AN: Hey guys, welcome to the second part of this two-shot. I had to throw in some hurt!Kurt, because it's my favorite thing ever. As always, please read and review; they keep me going. Let me know if you want to see something specific in this verse via PM and maybe I'll make it happen.(:
The grave site was nice. There was a thin layer of flurries on the ground, and the wind was chilly, but there were still fresh flowers on Grace Hummel's grave, and her headstone was a decent sized white marble with the words: Grace Hummel: Always Missed. There were no dates of life or death, and Puck wondered why. Kurt placed the flowers he'd stopped to buy on the ground in front of the headstone, and then, to Puck's utter surprise, sank to the ground next to them, heedless of the mud seeping into the knees of his designer jeans.
"Hey, Mom," Kurt began quietly. "I know it's been a long time since I've come to see you. I'm sorry. It's just, you know how hard it is for me. I've been kind of busy with school, and Glee Club. And I know that you know what happened last week with Uncle Dylan. Don't worry about it, okay? I'm over it; it doesn't matter anymore. And he hasn't come around since Dad threatened to shoot him in the face the next time he showed it." Kurt smiled softly, and Puck found himself wondering what Kurt was talking about, before deciding he probably didn't want to know.
"He said he wanted to 'bond'," Kurt continued, "and I can't help but think that you must've been really busy not to hear me calling for you. He laughed at me, you know. Because I wasn't strong enough. I'm sorry that I wasn't strong enough." Puck started to feel a little nauseous and dropped down on his knees next to Kurt, who seemed to finally remember he wasn't alone. The stinging cold had turned his cheeks red, and he lowered his eyes from Puck's searching gaze.
"Mom, this is Noah. We go to school together. I know I've told you about him before, but he's changed. I think he might even be a good person underneath the persona he's built around himself." This was said with a small twitch of Kurt's lips, and Puck elbowed him lightly.
Kurt spoke for a few more moments before he stood, pushing past Puck on his way back to the car. Puck trudged after him, eyes downcast and troubled. When they were in the car and reasonably warmed up, Puck pounced.
"Kurt?"
"Hm?" the smaller boy said, examining his nails.
"What were you talking about? Who's Uncle Dylan and what did he do?"
"That's none of your business," Kurt answered strangely, eyes flashing. No, no, no. What was wrong with him? Uncle Dylan would be furious if someone began hanging around; he'd be in so much trouble and no.
"You were talking about it in front of me," Puck said steadily, "so obviously you didn't want to keep it to yourself."
Kurt broke, slumping against the door of the truck, head bowed and thin shoulders shaking slightly. "He's my uncle," he murmured into his sleeve, so quiet Puck almost didn't hear him. He didn't interrupt for fear of sending Kurt back into silence. "He was my mom's brother, and he never liked me. He told me I was the queerest looking baby he ever saw. I guess now he knows why." The small boy laughed without humor.
"I don't know why he's so prejudiced. I never met the rest of Mom's family, but from what I remember of her, she was the kindest woman in the world. Maybe I'm biased, but still. She would've still loved me." Kurt took a slow breath. "Uncle Dylan drinks. And sometimes when he drinks, he blames me for Mom's cancer. I don't know why or how, but he rationalizes it and then he hits me. It's not often and it's not like I see him enough for it to bother me, it just got kind of out of hand last time. It's not a big deal, Puck."
And when Noah heard his nickname coming from Kurt's lips he knew that Kurt was shutting him out. "It's not okay Kurt. How can you brush that off?"
"The same way I brush off what you do to me. What Karofsky and Azimio do. Because I'm stronger than that. I can handle myself, Puck. I'm going to get out of here one day and never see any of the people who tormented me again, unless they're cleaning my septic tank."
Frowning at the small boy, Puck hesitantly reached over and placed a hand on Kurt's shoulder. The soprano didn't shrug it off, so Puck figured this was okay. "Kurt, I'm really sorry for everything I did to you."
"I know," Kurt answered, a small, sad smile on his face.
