Brief warning: Faberry has somehow decided to... happen in this fic. I think some of you may have guessed that it might be leading in that direction, but it's pretty damn obvious in this chapter, because there's a small section from Quinn's point of view.
Other pairings will remain true to canon, except Finchel, of course.
Hope you enjoy!
"Faggot," Karofsky grunted, and body-checked Blaine into a locker. Blaine skidded down it, his shoulder catching on the lock, and winced as his tailbone hit the floor.
"Takes one to know one," Blaine muttered bitterly, rubbing his head.
Karofsky turned slowly, his grip going white-knuckled around the cup in his hand. "What did you say?"
Blaine grimaced, pulling himself up against the lockers. "I said," he enunciated clearly, "it takes one to know one."
Karofsky's jaw clenched, his eyes furious. "I was going to drink this slushy, but you know what? I think you deserve it, instead."
Blaine had just enough time to squeeze his eyes shut before the ice-cold slushy hit him, spilling down over his face, his neck, soaking his shirt and trickling into his pants.
He reached up to wipe his eyes clean.
Karofsky was smiling at him, eyes hard. "I'm not like you, fairy," he said, fiercely.
Blaine spat out a mouthful of slushy. "I'd rather be me than you."
Karofsky threw the empty cup at him. "Congratulations on converting Hummel into another rainbow-barfing fag." He shoulder-checked Blaine one more time before striding away, hands clenched into fists at his side.
"Kurt was already gay," Blaine bellowed after him. "Or has that fact slipped your mind?"
He struggled to his feet and slammed his locker shut, not bothering to lock it—anything of value that had been in it had already been stolen throughout the course of the year.
He scooped up his bag, holding it away from himself with two fingers, pushing open the door to the bathroom with one foot. He pulled his shirt off over his head, draping it over the edge of the sink, and kicked his bag into the corner to keep it from being damaged by the corn syrup.
He was halfway through rinsing out his hair when the bathroom door opened again.
He immediately froze, wary.
Quinn Fabray stood there, looking every bit like a deer in the headlights. "Why are you in the girl's bathroom?" she asked.
He ran his hands through his hair, pushing the wet curls away from his forehead. "Girls are less likely to give me a swirly if they catch me vulnerable."
Quinn winced. "Are things really that bad for you?"
"I'm gay, co-head of the glee club, president of the mathletes, and editor-in-chief of the school newspaper. What do you think?" Blaine asked, sharply.
"I'm going to get Kurt," Quinn said, turning to walk back out the door.
"No." Blaine caught her arm. "This isn't his problem."
"He'd want to know."
"We aren't dating, Quinn," Blaine snapped. "We're barely even friends yet. I don't want him to have another thing to worry about."
Quinn examined him. "You don't want him to know that this is something that happens to you. To us."
Blaine wet a paper towel, swiping it over his neck and collarbone. "He joined Glee Club on a whim, Quinn. He doesn't really know what it's like, to be one of us. What's going to happen to him."
"He'll be fine," Quinn said soothingly, reaching out to touch his arm. "He's on the cheerios. Santana and Brittany never get slushied."
"Santana and Brittany aren't gay!" Blaine shouted, slamming his hands down against the sides of the sink.
Quinn raised her eyebrows, the expression on her face something that wasn't quite surprise and wasn't quite amusement.
Blaine's fingers fumbled at his glasses resting on the edge of the sink, and they went clattering to the ground. He sat down on the ground, resting his head in his hands. "I just—I don't want to see this kind of thing—I don't want it to happen to him. And I know it will, because he's protected when he's on the cheerios, but-"
Quinn crouched down next to him, patting his shoulder carefully, hesitantly. After a moment, she murmured, "do you have a change of clothes?"
"In my locker," Blaine muttered.
Quinn straightened up again. "I'll get them for you."
Rachel was standing at Blaine's locker when Quinn reached it. She opened her mouth to say something, alert Rachel to her presence, but Rachel looked up before she could.
Quinn's stomach squirmed with something at the way Rachel's face lit up when she saw her. "Quinn! Have you seen Blaine? I was supposed to meet with him to talk about our literature assignment, and-"
"He got slushied," Quinn said grimly, cutting her off.
Rachel's smile dropped. "Is—is he okay? Who was it?"
"I don't know, but judging by the size of the fresh bruise on his back, I would hazard a guess at Karofsky."
Rachel's face darkened. "He can't get away with that!" she said, reaching out to grab Quinn's arm, and something in Quinn jolted with a spine-tingling warmth.
She wrenched her arm away, speaking quickly to avoid addressing Rachel's look of hurt confusion. "He will, though. He's at the top of the ladder. He can get away with anything—I know, remember? I was there, once." She threaded her fingers together, fixing her eyes on Rachel. "There isn't that much we can do for either of them. We just have to stand up for them when we can and help them when we can't."
Rachel hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her jaw set. "Okay. What can I do now?"
"Get Kurt," Quinn said, reaching out to open Blaine's locker. "Blaine won't let me tell Kurt what happened to him, but I think he really wants Kurt right now, even if he won't admit it to me. I'm going to bring these clothes to him."
Rachel paused.
"What?" Quinn asked, piling the towel, shirt, jeans, and boxers into her arms.
"Kurt's in Cheerios practice," Rachel whispered.
Quinn rolled her eyes a little bit. "They aren't going to eat you, Rachel."
Rachel fidgeted a little bit more.
Quinn sighed, slamming Blaine's locker shut. "Look," she said, lowering her voice a little bit. "I told them to lay off of you. Santana and Brittany and Kurt will make sure nobody says anything to you, okay? The only thing you have to be scared of is Coach Sylvester."
"She doesn't scare me."
Quinn's mouth twitched up at the corners. She couldn't help it. "You're a brave girl." She curled her fingers around the clothes to keep herself from reaching out to touch Rachel's shoulder. "Now, go get Kurt."
Rachel beamed, saluted her sharply, and turned to stride off in that determined way she had that had always been far too adorable.
Quinn watched her go for a moment too long, before mentally smacking herself and heading back in the direction of the girl's bathroom.
Blaine was exactly where she'd left him, sitting on the floor, curled in on himself.
"Hey," she said, quietly, so as not to startle him.
Blaine looked up quickly. He reached for the clothes. He felt sticky and gross, and all he wanted was a shower and a change of clothes, and—Kurt.
He didn't really want to admit that part to himself, much less Quinn.
It was strange and terrifying, how much he liked Kurt. Not just in that way—although that was there, too—but simply in a companionship sort of way. He had so many friends in Glee—Finn, Mike, Santana, Quinn, Rachel, Tina—but he'd never clicked with any of them as quickly as he had with Kurt. He'd never felt the sort of instant camaraderie with them as he'd felt with Kurt when the two of them had started talking.
Already, Kurt was becoming one of his closest friends, and he'd known him—really known him—less than a week.
Quinn held the clothes out of his reach. "Do you think you might want to undress in the stall and clean yourself off a little more before I pass the clothes over to you?" she asked, gently.
Blaine shrugged indifferently, miles away from her.
It wasn't until he was in the stall that he realized how cold he was—he'd been too focused before then on how angry he was about the situation, how helpless he felt towards it and towards his feelings for Kurt and towards the way his life was moving in general to even notice anything. But now that he was thinking about it, his teeth wouldn't stop chattering. A bone-deep chill had settled into his body, and his fingers shook as his he tried to force the button of his pants out of the button-hole.
The pants were soaked at the waist and a little bit down his thighs, plastered to his skin and underwear. He made a few quiet noises of disgust as he peeled them off his legs.
Wordlessly, Quinn passed his towel under the door, one corner of it dampened with water. Bless her.
He peeled off his underwear, and cleaned off the parts of himself that he hadn't been willing to expose in the open area of the girl's restroom, toweling his entire body dry when he was done. He slid the towel back under the door once more, a wordless request for clothing.
He was pulling his boxers up his legs when he heard the door to the bathroom swing open, followed by some hushed voices.
"Quinn?" he asked, uncertainly, hands halting.
"It's just Rachel," she called back.
He sighed in relief, pulling his pants the rest of the way up. "Hey, Rachel."
She took a moment to respond, and when she did, her voice was strangely high-pitched. "Hi, Blaine."
He paused, his head halfway through the neckhole of his t-shirt. "What's up?"
"N-nothing!" she stammered, and he could picture her rocking back on her heels, her face an unconvincing picture of innocence. "What would—what would be up?"
He tugged at his green polo, tucking it into his highwater jeans, before running a hand through his hair. "Well, I don't know," he said, pushing the door to the bathroom stall open. "You tell-"
Kurt Hummel was standing between Quinn and Rachel, looking harried and disheveled and a little bit sweaty in his tighttighttight cheerios uniform.
"-me," Blaine said, flatly.
Rachel bit her lip.
"Hi, Kurt," Blaine said.
Kurt crossed his arms. "Hi, Blaine."
"We'll, uh, let you two be," Rachel said, pinching at Quinn's elbow. The two girls backed out of the room.
Kurt and Blaine merely stared at each other for a few long moments.
"Do you want to tell me why Rachel pulled me out of Cheerio's practice early, telling Coach Sylvester that it was an emergency?" Kurt said, finally, and Blaine turned his face away, sighing.
"I'm sorry you got pulled out of Cheerio's practice early," Blaine said. "Believe me when I say I had nothing to do with it. Quinn must have sent Rachel."
"I don't care about getting pulled out of practice," Kurt snapped. "I want to know what happened."
"Nothing."
"Because I'm sure Quinn Fabray would pull me out of practice a week before Sectionals for nothing," Kurt said, scathingly.
"I don't want to tell you," Blaine snarled. Kurt's eyebrows shot up, his mouth turning downwards in a sneer, and both of them glared at each other for a long, tension-filled moment.
"I'm not going to break, Blaine," Kurt said, his voice icy. "Believe it or not, I'm not actually made of china. I'm tougher than I look."
Blaine laughed, the noise harsh. "That's not the problem here, Kurt."
Kurt's arms curled even more closely around his chest defensively, the fabric of his uniform stretching tight over his biceps. Now is not the time to notice that. "What is the problem, then?"
"Why did you join Glee Club, Kurt?" Blaine asked, shoving his quickly sliding glasses back up his nose.
Kurt's mouth opened to retort before he faltered, looking uncertain.
"You don't even know, do you?" Blaine sighed, folded his own arms.
"I do," Kurt said without hesitation. "I know why."
"Do you even know what being part of the homo explosion means?" Blaine asked, bitterly.
"Don't call it that."
"Why not? The rest of the school does. Might as well get used to it—it's what they're going to call it when they taunt you about it."
"Stop it," Kurt said, quietly.
"Stop what?" Blaine was aware that his tone was bordering on hysterical, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "Telling the truth?"
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," Kurt said, sharply. "Stop trying to make me change my mind about this. I won't."
"Get out now," Blaine said, his hands flying up. "Kurt-"
"Blaine," Kurt cut him off. "No. Stop. I don't want to hear it anymore." His head tipped sideways, eyes calculating. "What's gotten into you?"
Blaine shoved his hands into his pockets. "Karofsky."
Kurt's jaw clenched. "What did he do?"
"Nothing," Blaine said, quickly, his voice rough. "Nothing. Just said some stuff."
Kurt's eyes were too sharp, his expression too knowing. "I have to go back to practice. Coach only gave me ten minutes."
Blaine's stomach dropped to his feet. He felt suddenly cold all over. "Oh. Okay."
"Why don't you wait for me?" Kurt suggested. "We can... talk. After practice."
"At—your house?" Blaine asked.
Kurt's expression fell a little bit. "Oh—my dad will be there, he'll make me keep my door open-"
"My house," Blaine said, before he could think about the fact that none of his friends had ever been over his house before—with good reason. "Coop won't mind."
"Coop?" Kurt asked, tongue rolling around the unfamiliar word.
"My older brother. I live with him," Blaine said.
He could tell Kurt had more questions, new questions, but they would have to wait for later. He gave Kurt a gentle push towards the door. "I'll meet you at your car at four."
By the time Blaine had finished in the gym (he'd spent the better part of the last hour punching the hell out of every punching bag in the gym's tiny weight room) and headed out to the parking lot, Kurt was already waiting beside the car. He was wearing his letterman jacket, but his uniform was conspicuously absent.
Blaine gave him an obvious once-over as he reached the car, raising his questioning eyes up to Kurt's.
"The polyester is awful for my skin when I'm sweaty," Kurt said in explanation, pointing to where his uniform was hanging up in the back of his car. "I try not to keep it on for too long after practice."
"Do you need to... shower, or something?" Blaine asked, a little awkwardly.
Kurt shook his head, a tiny grin on his face. "I already did, after practice."
"Oh," Blaine said, and rocked back on his heels.
Kurt's grin grew. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to his car.
"Oh! Yes," Blaine said, and Kurt opened the passenger's side door for him. Blaine's stomach did a funny little swoop-and-clench. "Thank you."
"Welcome," Kurt said, breezily, as if it was nothing, and crossed to the driver's side. "You're going to have to give me directions to your house."
"Of course," Blaine said, knotting his fingers together in his lap.
His house wasn't far from the school, so before long Kurt was pulling into the driveway. Blaine groaned when he saw Cooper's car sitting in front of the garage. "Cooper's home."
"Your brother?"
"Yes. Please don't listen to anything he says," Blaine said, unbuckling his seat belt. "He likes to tease me."
Kurt only looked confused as he followed Blaine up the front walkway.
"You'll see," Blaine said, and pushed open the door. "Coop? I'm home! And I brought a friend with me," he added quickly, before Cooper could say anything embarrassing about Blaine's "dreamy cheerleader crush". He never should've told Coop.
"A friend?" he heard Cooper exclaim from the kitchen. "You have a friend, Blainey! Oh happy day!"
There was a clatter of dishes in the sink, then the sound of footsteps as Cooper rounded the corner.
"This is Kurt," Blaine said. Don't you dare, he said with his eyes.
"Kurt, huh?" Cooper said, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Kurt said, politely, holding out his hand.
Cooper grabbed it, pumping it enthusiastically. "Delightful to meet you, really, Kurt, can't tell you how much-"
"Okay," Blaine said, loudly. "Kurt and I are going up to my room. Call me when dinner's ready, please?"
"Don't get too noisy, kids," Cooper said with a wink, and Blaine wanted to hide his face and never show it again.
Kurt waited until Blaine had closed the door to his room to speak. "Your brother seems... nice."
"My brother is a huge pain in the butt," Blaine said, flopping down on his bed. "Feel free to ignore anything he says during dinner. At least it's his night to cook so he can't be up here bugging us."
"You take turns?" Kurt asked, curiously.
Blaine shrugged one shoulder. "He works long hours, so I cook every weekday except Tuesdays—he comes home early for some reason on Tuesdays. And he cooks weekends."
He sat up, patting the bed. "C'mon."
Kurt perched on the edge of the bed beside him. "Will you tell me what happened with Karofsky?"
Blaine let out a long gust of air. "You don't really beat around the bush, do you?"
"I try to be as straightforward as possible," Kurt said simply, then waited.
Blaine sighed, kicking off his shoes and tucking his feet under his legs, turning to face Kurt. "Okay. I'll tell you. But you have to promise that you won't—go after Karofsky, or something."
"You make it sound like I'm going to be seeking revenge for your murder," Kurt tried to joke, but Blaine's face remained serious.
"I promise," Kurt said, quietly, and held out his hand, pinky raised.
Blaine eyed it, a small smile quirky his lips, before wrapping his pinky around Kurt's. He expected Kurt to pull away—instead, Kurt lowered their hands to the bed, pinkies still wrapped together. "Now, tell me what happened."
Blaine took a deep breath. Kurt wasn't going anywhere. "We get slushied, Kurt, did you know that?"
Kurt sighed. Blaine looked up at him.
"Yes," Kurt said, softly. "I knew that. I've never liked that, but there's only so much power I have at this school."
"It's not just that," Blaine said, softly. "I mean, it is for the girls. The guys on the football team have some twisted moral code, so the worst the girls get from them is the slushies. And name-calling, from the girls on the-" he stopped short.
"I know what the girls on the Cheerios say about the Glee Club, Blaine," Kurt said, his fingers slipping between Blaine's. "Go on."
"It's worse for people like me." Blaine curled his fingers around Kurt's. "People like us."
"Gay," Kurt said.
"Gay," Blaine repeated. "Yes."
Kurt's hand tightened around Blaine's. "What do they do to you, Blaine?"
"Dumpster-tossing," Blaine said, his eyes level on Kurt's. "Locker-checks. I was once locked in a port-o-potty for six hours." He took a deep breath. It was harder to say these things to Kurt than he'd expected it to be. The things that happened to him were common knowledge to the student body—or so he'd thought. Kurt looked like he couldn't possibly fathom how these kinds of things could happen to somebody.
"But worse than all of that," Blaine said, taking a deep breath, "is the taunting."
Kurt remained silent, his eyes brighter than usual.
"Queen, fag, queer, cocksucker, fairy," Blaine listed off in one breath. "They accuse you of ogling them in the locker rooms, they call you a pervert and a freak and s-say they wish you were dead."
"Blaine-"
"That's what they're going to call you, Kurt." Blaine's voice was barely above a whisper. "You think you're protected because you're on the Cheerios? You might have been, before. When Sue and the rest of the girls were all there to look out for you. You think they're happy, now that you've joined the Glee Club?"
"They're my friends," Kurt whispered, his voice cracking.
"They're shallow," Blaine said, bluntly. "Do you really think they'll still have your back now that you've joined 'homo explosion'? What about Sue? How happy do you think she is that you joined Will Schuester's league?"
Kurt opened his mouth, then closed it again, his brow furrowing slightly.
"You need to think about this, Kurt," Blaine said, gently. "If you really want to do this. If you really thought it through."
"I did," said Kurt, instantly.
Blaine let out a startled laugh. "You joined on a whim."
"Maybe," Kurt said, yanking his hand out from under Blaine's. "But that whim came from somewhere, Blaine. I did join Glee for a reason, not just because I was bored."
Blaine crossed his arms. "And what reason was that?"
Kurt's eyes drifted downwards, away from Blaine's. He laced his fingers together. "I—I was never really happy with myself." His voice was stilted, quiet. "I can't quite—I like the girls well enough, and they like me, but—did you know that I don't have a best friend?"
"Mercedes-" Blaine said, but Kurt cut him off.
"Mercedes and I see each other a lot, but—do you really think that makes a best friend, Blaine?" Kurt's smile was sad. "I don't have anyone who—who I can talk to, who gets it, gets me."
Blaine wanted to say it. He wanted to desperately.
"And being in Glee, being a part of this—it makes me feel... that. In a way that I never have with the Cheerios." Kurt tilted his head back up, his eyes meeting Blaine's. "So. If that's the price I have to pay for my own happiness, then—so be it."
Blaine let out a long breath. "Okay."
"Okay?" Kurt's tone seemed a little bit surprised.
Blaine nodded. "Okay. I can't stop you from being a part of Glee. Especially if you know and have recognized the dangers and still for some reason want to be part of this."
"I do," Kurt said, softly, and when their eyes met, something twisted hard in Blaine's stomach at the expression in Kurt's sea-foam eyes.
He coughed, wrenching his eyes away from Kurt. "Um—would you like to stay for dinner? I think Coop's making stir-fry something."
Kurt hesitated for a second, then shook his head. "No, I think I should probably go home. I'm sure my father's wondering about me."
Blaine walked him to the front door, offering him a quick squeeze of the hand (causing another sharp jolt through his stomach) before closing the door behind him.
Cooper appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, drying his hands with a dishtowel, his expression serious for once. "Kurt not staying for dinner?"
"No," Blaine said quietly, turning to his brother. "He had to be somewhere."
Cooper eyed Blaine critically. "Everything okay?"
A softness settled over Blaine. He smiled. "Everything's fine."
A big thanks to rayychel infinity and chocolate6969 for being my wonderful and supportive betas for this fic.
