard the anticipatory murmur of the audience as he strode to the stage's centre. This was a particularly auspicious performance after all, his five hundredth in a role that had catapulted him into Broadway stardom. There were many trying to lure him away from this, his breakthrough role, for other opportunities, but he had committed himself for a next year to this production. After all, he had to pay his dues to the show that had given him this great start. Kurt bowed in deference to the warm applause his mere presence had gotten him, and allowed his eyes to gaze upon the stage, not seeing its stark bareness but instead carefully crafted props and furniture that served as his artificial home. This was it, the main song of the show, the one that had the critics buzzing about a possible award nomination. Allowing his eyes to drift close, Kurt sang confidently to his audience, as always trying to convey believable emotion on his face even if he didn't personally connect with the song (it was something he would never admit, but he did envy Rachel's ability to commit to a song one hundred percent no matter what it was about). In his mind he had succeeded because, as he finished it, the audience was on their feet, giving him a thunderous round of applause. He bowed, flicking back a bit of his hair from out of his face as he straightened and finally, focussed his senses again. It was why he was shocked to find someone there with him, an actual real person, and not one seated in the chairs, but there on the stage with him. He was moving towards him, swiftly, and Kurt acknowledged that if he had not been so wrapped up in his performance, he might have seen him before, or at least heard him, because Karofsky certainly was not being quiet as he approached him.
Kurt didn't hesitate; the jock's expression was murderous and maybe, he realised, he had pushed him just the slightest bit too far that lunchtime when, after the third slushie for the week, he'd asked rashly and loudly in the middle of the crowded corridor if the guy had a hard-on for him. The laughter that had echoed down the corridor at that had been vindicating for him, especially when Karofsky and his pals had slunk away in embarrassment. Oh, he knew that they would want revenge. Tina had hissed as much to him after she had found out, but he hadn't cared then.
He certainly did now.
He turned to run. He had no chance against him, and here, in the lonely auditorium, there was no one who could possibly intervene to help him. But, as he spun, he saw Adams coming out of the stage wings and he knew it was over. They were faster than him, burlier, and he cried out as one of them tackled him to the ground. Kurt fought wildly, scraping and twisting as they punched and kicked him yet again, worse than ever before. He cried out and then briefly stilled as one of their feet landed with an extra hard thud against his ribcage and he felt, actually felt something crack. The pain took his breath away but after a second, he fought back harder, now in an increased panic; they really didn't care how badly they hurt him this time around, and fear was taking over. Kurt was afraid, deathly afraid for his safety, and that spurred him on. To his shock he actually got a bit of ground. His knee connected with Adams's groin and the jock fell off him with a painful groan. He lashed out at Karofsky, startling him by catching him in the eye, drawing a howl from him. Frantically, and ignoring the pain lacing through him, Kurt tried to scramble away. But he was even more incapacitated now than before, and was quickly brought down. His eyes widened in terror as, seemingly from nowhere, Karofsky pulled something out of his pocket that glistened above him. Kurt screamed, loudly, because god, was that a knife, an actual knife? Karofsky struck down, but, out of pure reflex, Kurt twisted away from it. The crazed jock started slashing wildly at him, and Kurt's shrieks only got louder as he felt the stinging cuts. Then, as if in a rage, Kurt saw Karofsky raise the knife, and this time he seemed intent on going for his face. The knife descended, and Kurt desperately flung his arm up defensively.
His pained scream echoed in his own ears as pain, pure burning pain poured forth from his arm alongside blood. His world narrowed down to that pain. It was too much, all of it, and his focus on the world slowly faded. He didn't hear Finn's frantic yells, didn't note the hard kick Finn directed at Karofsky's head even as Adams scrambled away, a slightly panicked look on his own face, because Dave had not mentioned anything about a knife to him. He didn't hear the cries of alarm from Rachel who had decided to follow Finn to fetch Kurt, nor did he see her run out to go for help. He did register Finn though, a terrified looking Finn who had now lifted him up so that his head was cradled on his lap even as he tore off his own jersey to press against Kurt's arm which, he didn't even know, was bleeding profusely. It was weird he thought as his head turned a bit at he took in a view of the stage, now stained with blood - his blood.
Everywhere ached and hurt, and he wasn't certain if those guttural noises were really coming from himself as well as the moisture on his cheeks. But, when he finally decided to take the respite his body wanted and faded into unconsciousness, he couldn't help but notice that the pain on his arm had entirely gone away.