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Chapter 7

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On Monday morning, Kurt woke up feverish – he was aching, sweaty, and seeing everything through a gray haze. However, never had he wanted to get the hell out of his house more. His dad's words from Friday night finally seemed to have hit home; the man was right, as he often was about most things. Kurt groaned as pulled himself out of bed, stumbling to his vanity. He only got about a third of the way through his skin care routine before he dropped his head down onto folded arms, dizzy and exhausted.

The weekend had been fun, had been exactly what he needed. However, the tickle in his throat had begun Saturday morning, after a long night with only two hours of sleep, and then by Saturday night, he'd been overly warm and a little off, but determined to push through with yet another marathon, this time Back to the Future, Finn's choice. Mercedes had given him some Tylenol before they crawled into their various beds and sleeping bags. It had been four in the morning, and they'd been woken up at seven by someone's car backfiring and Finn falling out of bed somewhere above them in his room. They ended up cooking a massive breakfast and even as Kurt swallowed past a dry, stinging throat, hardly eating more than two bites, he'd been very happy – happier than he'd been in a long while.

Right now, though, he felt like crawling back into bed and never getting out.

But he had to go to school. He'd missed roughly a week and a half total, including the half-day he'd taken after that stupid fight with Morris. He couldn't miss any more, and his dad was right in saying enough was enough. Kurt agreed – he had to shake this, and that wasn't going to happen if he stayed home, glued to his father's side.

"Kurt? Kurt, dude – we gotta go in, like, ten minutes – aren't you going to have any breakfast?" Finn called down the stairs.

Kurt jerked up in his seat, staring in disbelief at the clock on his vanity that confirmed Finn's words. For all his panic, he couldn't move very fast at all, and what was worse was he couldn't muster up the brain power to select an outfit. In the end, he dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt with a simple turquoise cardigan on top – a combination so boring it was making his head hurt. He ran a brush through his hair until his arm – why was it so heavy? – sagged.

Finn stared at him when he reached the top of the stairs, winded and already feeling his T-shirt sticking to him.

"Burt and mom are on their way to the hospital for his check up and . . . wow, you really don't look too good. Uh, I think you might wanna skip out today."

Kurt shook his head, slowly to keep from getting too nauseated. "No, no - there's that test in history and . . . science? Or was it French?"

Finn smiled teasingly. "Yeah, I think you should stay home – wouldn't want to start writing your science test in French, would you?"

"Might get me some bonus points," Kurt mumbled as he contemplated a slice of toast, ultimately deciding he wasn't hungry today.

Finn stared as Kurt grabbed his keys, his bag, and stumbled towards the door. Finn snagged the slice of toast Kurt had been eying. "Man, eat something – you've been eating less and sleeping less than normal for the past two weeks and that's probably why you're sick. Really, stay home today, eat soup and catch up on some sleep."

Kurt waved off the concern. "I'm fine enough to get through school." He tried to smile reassuringly, but he wasn't sure if he managed. Even the muscles in his face ached.

Finn fought him on this, but eventually gave in when Kurt refused to budge, plainly stating that if Finn tried to knock him out and lock him in his basement bedroom, Kurt would retaliate swiftly, brutally and publicly. While Kurt's threat was convincing and horrifying, and thus forcing Finn into compliance, Finn did insist that he be the one to drive. Kurt would've fought him on that one too, but the world blurred in front of his eyes right in that moment, so he conceded the point.

Finn drove with extra care – as in really, really slowly. Kurt preferred to think that it was because of the many death threats he'd leveled at the giant teen in regards to damaging his vehicle and not because of how at every lurch or turn, Kurt's hands went reflexively to his mouth. His stomach churned horribly and he would swear he actually felt his face turning green.

When they pulled up to the school, Mercedes and Tina were waiting for him, smiling happily, but as soon as they got a good look at him through the windshield of the Navigator, their eyes widened, then narrowed and glared. But not at Kurt.

The SUV had barely come to a stop when both girls were whipping open the passenger door, cooing and fussing over Kurt, as Finn came around to the front of the car. "Hi, guys."

Mercedes reached out and up to smack his shoulder. "How the hell could you let him come to school like this?!"

"Seriously, Finn, he looks like death warmed over!" Tina had a hand pressed against Kurt's forehead, which she grabbed back quickly. "And he feels like a furnace!"

Those two separate statements demanded some sort of snarky reply, but Kurt could only blink . . . when had the car stopped?

"Hey, I tried! I tried to get him to stay home! But he wasn't having it. I sleep in the same house as the guy – when he says he'll wax my face off in my sleep, I believe him!"

"Eyebrows," was Kurt's first word contributed to this conversation. "I said eyebrows. And death. And humiliation. Or something." A pause. "And I'm fine," he finally remembered to insist upon.

He was summarily ignored, which annoyed him because it had taken quite a bit of effort to force those paltry sentences out. He should get some acknowledgement for it.

He blinked down at his feet – oh God, his shoes didn't match his outfit.

"Yes, they do, sweetie, though I gotta say –" Kurt stared up at Mercedes, his lip trembling. She smiled with maternal affection and shook her head. "Never mind. So, you gonna be stubborn about sticking out the day?" Kurt nodded, attempting to appear stern. Mercedes sighed. "Fine. Let's call the gleek patrol together, we'll get you through it."

Some quick texting later had the entire glee club gathered around the car while staring at Kurt. Mercedes had shoved Kurt back into the passenger seat, and he was sitting sideways, legs dangling out of the car, half dozing. But he tried his best to stay awake for this, because clearly they were talking about him.

"I say we knock him out and lock him in the house," Puck suggested, giving Kurt an evaluating look. "It wouldn't take much."

Kurt pointed at Puck with a slightly shaky arm and finger, eyes only half open, but glaring. "You. Death. Murder. Don't."

"Yeah, whatever, pipsqueak, you can't even threaten me properly." Puck grinned at him, and Kurt felt his annoyance flare up again – it was good, because it helped counteract the fogginess of his mind.

He slid out of the car with only a slight stumble, drawing himself up to his full height before the jock. "I'm not a pipsqueak." He gestured at the barely-an-inch difference in their heights. "And I will kill you. Fast. Quiet. I'm a ninja – ask 'Cedes."

Puck glanced skeptically towards the girl, who nodded. "Once he's running a normal temperature again, he will destroy you, and you won't even see it coming."

"See!" Finn exclaimed triumphantly. "Scary! There was no way to get him to stay put!"

Kurt glared around at everyone. "Okay, so maybe I'm running a slight temperature," he raised a finger to Mercedes in a hush gesture. "But you've all been whining at me to get out of the house, and today is the first day in a long time that I've actually ventured to do so, willingly. I'm not going home. I want to be here."

Mercedes whacked his finger out of her face as Santana scowled. "Fine, you stubborn bitch, but we're totally babysitting your sorry ass."

"And" – Mercedes crossed her arms – "if we get even the tiniest hint that you're taking a turn for the worse, forget draggin' you home – I'm taking that sorry ass to the ER. You got me?"

Actually, Kurt had only deciphered maybe half of what they had said through the pounding in his skull, but he got the gist of it.

"Agreed. So, now what?"

Rachel took over here, demanding that everyone list their classes and those that had corresponding classes with Kurt would be in charge of monitoring him during those times. Kurt spoke only when asked for his schedule and after that focused completely on maintaining himself upright.

"Okay, that should about do it. And I'll be the one escorting him to lunch. Kurt . . . Kurt? Did you get all that?"

Kurt nodded, although it was a total lie. But he was sure with Rachel and Mercedes coordinating everything . . . wait, Rachel? Coordinating? Damn it, this sucks out loud.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Teachers at McKinley were a generally unobservant bunch, but Kurt felt like today of all days, they deserved some sort of special prize for obliviousness. He'd been half dozing, half dead in most of his morning classes, and while he'd had Santana and Brittany propping him up and taking notes for him in one class (well, Brittany had drawn rainbows around the notes that Santana was taking with surprising efficiency), and Tina and Artie slipping him water and some Tylenol in another, no one had asked him if he needed a trip to the nurse's office, except for his friends. They asked him multiple times – threatened, even, in Santana's case – but he refused and pushed himself through the day.

It felt good, satisfying, to get through the first half of his school day without worrying about his dad. A lot of that may have had to do with the fact that his fever was spiking, but he would take his victories where he could find them.

Of course, at lunchtime, everyone ganged up on him again and he was simply way too exhausted to deal with that.

"Kurt, God, you are seriously going to drop dead, and we'll all be arrested for aiding and abetting or negligence or something," Puck complained. "I so don't need anything else on my record."

"Only a couple of hours to go, stop bitching, you're giving me a headache." Truthfully, his headache from that morning had never really gone away, but all the bitching and moaning was making it worse.

"Kurt, I'm going to call your dad – this is ridiculous," Mercedes huffed out, and before she could lift her phone, Kurt's hand flew out – fast enough that it made Tina, who'd been sitting between Kurt and Mercedes, fly back – and snatched it from her fingers.

"No, we are not worrying my dad. I'm sorry, I realize this may have been stupid of me, but I just . . . needed to be here. Prove to myself that I could go a day without freaking out about my dad, without torturing myself with worst-case scenarios until I got home – and yes, yes I can. Mission accomplished. Tomorrow, I am staying home and you're back on homework collecting duty. Just let me finish out the day, please. I need this, Mercedes, and if I can manage a speech like this, then I really can't be that bad." It was weak, but he said it as clearly and calmly as he could; the lemon-honey tea that Rachel had made him eased his throat enough that it didn't come out hoarse or raspy.

Mercedes eyed him, irritated and speculative all at once, then sighed, grabbing her phone back but pocketing it. "Fine. But I swear to God, if I see you at school tomorrow, I will tie you up, throw you in the back seat of your car, get you home and then tie you to the freaking bed, if that's what it takes."

This was an acceptable compromise.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

It only took a space of two minutes for everything to fall apart.

But at least Kurt could say that it wasn't his fault – that it had nothing to do with his illness or his paranoia over his father. Actually, it might be his fault in the sense that he had been overly-antagonizing to a bully that was twice his size and had back-up in the form of several jocks with no qualms about messing with him, but even in his fevered state, he wasn't willing to take any blame off of those who sought to commit acts of violence against him.

One such person was Morris, who took advantage of that two minute gap before last period.

Rachel and Quinn had classes right next to Kurt's, had escorted him as far as the bathroom right next to his room, whereupon he had shooed them away. He was just going to splash some water on his face and go straight into a class that was three steps from the bathroom.

Morris hadn't been in the bathroom – but the instant Kurt stepped outside, he was faced with the bully and his cronies (he wondered, vaguely, if there was some training video or apprenticeship program for lackeys and what rules dictated the need for at least two or more add-ons for any big-time jerk). Morris didn't say a word – just clapped a hand Kurt's mouth as the other two tried to drag him . . . somewhere. His bag fell unceremoniously to the floor and Kurt tried to struggle free, gasping for breath.

The problem with this, however, was that Kurt's illness had lead to an incredibly stuffed-up nose by this point in his day.

Which meant that with a hand over his mouth, he couldn't breathe.

Which, oddly enough, even through the panic, gave him an idea.

He let his eyes roll back in his head and went completely limp. Arms caught him, tightening around his torso.

"What the hell?" he heard someone hiss. The hand fell away from his mouth. He took in a subtle breath, but remained as still as possible. His body had no problem with this plan as it had been screaming at him take a load off all day. They kept trying to drag him but he wasn't going to make this in any way easy; he just wished he had the strength or breath to make some kind of noise.

"Dude, he's like a hundred degrees – I think he's sick."

"Doesn't matter. Makes it easier for us."

"He's barely breathing! Shit, what if we –"

"Hummel, quit faking you –"

He opened his eyes to the blue sky, fresh air wafting around him. It was nicer than being cooped up in school – except for the fact that he was likely being dragged out for a beating of some sort. He was pushed hard, face first against what seemed to be the back wall of the building, and then they were stepping away, though not too far. Kurt snuck a hand to his pocket. Due to his level of incapacitation, he couldn't muster up much for any kind of physical call for help, even with adrenaline pumping through his system, waking him up. However, because he'd been so very sick and tired this morning, he hadn't been strong enough to do the usual dance that was involved in pulling on his skinny jeans, which meant looser pants, which meant that his phone was not in the bag that had been left behind just outside the bathroom. He just managed to palm his phone before he was whipped around – his hand went behind his back, and it hurt to be shoved hard into the wall again, but he was able to slide a finger across the screen. He was hoping like he'd never hoped before that all his secret, under the table texting in class meant he could do this without looking.

Just a phone call, and a hope that whoever got it would answer during class or at the very least check to see who was calling.

"Put this on, freak."

Morris had a bunch of cheap silky looking material in his hand, and it vaguely resembled . . . a slip? A dress? Really? Even with his brain currently boiling in fever (Mercedes was going to kill him if he needed a hospital at the end of this day) he recognized the pathetic nature of this plan.

"So you take a picture of me in girly clothes and what – that's supposed to humiliate me? Did you not see me in a silver dress and heels months ago?"

"Do it, Hummel," he hissed in his face. Kurt only smirked back, fingers twitching in his crushed hand, pushing what he thought was the call button.

"No. So I guess you'll have to make me." His voice getting raspier by the second. "I'm warning you – the gay thing is contagious. So you might like it."

"Shut up you pasty-faced fag!" was the battle cry issued and Kurt nodded to himself. He didn't need to yell, apparently – this idiot was going to take care of that for him.

What happened next was that three boys tried to manhandle Kurt out of his clothes. It wasn't as terrifying or violating as it could have been, because they were clearly reluctant, trying to touch him as little as possible, and therefore easily beaten back by his weak flailing and scathing comments. Morris was puce in his fury, and Kurt felt a brief stab of regret – because his no-holds-barred verbal beat-downs had lead to this. While Morris seemed to be an unrepentant asshole who might have pulled something like this somewhere down the line regardless, Kurt had clearly jabbed at a raw nerve with his previous insults. And that made him feel like a bully.

Right now the boy was trying to assault him, so his regret was fleeting, but a sliver of shame remained. However, he was not going to let Morris hurt him, not going to forgive this if it did, indeed, end up happening.

"Hey, don't you fucking touch him!"

Kurt whipped his head in tandem with his would-be assaulters as Finn came tearing around a corner, face red, phone in his hands. Kurt had no idea who his phone had dialled until that second, and the relief was as powerful as the fever that was attempting to take him out at the knees. In fact, his legs were distinctly wobbly – he figured it was time to sit now, which he did, hard, on the ground. The bullies around him flinched back, looking at each other as if to say it wasn't me!

Morris was caught between something like a scowl and unabashed panic. He could definitely get suspended for this, if not expelled (thought Kurt was leaning towards the former, since this was McKinley, haven for jerks and jackasses – bully as you will).

His stomach rolled suddenly and he turned away from the scene playing out before and above him – his dad was going to flip out, which was the last thing his heart needed, that his recovery needed. But Kurt was too tired to get truly worked up about it.

Maybe he could take a nap now – Finn would take care of this.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Finn wasn't skipping class, not really – he just hadn't seen Kurt much except for lunch, and taking the long way to class, making himself a little late, wasn't going to hurt anyone.

The halls were empty as he approached the classroom Kurt was supposed to be in, but before he even got close to the door he saw it: Kurt's bag, sitting on the floor. He frowned, pushing open the door into the bathroom. It was empty – he checked every stall to be sure. Then his phone buzzed against his thigh. He pulled it out and immediately answered. He didn't get a chance to say hello, because he heard, muffled yet loud: " – the gay thing is contagious. So you might like it."

"Shut up you pasty-faced fag!"

"Kurt!" he yelled, turning to run – where? He had no idea where to go. He nearly crashed into Puck on his way out – the other boy was clutching Kurt's bag, the same confused look on his face that Finn had no doubt had seconds ago.

"Kurt's in trouble!" Finn blurted out. "Morris, it's Morris!"

Puck kicked into gear instantly. "Then he's either by the field or somewhere else near the outside of the school, maybe near the dumpsters – that's where all the major shit goes down. It's only been a couple minutes since class started, he's close – I'll go check by the field, you go the other way!"

Finn nodded and turned as he ran to yell, "You'll go by Mr. Schue's class that way – get him!"

Puck shot him a thumbs-up without facing him. Finn burst out of the double doors a second later and to his shock he found Kurt only a few seconds after that, rounding the first corner around the outside of the building.

Morris and a couple of his friends had Kurt pressed up against the wall and the boy seemed fine (as fine he could be while sick like a dog, that is). Finn saw them all picking at him – not punching him, or kicking him, but that didn't matter. "Hey, don't you fucking touch him!"

They all whipped around to stare at him, Kurt included. He saw a flicker of a smile cross his face before he slid down the wall, sitting down in a jumble of legs and arms, looking paler and sicker than ever. Next time Finn was going to just have to risk the hot wax – Kurt was going to be down for a long time with this fever and it was partially his fault.

"Morris, you son of bitch, what the hell did you think you were doing!"

The bully gaped soundlessly for a minute, then Kurt opened his eyes halfway, glancing up at them all. "He didn't get a chance to hurt me, Finn. Just wanted to embarrass me." He nodded towards something lacy and girly clutched in Morris' hand. Finn could feel himself flushing red, his hands balling up in anger.

"You're serious? Dude, did you not see what he wears on a regular basis? The silver dress? The corset?"

Morris friends were looking sorry that they even knew the guy, and Finn calmed down slightly, seeing that Kurt was completely unharmed, if a little rumpled. "He's sick right now and his dad almost died a little while ago. You guys are seriously scum, you know that?"

"He didn't get anything that he didn't already have coming to him!" Morris finally exploded, clearly enraged at having his plans foiled. "He thinks he can act this way, say whatever he wants –"

He kind of sagged then, looking worn out, even though his own hands were clenched into fists. Kurt was looking sleepy, his eyes closing every now and then, but he managed to gaze at Morris, his face twisting up like he was sorry. Finn remembered some of the vicious things Kurt had said to the other boy; he could see why Morris was so pissed off, but that didn't excuse this – not by a long shot.

"Morris –"

"Finn, Kurt!"

Now it was Finn turning in unison with everyone else, seeing Mr. Schue and half the glee club running towards them. Morris and his friends looked like they might try to run, but Finn moved towards them quickly and blocked off their escape on one side, just in time for the others to appear and surround them.

"What is going on here?" Mr. Schue demanded, staring down at Kurt with concern. He shouldered past the bullies, leaning down to look at Kurt closely. He put a hand on the boy's forehead. "Geez, Kurt, you're burning up, why on earth are you in school today?"

"Because I'm a dumbass," was Kurt's raspy reply. "Mercedes is all-knowing, I bow to her wisdom."

"Damn straight, you idiot." Mercedes pushed past the jocks too, ignoring them completely. "You okay? Did they hurt you?"

"No, they didn't get the chance – Finn did the Superman thing. Nick of time." Kurt was breathing heavily, eyes looking like they refused to stay open.

"Mercedes, Quinn," Mr. Schue called, and the two girls were instantly at Kurt's side, helping him up. "He's going to need the nurse and a ride home. But first –"

He turned to the bullies as the two girls moved Kurt somewhere behind him, his eyes narrowing at the three jocks. "What was going to happen here?"

Finn blurted out the plan, or what he thought was the plan, as quickly as possible, including the few seconds of conversation he'd had with Morris just before everyone else arrived. When Morris and his buddies didn't say anything to disagree, he saw his teacher go from vaguely angry and worried to something else entirely.

Finn had seen Mr. Schue in many different moods – the guy was like an older brother to him, even kind of a father figure (but Mr. Schue was younger than Burt, so older brother seemed to fit better, though he did have that dorky vibe that most dads had). Point being, Mr. Schue was a pretty cool guy, and besides losing it on Ms. Sylvester once or twice, and having some teacher-moments where he scolded the crap out of them, Finn had typically seen him as this really patient, caring instructor, always willing to listen and take in what his students were saying.

This man standing between Kurt and the bullies wasn't any of those things. This was scary and vaguely Dark-Knightish. Actually, maybe not even 'vaguely' – there were definite undertones of Christian Bale going on there.

"You." His voice was low, silky, and simmering with rage. Finn almost took a step back and he was behind the guy. The jocks before him looked like they were going to piss their pants.

"You are going to report to Figgins' office. You are going to wait there, and say nothing other than that I sent you. I will be there in a few minutes, and I will explain what you have done, in great detail. You will most likely be suspended. Now, if you are not suspended, you will be serving detention with me. Every day. For a month. And in either case, let it be known that I am no longer oblivious to your cruelty – I will be watching all of you, and if you take so much as a step towards any kid in this school with a slushie in hand, I will throw you in detention again. If I find you near any dumpsters, I will throw you in detention. Hassle any of my Glee kids again, and I will throw you in detention."

The word 'detention' had never sounded so much like 'I will water-board your ass and make you cry for mommy.' Finn actually shuddered. The other glee club kids were frozen behind him, looking towards their leader with a degree of respect and fear. Finn glanced over at Puck, who was wide-eyed, his mouth open – it was an expression of complete awe. Finn understood – Puck was witnessing true 'badassery' in action. On his best day, Puck couldn't sound nearly as menacing.

The jocks all looked like they wanted to crawl into the dumpsters nearby and hide for the rest of their lives.

"Get yourselves to Figgins' office. Now."

Before the final word had died on the air, they were gone. It was amazing. Mr. Schuester stood there for a minute, stiff and soldier-straight. Then he slumped a bit, exhaling loudly, and rubbing at his face.

When he turned around, Finn and everyone else held their breath, but it was their Mr. Schue that faced them, looking tired and sad, but managing to give them all a weak half smile. He clapped Finn and Puck on one shoulder each.

"I am so proud of you guys. You reacted fast and got him out of danger – well done."

"Shit, Mr. Schue, that was friggin' amazing," Puck burst out, and then immediately snapped his mouth shut.

Everyone started nodding and talking at once, but Mr. Schue silenced them with a single wave of his hand, staring at the pale boy standing their midst.

"Kurt – Kurt, you okay?" he asked gently. Finn watched as Kurt carefully lifted his head, a small bruise blossoming on the left side of his face, eyes bloodshot. Finn felt another surge of fury flare up in him, but he shoved it down. Mercedes kept her arms around Kurt on one side, Quinn on the other.

"I . . ." His voice cracked, and faded away. Kurt cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm . . . okay. But . . . I really need to talk to my dad, so that he doesn't worry . . ."

And then he fainted.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Author's Note: So, yes, I'm a terrible person for being terribly late yet again, but I'm a terrible person who was in her last year of university amongst other life-changing circumstances, so please accept this chapter with my apologies :) I seem to like putting Kurt in situations where his bullies are caught and forced to face consequences for their actions - I just noticed the similarities between this and another story of mine. *shrugs* Well, I guess it's something that really stuck with me, that seeming lack of punishment when it comes to bullying at McKinley. Moving on - the main focus is the drama between Kurt and his dad, which will be resolved soon!

Only one more chapter left to go, I swear! In the meantime I have two other stories I need to finish, so if you're following those, yes, they will also be updated soon (and completed because I believe they each only need one more chapter as well).

Hugs and love to any of you still reading, and those that have put this story on their favourites and/or alerts throughout this whole lengthy process, and those that have reviewed most especially, as your words gave me the extra push I needed to get this done! I will reply to any of you that do decide to comment far more promptly than normal, hopefully, now that school is out of the way :)