OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Drown My Sorrow
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Burt was watching his son.
Kurt was asleep on the couch, hardly moving, but clearly breathing.
Burt had been doing that a lot for the past couple days, starting in the hospital room, and now that his kid was home – watching Kurt, being around Kurt, not capable of stepping away for more than the few minutes it took him to go to the bathroom or take a shower. To get him a glass of water. To grab his painkillers.
Carole was sitting opposite Burt on the loveseat, watching both him and his son. Her eyes did that gleaming thing they did whenever they looked Kurt's way. She had cried for hours after Burt had called her from the hospital; she'd shown up and fussed over Finn, tears still pouring down her face. And she'd been angry too. Extremely so.
Something he and everyone who knew Kurt had in common.
How could this happen? Who let it happen? Why did it happen at all?
Mercedes came into the room, holding a mug of hot tea and sitting back down in her previous position with Kurt's huge feet in her lap. She smiled at both Burt and Carole. Finn came in next, holding a plate of cookies. Just for him, Burt thought, amused. Carole was already munching on a bowl of popcorn and Burt couldn't have any more sugary crap. Wonderful sugary crap. Even just one, apparently.
"No, Burt," Carole said softly from across the room. Mercedes snorted into her hand as Burt shot his girlfriend a plaintive look.
Finn sat down on the floor, next to Mercedes' legs, and started eating the cookies, oblivious. The movie, A Philadelphia Story, was playing, the volume so low it was practically muted. Kurt had fallen asleep less than half way through and, for some reason, none of them bothered to turn it off. They just let it go on, half watching the screen, half watching Kurt dozing. Mostly watching Kurt.
Mercedes was tenderly stroking her best friend's legs, sipping on her tea, eyes glazed over as she turned to the screen.
The first person Burt had bumped into at the hospital had been Mercedes, and she had been a mess, possessed in equal parts by anger and grief.
Burt ripped into that place fast enough to frighten the crap out of two orderlies hanging around the emergency room doors – they practically fell over as he breezed past them, a blur of panic. He was opening his mouth, preparing to yell for his son, for anyone who might know where he was, when another equally, if not faster blur ran into him.
"Oh God, Mr. Hummel, oh, Kurt." Then there was crying and Burt's arms were coming up, hugging Mercedes tightly for a brief moment before pulling her back and bending to look her in the eye.
"Mercedes, tell me, tell me what happened! Is he okay?"
It took a minute for her to calm down enough to speak, and in the meantime her cries were incomprehensible, a jumble of words and noises. He waited with all the patience he could muster.
"He's . . . he's alive, and stable." Mercedes breathed in deeply. "But the doctors say that they won't talk to anyone but you and . . ."
"Okay," he said, and that was a start, but not nearly enough to satisfy him. He caught sight of a desk, surrounded by nurses and other staff, and started to march over to it.
"Mr. Hummel." Mercedes grabbed onto his arm, squeezing tightly. "He . . ." She swallowed hard, but the tears kept pouring down her face, "He was unconscious and there was blood, and I'm sorry, I know you're freaking out right now, but I just . . . he's my best friend and can I just . . . can I be with you when you go see the doctor? Please. I can't . . ." The girl was wheezing by this point, as if her throat was closing up. "It's too much and I can't stand another second of not knowing. Please."
Burt wrapped his hand around hers, tugging her along. "Let's go, Mercedes."
He walked up to the nurses and asked for his son, and as he saw them whip into action to track down the doctor responsible for Kurt, he turned to the girl, asking lowly, "The person or people who did this to him?"
"That girl who saved him – the cops are talking to her right now – she said it was just one . . . Azimio." Her voice went ice cold, shaking like she was, but oddly detached too. "He better pray the cops find him first, Mr. Hummel, 'cause with all due respect to you and your shotgun, I want to take him apart. Nice and slow. And I've got about a dozen other people who want a piece of him."
The rage in her eyes was almost frightening – no teenager should know that level of anger. Or sadness. Burt couldn't find it in him to be intimidated or worried by her, because given half a chance, he would do the same. He would do things these kids couldn't even fathom to the piece of crap that dared hurt his child.
"We're gonna take care of Kurt first, Mercedes," he said softly. And then we'll rip into the little bastard that did this, he promised himself darkly. Whether or not it would happen was inconsequential – the rage kept him from breaking into tears, kept him from falling to his knees and begging any and all deities to spare his son any more pain, to keep Kurt alive and whole.
Burt watched the girl now as she sipped her drink and cast a searching eye on Kurt every few seconds. The rage in her had dimmed once she knew that Kurt was going to be fine; she had been sitting, content and calm, in the back of the SUV with his son as they drove back from the hospital early that morning. Mercedes filled the silence, chattering away about this celebrity or that red-carpet outfit. Kurt had been smiling a little and making small one-sentence comments here and there. Burt was so grateful to this amazing teenager – this amazing young woman who so loved his son.
"Hey, uh, mom, do you think Kurt will care if I finish off those cookies you made him?" Finn said, looking up from a now empty plate. Burt couldn't help making a face – as great as Carole was at baking, he firmly believed in high sugar content when it came to cookies and cakes, otherwise, what was the point?
"Go on, Finn." Carole exchanged a fond smile with Burt over her son's head. "I can always make more."
Finn leapt to his feet at that announcement, pausing to ask if Mercedes wanted some too. She shook her head as he walked around the couch to head towards the kitchen. He took a second on his way to tuck the blanket around Kurt a little higher up, to just under the boy's chin.
Burt was grinning ear to ear, and Carole was too, while wiping discretely at a stray tear.
When Burt had come upon Finn (and the rest of Kurt's glee club) at the hospital, it had been the one thing that could distract him from the doctor's description of his son's injuries.
It took Burt a long time to calm down after Dr. Macaulay described every bit of suffering his son was going through – the hypothermia (what the hell?), the head injury, the cracked ribs, and the details pertaining to each one. All the anger, fear and grief had mixed into a lead ball of nausea and he couldn't, just could not deal with it. He'd forgotten about Mercedes at his side, who was crying again, cursing between sobs and praying when she managed to calm herself down once more.
After the doctor's reassurances that Kurt would likely be okay (though it depended on when and how he woke up), that soon he could go into the room and sit with his kid, Burt managed to slowly come back to the real world – enough to actually take in his surroundings.
Which included various police officers and paramedics – and at least half, no, wait, all of the Glee club. He spotted Finn, who was sitting in a corner, fuming, with an officer . . . standing guard?
"Finn?" He approached the boy, Finn's head whipping up, apparently seeing Burt for the first time.
"Burt!" He jumped to his feet, the officer next to him saying nothing, but still keeping an evaluating stare on him as Burt came to stand in front of the tall teenager. He took stock of the black eye, the bruised and bleeding knuckles, the tape around his wrist and his stiff posture.
"Jesus, I thought that it was just Kurt." Burt reached out, putting a careful hand on Finn's shoulder. "You okay, buddy?"
Finn shook his head, dismissing Burt's concern, but he covered the hand on his shoulder with his own. "I'm fine, forget about me, how's Kurt?"
"He'll be okay, the doctor says." Burt was trying to reassure himself even as he was reassuring Finn. "But, c'mon now, you haven't told me what happened."
"I don't know exactly what happened to Kurt, but when the police and the ambulance showed up . . . The teachers tried to keep us in class, but we went to the hallway anyway, and then they were keeping everyone away from the locker room, and first they wheeled this girl out, and she was crying and stuff. And then . . ." Finn mouthed wordlessly, staring over Burt's shoulder. "Then came Kurt. And we all just freaked out. Mercedes wouldn't let them take him, she just kept screaming 'who did this?' and that girl, she started screaming at a few of the guys on the football team – she said Azimio had done it and they were all denying that Azimio would do something like this. I just . . . I couldn't stop staring at the blood. And how white he was."
Finn was looking green at this, and Burt could relate – he didn't think he would ever be able to get rid of the sick feeling in his stomach. "I saw Karofsky, and he's like, Azimio's best friend, and he tortures Kurt just as bad, and I . . . I lost it. I threw the first punch. And then everything just exploded."
"It was actually pretty awesome, Mr. Hummel."
Burt turned to see Artie being wheeled over by Brittany, who looked a little the worse for the wear herself. Artie was sporting a bruise high on his forehead, and he was squinting – his glasses were missing.
"Finn starts whaling on Karofsky and a bunch of the guys on the football team and some hockey jocks were either trying to stop him, or hitting him. When we all tried to help, it was like the whole school got in on it."
"I broke Adam Silverman's nose," Brittany announced. "And then I told him Kurt was a better kisser than him. Which is true. And he has duck-fat soft baby hands. But I didn't get to tell Adam that. Puck tackled him before I could."
A curtain whipped open somewhere further down from them, and a male nurse was complaining, "You need to sit down! That –"
"My head is fine, dude," Puck growled – Burt saw the mohawk before he saw the blood-splattered shirt. "I didn't even black out. Unlike that douchebag that I –"
"Shut the fuck up, Puckerman." Now it was that Latina cheerleader, coming around a corner, tugging her jacket up over her shoulders, a few bruises dotting the right side of her face. As she got closer, Burt saw she was also sporting bloodstained clothes, and her face had smudges of it around and on her lips. "There are a bunch of cops around, you moron."
She smiled winningly at a couple of the officers staring at Mokawk Boy suspiciously. "He's babbling nonsense – head injury." The cops found somewhere else to stare. Burt figured it was the fact that the blood smeared on her mouth was somewhat off putting, especially considering she had no split lip or missing teeth or bloody nose.
He took further stock of his surroundings. He saw the new blonde kid – Sam – getting his knuckles looked at, the doctor disinfecting the deep scrapes that covered them. Quinn was at his side – her lip was split and bleeding but she seemed fine otherwise. There was Mike Chang, with Tina standing by him, and a doctor checking his wrist and shoulder, before telling him he'd dislocated the shoulder; Burt couldn't help but wincing, because that was going to hurt like a bitch, and then some.
The police milling around seemed to be keeping an eye on all the kids, including a few Burt didn't recognize, as they weren't part of the Glee club, and so were likely either the jock side of this battle or collateral damage. Finn was the only one who had his own personal escort, though, which didn't sit well with him.
He faced the cop. "Look, this boy here is my responsibility – any reason why you can't leave him with me?"
The officer shifted uncomfortably under Burt's stare. "He may or may not be charged with assault. The boy he attacked is still unconscious and here at the hospital –"
"That . . . boy," Burt managed not to say 'bastard', but only just, "may be an accomplice in my son's assault. Finn here is good friends with my kid and I'm dating his mom, so he's practically family too. I think you can understand his reaction now. I'll take care of him – he won't be skipping town or nothing if that . . . boy's . . . parents want to press charges."
Mercedes had been silent up until this point, but she snorted incredulously at that. "Karofsky press charges? After all the crap he's put Kurt through and Finn giving him his just desserts and now he –" She broke off, growling angrily. Burt nodded along, putting a hand on her shoulder. She smiled briefly at him before crossing her arms and glaring at the cop.
That's when he noticed her bruised knuckles.
It made him grin suddenly. Finn caught his eye, and then glanced pointedly at Mercedes and back again. He was grinning too, and mouthing something over her head: 'Really damn scary.'
Burt pulled her to his side and led Finn away from the officer without another word. The glee club fell in line or at least those that weren't under the charge of nurses or doctors. Mercedes started to ramble about how Finn had totally kicked Karofsky's ass – no contest – and how most of the school had taken their side – the loser side – and completely dominated the jocks. Finn broke in now and again with Figgins' reaction. Schuester apparently was in another part of the hospital, getting stitches put in his head after one jock didn't respond kindly to being restrained and shoved the man hard against an open locker, slicing his temple.
The ringing of the doorbell jerked Burt out of his reminiscing. He immediately looked towards Kurt, but his kid was still passed out; he didn't do more than make a disgruntled noise and turn to face the back of the couch. Mercedes winced as one of his feet jabbed her in the side, but once he stilled she just resettled herself, resuming her even strokes.
Finn stood up to answer the door and while he did that, Burt glanced up at the clock – it was only two in the afternoon. They'd brought Kurt home from the hospital at around nine that morning and Burt, despite several hours of being back in his own house, everyone present and accounted for, couldn't quite make peace with the idea that the worst was over with. Some part of his mind kept to that plain white room, with his unconscious son. He didn't think he'd ever be able to shake that off – not ever. That lead ball was still in his belly and even glancing over at his slumbering boy every few seconds didn't ease the ever-present nausea in him. Not with those bruises colouring Kurt's face, the nasty cut on his temple, and the slight twitches when he jostled his injured ribs.
"Hello, Mr. Hummel, Mrs. Hudson," came a soft, polite tone from over his shoulder.
Burt turned in his armchair to see Finn leading Blaine into the living room. The boy was out of uniform, dressed in jeans and a fancy sweater, sort of like a few of the tamer ones that Kurt owned. He was also shifting a bit on his feet, his eyes flicking to each person in the room, a charming half-smile for all of them, and a slightly wider one for Mercedes.
Finn pointed towards the couch and Blaine leaned up onto the balls of his feet to see Kurt sprawled there, asleep. Burt saw both guilt and relief twist the boy's features; it was an odd combination, but then again, Blaine did seem to feel that this was all his fault somehow – something Burt saw in the other Glee kids too. Burt had heard more apologies in the past two days than he figured a Catholic priest heard in a year.
Burt gestured towards Carole, who was patting the seat next to her and closest to Kurt without sitting on the floor, like Finn was doing. Burt had to smile as he watched Finn resuming his steady consumption of his not-really-cookie cookies.
Blaine shot her a grateful look, taking his seat and casting a vaguely interested glance towards the screen, his own smile returning as he watched Katherine Hepburn and Jimmy Stewart swaying drunkenly to music.
"Kurt and I had a debate about which movie was better – this one, or the musical remake with Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly," Blaine said quietly.
"Kurt probably liked this one better." Carole offered some of her popcorn to Blaine, who took a few kernels.
He leaned back onto the cushions. "Yeah, but he never got around to telling me why."
Carole grinned. "Because Jimmy Stewart was one of his first crushes – he was a goner the first time he saw It's a Wonderful Life, he told me. I think he's on the look-out for a guy who can lasso the moon for him."
Burt gave a muted chuckle as Blaine's eyes crinkled with a hidden smile, shooting his sleeping son an adoring look that Burt had, up until now, only seen on the faces of Kurt's best friends, and Carole on occasion.
Whether it was based on just a simple, platonic liking of his son, or if it was more, he couldn't tell . . . But considering how incredibly freaked out the kid had been on Friday, so much the opposite of this self-possessed boy sitting in his living room right now? Burt was willing to bet his share of the garage that Blaine was feeling more for his son than friendship – even if he didn't fully realize it yet.
Mercedes had been sitting next to him, silent and no longer shaking. Carole was sitting on his other side, clutching his hand and clenching her jaw periodically. He'd called her less than fifteen minutes before, and she'd shown up, worried out of her mind for her son and Kurt, crying and trying not to at the same time as she wrapped Finn up in her arms, and then, when Burt had choked out what had happened to Kurt, at least what little he knew . . .
"Are you serious? That's unacceptable – how in the hell could Figgins let things get this far?" she had hissed. "No, we need to call a lawyer, right now, because there is no way the bastard that did this to Kurt can get away with it! Figgins and the school board need to be held accountable. Those stupid assholes need to –"
Burt had never been more in love with the woman than he had been right then. He grabbed her and held her close, breathing in harshly, holding back tears again. Mercedes had interrupted the tender embrace with an abrupt gasp.
They both jerked apart, looking towards her questioningly. She waved Kurt's phone at them.
The police had given it to Burt not too long ago. It had been tossed in a garbage can outside the locker room, and apparently they had noted it in their report but weren't going to keep it as evidence. The officer who had handed it to him had been fuzzy on the details; Burt had the feeling the man was bending some rules for him, so he'd smiled gratefully and accepted the iPhone, then promptly handed it to Mercedes for safe-keeping because he knew he'd likely forget it somewhere, his mind scattered as it was.
"Sorry," the girl apologized, clutching Kurt's cell tightly. "I just turned it on and, um, there's like a billion messages from Blaine, so I'm going to –"
"Blaine?" Burt gave her a blank look, "Who's Blaine?"
Mercedes lifted a hand to her mouth. "Oh . . . uh, Kurt didn't mention him to you?"
Burt shook his head, lifting an eyebrow as Mercedes bit her lip, avoiding his gaze while fiddling with Kurt's phone.
"Should he have?"
Mercedes lifted the phone to her ear, still not meeting his eyes. "He's . . . a new friend of Kurt's from Dalton."
"That all-boy place? The one he was 'spying' on?"
Mercedes nodded, but just as she opened her mouth to say something more, the faint sound of someone answering on the other end of the line cut her off.
"No, Blaine – I'm Mercedes." She smiled briefly at the floor in response to whatever the boy said. "Yeah, I'm his best girl. But . . . no. That's not it. Blaine, Kurt." Her voice thickened, and Burt and Carole reached out simultaneously to comfort her. She received the hands on her shoulders with closed eyes. "He's in the hospital. Someone hurt him and – what? What did you – St. Anne's Hospital. But, Blaine –" Mercedes pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the screen. "I think he's actually on his way."
Burt felt only faint curiousity at this announcement. That his son hadn't mentioned a friend he'd made barely a week ago didn't really register in his 'Top Five Things to Be Worried About'. It didn't even break his Top Ten. He settled into a chair with Carole right next to him, Mercedes close on his left, and wondered why the hell the doctor was taking so damn long.
Burt became a little more curious about Blaine when the boy burst into their area not twenty minutes later, disheveled and frantic.
"Blaine!" Mercedes had jumped up to greet him, and soon Burt wasn't alone in his interest – Finn and Carole were both eying the boy, and the rest of the Glee club was jerking up from naps or day dreams, all eyes on him as Mercedes made her way over.
He grabbed her upper arms as soon as she was within reach. "Oh God, tell me what happened! Is he okay? Is it bad?"
Mercedes was quick to answer. "He's going to be fine. The doctor said they need to wait until he wakes up to know more, but –"
"Wakes up?" Blaine sagged, eyes shutting tightly. He dropped his hands from her, lifting them to cover his face. "God, was it Karofsky? Because I need to talk to –"
"No, it was a friend of his – well, we don't actually know for sure, but it looks like Azimio was the one who did the beating."
Blaine dragged his hands down his cheeks, before letting them fall listlessly to his sides. "I can't believe it. No, that's a lie. I can, I just . . . Kurt –" He opened his eyes, looking about as guilty and distraught as all of Kurt's fellow Glee club members.
Mercedes snatched one hand in her own. "I know."
"He's not . . . no one in the world deserves to be treated like this, but of all . . . I told him to stand up to those douchebags, God." Blaine was shaking his head. "What if that's what happened? He's been taking my advice and getting assaulted and threatened, and I didn't know it was this bad until a few days ago, but I should've said something, made him leave that damn place and –"
"Blaine?" Burt stepped forward, holding his hand out. "I'm Burt Hummel, Kurt's father."
Blaine's mouth snapped shut, his eyes widening. Mercedes took a step back, but she kept a grip on Blaine's hand. Blaine reached over with his free hand to shake Burt's, his grip loose, then firm, then loose again before letting go.
"Oh. Mr. Hummel, sir, I, I'm so sorry, about Kurt. Really, I think I can honestly take the blame for –"
"Kid, the only thing you should feel responsible for is the huge smile on my son's face when he talks about that fancy school of yours," Burt said with a wry smile. "And for helping him out when he wouldn't even talk to me about what was happening."
"I . . . appreciate that, sir, but he wasn't exactly telling me everything either . . . not that I'm blaming him!" He rushed to add, eyes huge in his face. Burt could hear one of the girls giggling somewhere behind him, and a choked off laugh that sounded a bit like Finn. "He's amazing, your son and . . ."
"Blaine, relax," Burt said soothingly, taking a few steps away from the other Glee kids and Carole. Mercedes was tugging Blaine along to follow him. "The only person I'm blaming is the bastard who did this."
"And you're sure it wasn't Karofsky? I mean, I want to believe the guy is just confused and lashing out, because who wants to believe that there are people who are capable of being such total pricks for no other reason than . . . because they're pricks? To hate someone for something beyond their control? Someone like Kurt, who's so . . ."
"Amazing?" Burt was trying very hard to hold back a grin because it felt really inappropriate, but even though his heart was in pieces for the second time in his life, he couldn't help but be amused by this boy.
Blaine's jaw hung open for a second, then he ran a hand through his hair, wincing as he messed up his gelled curls – his hand came away with a noticeable shine. He wiped it on the jacket he was wearing over his school blazer. "I'm sorry, I'm not usually this . . . incoherent. Or inarticulate. Which I suppose could be the same thing. And I could leave, if you would please just call me when –"
"Blaine." Burt shoved him down into a chair a ways from everyone, speaking in a low tone, "You're sticking around as long as you need to and I'm sure Kurt's gonna be real glad you came. But I need to ask you – you're the one who tried to talk to that . . . Karofsky, after what he did to Kurt, right?"
Burt didn't elaborate further, and he was presuming that Mercedes knew about the whole . . . kiss thing – Kurt hadn't mentioned if she did, but he figured that after finally telling his father, he would tell his best friend, if she hadn't known already. Mercedes didn't look curious or confused in the slightest, just kept her focus on Blaine, so he took that to mean that she knew exactly what he was talking about.
Blaine nodded. "I should have made him tell somebody, I assumed . . . I should have realized that things were so much worse than he was telling me. I got the feeling after I met the guy myself. He's big and scared – and angry. But you said it wasn't him who did this?"
"No, no it was his friend," Mercedes repeated. "This asshole named Azimio – but Karofsky might've had something to do with it. There's a girl who saw it all, who called the cops and everything. She's in the hospital right now, talking with some officers, so we'll know soon. I kinda wanna talk to her myself, if she'll let me."
Blaine let out a long breath. "Right. Okay. I'm going to stay, and maybe come by tomorrow, too?" He looked up with a questioning gaze at Burt, who nodded.
"Yeah, c'mon by, in the afternoon would be best. I know it's gonna be a Saturday, but I want you to do something for me tomorrow morning. I need you to get me forms – applications to Dalton. Drop them off at my house, I'll make sure that someone's there to let you in, since I'll be here. Kurt's not going back to McKinley."
Mercedes gasped. "Mr. Hummel –"
"I know, Mercedes, I know. But he isn't safe. I should've done this the first time those jackasses threw him in a dumpster." Blaine flinched at that, surprise flitting across his features. Kurt really hadn't told him too many details, had he? "Now, I know for him to transfer a few months into –"
Blaine was shaking his head. "No sir, there's special admission standards for stuff like this, I know there are. I'll figure it out, and get all the info to you. Kurt's brilliant at everything, so there's bound to be some scholarships and the like, since tuition is probably going to be a bit much for you . . . oh, not that – I don't mean to assume . . . That is –"
Burt couldn't help it, he had to chuckle, rolling eyes as he tried to calm the boy down. "Blaine, I get what you're saying, and I really appreciate you doing this for me. For Kurt."
"Anything, anytime, Mr. Hummel," Blaine said earnestly. His eyes were brightening and he couldn't quite disguise the grin that was overtaking his features. "Kurt's going to fit in so well at Dalton – and it'll afford him so many opportunities, not to mention that he'd be great as a Warbler. I mean, based on that incredible Cheerios' performance at Nationals –"
Mercedes raised her eyebrows. "Kurt told you about that? No, wait, I bet you looked it up, right?"
"It was on ESPN and Sue Sylvester is a local celebrity – a friend of mine found it on YouTube!" Blaine tried to defend himself. Mercedes coughed out something about 'cheerleading uniforms' and Blaine was turning his head, pressing his lips together hard as a pink flush covered his cheeks.
Burt felt his protective father instincts creeping up, but he couldn't help but like this kid – he had been scared that it would be some older, college guy Kurt would drag home as his first boyfriend, or a too-smooth jock, or any other number of guys who seemed the type to take advantage . . . but this guy seemed to be the real deal. Seemed to like his son for who he was and probably didn't even get that he was developing a crush.
"Mr. Hummel?"
Burt blinked, staring at the DVD menu screen, and then turning to face Blaine. Carole was up and heading toward the kitchen with her empty bowl, Mercedes' half-finished tea and Finn's empty plate. Mercedes was dozing lightly and Kurt remained completely passed out. Finn had stood up, stretching, as his cell phone rang with a phone call from Rachel – he excused himself, taking the call in his own room as Rachel demanded in a clear, loud voice an update on Kurt's condition.
Blaine was flicking his gaze back and forth between Burt and Kurt. "I want to thank you for inviting me to your home, even though you don't really know me beyond what Mercedes has told you."
Burt waved off the gratitude. "I trust that girl more than I do most people – if she says you're good people, then I believe it. You gonna hang around for a while longer?"
"If you don't mind – but I can't stay too late, it's a school night and my parents let me have the car with the stipulation that I be back by nine, the latest, so . . . I was hoping that he'd wake up . . . but I don't want to disturb him. I'll probably be coming back throughout the week, if that's all right with you?"
Burt nodded. "Come on by as often as you want, Kurt could really use the cheering up. He's going to be at home for a week, doc's orders. And I still need to straighten out his admission to Dalton – he'll need people around to keep him from going stir crazy. Few years back, when he had the chicken pox, he actually managed to rearrange all the furniture in the house and bedazzle half my clothes out of boredom."
Blaine covered his mouth to smother a loud snort of laughter. He shot a quick, worried look towards Kurt, but the boy didn't even stir.
Burt knew that this exhaustion was normal, and his pain meds made him sleepy on top of that, but it had been almost six hours since he'd heard his son's voice. As if reading his mind, Kurt turned in his sleep, eyes fluttering, then opening, slowly blinking. "Dad?" It was little more than a croak, but it was enough to soothe some of Burt's concern.
"Yeah, kiddo? You still tired? You can keep sleeping if you want to."
"Thought . . . what time is it?" Kurt ran his tongue over his teeth, grimacing. "Ugh, I feel gross."
"It's almost three," Blaine said, causing Kurt to jerk, titling his head in an upside-down way to see over the arm of the couch. His hair was practically standing on end in some places, and matted down in others. He seemed to realize this after another minute, a hand jumping up to comb through the brown locks. "Blaine!" He sounded nearly distraught, though there was an edge of surprised happiness to his voice.
"I told you I would come by today." Blaine smiled widely, taking in Kurt's sleep ruffled appearance with a subtly roving gaze. Burt chose to ignore that. "Mercedes called me when you got home – she told me you were in and out of sleep so I decided to wait before driving over. How are you doing?"
Kurt swallowed hard, rubbing at his eyes as he sat up, carefully lifting his feet off his sleeping best friend. "I . . . I'm okay. Just ridiculously drowsy thanks to the painkillers. And clearly unmoisturized, unshowered, and a general slovenly disaster to behold."
"No one wakes up at their best," Blaine said cheerily. "And your worst bed-head is nowhere near mine! You should see this" – he pointed at his heavily styled hair – "first thing in the morning. It's like some kind of monster from a B horror movie. Bet I beat you in time spent in front of mirrors."
Burt snorted. "I'd like to take that bet. There's a reason why the kid has his own bathroom."
Kurt glared at his father, with all the power of a fluffed up and irritated kitten. Burt sat up straight in his armchair, crossing his arms. "Am I lying? What time do you get up every morning, kiddo, just to mess with your hair? C'mon, let's hear it."
Kurt turned a deaf ear to him and focused on his new friend, a little less self-conscious in the face of Blaine's self-deprecating humour. "When did you get here?"
"About an hour ago. Watched the last bit of A Philadelphia Story. Carole told me all about your love of Jimmy Stewart."
Kurt groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Less than an hour and already the embarrassing stories come out." He peeked between his fingers at Burt. "If you brought out the albums from my kindergarten years, I'll have to disown you, father."
"Haven't had the time, but now that you mention it . . ."
Kurt whined high in his throat. "I should've stayed asleep." He slumped down, accidentally jostling Mercedes, who also took her time in waking up.
She shifted towards Kurt, opening her eyes and reaching out to pat his hair, and Burt thought it was way too funny that the first words out of her mouth were: "You wanna head down to your bathroom, honey?" She yawned, stretching out the kinks in her back and legs. "We'll get you all prettied up before your hair attacks me."
Blaine laughed out loud at Kurt's indignant expression. "Your best friend is way more awesome than mine. Oh, that reminds me." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small envelope. "Wes and David told me to give this to you."
Kurt blinked. "What?"
"Wes? David? They were –"
"I remember who they are," Kurt interrupted, licking his dry lips. "I just . . . for me?"
Blaine handed him the envelope. "Well, yeah, Kurt. I told them yesterday what happened – they were the ones who helped get all the admission and scholarship information for your dad. David's dad is pretty tight with a lot of Dalton alumni and administrators. I haven't read what they wrote though, they made me promise not to."
Kurt was opening the envelope, pulling out a plain, dark blue card that had 'Thinking of You' written across the front in simple gold lettering. He opened it and read for a moment before a small smile tugged at his lips. He handed the card over to Mercedes, who had been nudging him to get a look at it. She giggled when she read it, and then she was passing it over to Burt. Blaine was eying their expressions and the card somewhat apprehensively. Burt took it, seeing the two different sets of handwriting:
Kurt,
Blaine has essentially told us your life's story, or at least what he knows about you based on your own tales, and what Google had to offer (which was a rather astounding fourteen minutes of French-singing and cartwheels) so we feel like we've gotten to know you vicariously through him.
Which is why we're worried about you, angry about what happened, and completely on board with you transferring over here. We promise that you're going to love our school and we'll make damn sure you join the Warblers, because you've got talent (despite your lackluster spy skills).
Welcome to Dalton, future Warbler-Kurt,
Wes and David
P.S. Blaine isn't some kind of freaky stalker. He Googles everyone – it's one of his go-to boredom cures. However, I think that cheerleading video went from fifty thousand to a hundred thousand views from the number of times he watched it.
Please, don't show him this card - he'll get incredibly annoyed and that may compromise his rehearsals for Sectionals.
Burt was feeling even more comfortable with his decision to send his son to this school; Kurt already had a group of friends he could hang out with, and they seemed to be just as . . . interesting as his Glee club, though he knew Kurt was, and would likely remain, ripped up about missing his McKinley friends, particularly Mercedes. He put the card on the coffee table, watching the three teenagers interact. Kurt was laughing at something Blaine was saying, and Mercedes was jumping into the conversation, winking at Kurt when Blaine was focused elsewhere, causing Kurt to either roll his eyes or pointedly not look at her.
The doorbell rang again, and this time Burt was the one to volunteer to get it. He didn't want to interrupt Kurt's time with his friends; this was the first time in forty-eight hours he'd seen his son smile without it seeming forced or a cover for something else.
He opened the door, and there was the girl – Eva? Ana? – the one who'd saved his son's life. She was leaning heavily on a pair of crutches, and chewing on her lower lip nervously.
"Hi, Mr. Hummel," she said in that same quiet tone she'd used in the hospital. "Um, Mrs. Hudson said I could come for dinner, and you said I was welcome any time . . . so I decided to come a little early, if that's okay?"
He ushered her inside, keeping a hand hovering in mid-air in case she needed help. She was a bit awkward with her hurt ankle, but she managed to get in without much stumbling. He shut the door behind her. "You can come on by anytime . . . sorry, I can't remember your name, it's something like Eva, right? I feel real bad for not knowing."
"Ida," she corrected with a tentative smile. "And I only mentioned it once, and you were so worried about Kurt . . . it's fine."
Burt nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You doin' okay, Ida?"
She tilted her head, neither nodding or shaking it. "I, I guess. It's . . . a hard thing to get over. I don't think . . ." She shook her head then, taking a moment to gather herself. "Never mind. How's Kurt?"
He jerked his head towards the living room, where there was laughter and muted conversation still going on. "Why don't you go take a look for yourself?"
Ida's eyes widened fractionally, but Burt saw it. She resumed chewing on her lip and flicked one of her dark red braids over her shoulder. He took one hand out of his pockets, putting it on her elbow. "Hey, you don't need to be scared or nothing. Kurt's so grateful to you. You were one of the first things he asked about when he woke up yesterday."
The girl actually gave him a real, honest smile at that, even if it was tinged with disbelief.
Even so, she kept right on hesitating, fumbling a bit with her crutches. Burt used the hand on her elbow to lightly guide her, slowly but surely. He didn't understand why she was so nervous, but he got that she, like Kurt, had some things to deal with. Witnessing something like that – if the situation had been reversed, and Kurt had been the one to walk in on something that horrible . . . Well, if he could have reversed it, he would have, he wasn't ashamed to admit, but on the whole, he would rather the whole damn thing had never happened, because it was nightmarish either way.
"Your mom drop you off? She could've come in if she wanted to."
"Thank you, but she's barely let me breathe since I got back from the hospital. I wanted to do this myself."
Burt let her pause upon seeing Kurt, sitting happily next to Mercedes, now sharing teasing looks with Blaine as Finn, having returned from his chat with his girlfriend, told them some wild story with huge gestures and silly faces while sitting on the coffee table.
Ida stood there, taking it in with a wistful expression, and Burt had no clue what the hold up was, but he was willing to wait.
She'd been the same when he'd spoken to her at the hospital the night before last: quiet and unassuming. He'd been surprisingly patient then too, all things considered.
"Mr. Hummel!" One of the officers cut him off on the way to see his son. The doctor said they were wrapping up a couple of final tests, and Kurt would be all his. Just another five or ten minutes.
"Yes, Officer Henderson?" He was the same cop that had allowed Burt to have Kurt's phone despite the fact that he suspected it wasn't something the officer was supposed to have done. With that in mind, Burt let the other man waylay him. "You got some news for me?"
"Well, sir, we've taken the witness' statement, and are going to take in a suspect for questioning – we just wanted you to know that we're giving this our all, and the person or persons who did this to your son, they are not going to get away with it."
Burt gave the man a look, not sure why he was going out of his way to be this open and honest with him. "Why are you telling me this?"
Officer Henderson, a tall black man who looked like he could put down even that Puckerman kid, smiled. "Because I'm a father. And if somebody pulled this kind of crap on me – did something like this to my boy? I would iron them out, no question, law be damned. I figure if I don't give my word, let you know what's going on, you're going to try and find out yourself. Maybe get yourself into some trouble. So here's me letting you know what's what."
Burt leaned back on his heels, crossing his arms. He wasn't going to lie and say that his initial response, after blind panic, hadn't been violent – that he hadn't wanted to take whoever did this to Kurt down for a drive to a secluded wooded area and give them a taste of their own pain. And he wasn't going to lie and say that he trusted these men to do their jobs. The words 'hate crime' hadn't come up, and he wasn't expecting them to.
But he acknowledged the fact that these cops seemed to know what they were doing and this guy seemed genuine. Henderson had taken the time to question him briefly, confirming that Kurt was being bullied, and that the name the girl had mentioned was, in fact, one of Kurt's worse tormentors (Burt had made sure to mention Karofsky as the other, and went so far as to say that they should arrest him as well). The issue of his son's orientation was mentioned only in passing. Burt didn't know what to make of it, but the fact that these officers were taking this so seriously, and clearly did a good job at keeping the chaos at McKinley from turning into a blood bath, meant that there might be some justice for Kurt in the end. Officer Henderson seemed particularly invested in making sure of that.
"We'll be stopping by sometime tomorrow, to question that Karofsky boy – he's being released in the morning. If your boy's awake by then, we're going to have to take his statement too." He sounded apologetic about it. Burt nodded, trying to swallow around a suddenly dry mouth. That was something he both wanted – to hear exactly what had happened – and dreaded, because he truly wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle hearing it all from his son's own lips. "Now, the girl wanted to speak with you," Henderson said. "She's in there with her mother right now, and asked if you could come in to see her."
Burt cast a glance to Kurt's room, and seeing no doctor leaving it, or on the approach, he followed Henderson to another room down at the other end of the hall.
When he walked through the door, Henderson gave him a quick nod as he turned away, leaving to arrest the person that had put his son in this hospital.
"You're Burt Hummel, right?" A tall, willowy woman with hair a shade darker than her daughter's stood up and reached out a hand. "I'm Mona Callaghan, and I can't tell you how sorry I am, about your son."
Burt shook her hand. "I'm sorry your daughter had to go through that, but I'm so damn thankful she was there."
Mona turned to her daughter, who was sitting up in the bed, watching Burt and wrapping her arms around herself. "So, do you want me to stay, baby?"
She shook her head. "No, mom, it's okay. I kinda wanted to talk to Mr. Hummel alone."
Her mom nodded as if she expected that and, with a small smile for Burt, she stepped out of the room. Burt stood there, shoving his hands in his pockets, watching this girl. She wasn't small, like Rachel – in fact, she looked like she was maybe only a couple inches shorter than Kurt, who was getting up there in height. It was hard to tell with her half lying down. She had her hair in two messy braids, and her lips were cracked and bleeding in some spots, like she'd been chewing on them constantly.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel, sir," she began, her voice raspy. "I wanted to . . . I wanted to talk to you, but I didn't actually think about what I was going to say."
He glanced towards the chair Mona Callaghan had been sitting in, and sat down himself, trying to appear less imposing. "Well, if you ain't too sure where to start, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"
She shook her head.
"What's your name?"
"Ida," she murmured, not quite meeting his eyes.
"Okay, Ida, I . . . I figure this might be a bit awkward for you and all, but . . . could you tell me some of what you told the cops?" Her eyes widened and he hurried on. "You don't have to tell me if it's –"
"It's not . . ." She breathed out, one knee coming up, then wincing when she tried to pull her other leg close to her chest. She rubbed at her calf, just above a seriously swollen ankle. Burt stared for a minute. "Geez, did that sonuvabitch do that to you?"
"Sort of – he, he was going to hurt me, and when he jumped I think I twisted it, landed on it wrong."
Burt felt his face twist into an expression of disgust. "Fucking coward – sorry – only true jackasses attack women."
Some of the tension left her body at those words. She smiled, fleetingly, but it was there. "That's exactly what Kurt said just before Azimio tried to hurt me."
Burt leaned forward. "I'm going to have to take credit for that. Kurt was a pushy thing when he was little and . . ." He had to pause, his voice giving out as he forced down some tears, but he continued on, watching her relax as he spoke. "And, uh, he used to push his little cousin down whenever she got into his things, which was every single time she was over. I gave him the 'guys don't hit girls, and if they do, they're pathetic' lecture more than once. Then he started being sneakier about it. I think one time he told her that boy cooties were real and that you could get sick and die from them. She never came near him or his stuff after that."
Ida snorted, covering her mouth with one hand. "Sorry, it's just . . . he's always been . . . the way he is, then?"
Burt knew she wasn't talking about the fact that Kurt was gay. "Yeah, he's pretty much always been like he is now – except his vocabulary is loads more impressive and he doesn't pitch fits. He just reasons me to death with lectures and debates, and then he'll do this pouty thing with his lips and his eyes . . . kid usually gets what he wants, when it isn't too out there." Like admission into Dalton, he thought to himself. Kurt hadn't asked for that, and he never would have, considering how expensive the place was, but Burt was sending him there if he had to sell his garage to do it – no way Kurt was setting foot in McKinley ever again.
"That's neat." Ida played with her covers, adjusting her foot and pulling up on the blankets as a random bout of shivers overtook her. She huddled within her cocoon of cotton, and appeared to be lost in thought.
Burt waited until she lifted her head again to look at him before asking, "Do you think you could tell me about what happened?"
She took in a deep breath, exhaled, and then began to speak in a low, whispery tone, "It was mostly a fluke, Mr. Hummel. I heard Azimio taking about his plan, and just . . . sort of figured out where and when, though the 'what, how' was a bit fuzzy. I didn't really think it through when I was walking into that locker room – and I should've run, or called for help or something as soon as I . . . as soon as I saw Kurt, on the floor, all wet and bleeding and hurt." She gasped out the last part, eyes shutting tightly, shuddering.
There was bile pushing at the back of Burt's throat and he had to breathe in and out deliberately, several times. "Oh . . . okay."
"I don't know what happened before I got there, but Kurt was soaking wet, and bruised up all over, and . . ." She paused, her eyes fluttering open and watching him. "Mr. Hummel, are you sure you want to hear this?"
He was making two fists, staring down at them, trying to keep his calm. To keep from following those cops, or tracking down Karofsky who was somewhere in this hospital right now.
"Karofsky, when did he come into this?" he asked calmly.
"He . . . it was after Azimio tried to attack me – Karofsky showed up, pulled him off me. He got Azimio to leave, and then he . . ." She tilted her head, expression confused. "It was weird. He hung around, and just . . . looked at us. Looked at Kurt. I get the feeling there was something there I was missing."
Burt nodded, because he knew what this 'missing' something was. It set his teeth on edge, but it seemed like Karofsky hadn't been out to hurt or . . . touch . . . his boy.
He listened as she explained how the jock had actually given her a phone to call the cops with, to rat out his friend, and Burt didn't really know what to make of that. Maybe Kurt had been right not to out the kid, but at the moment, all Burt could think of was his son, bleeding and shivering on a cold locker room floor, thanks to Karofsky's best buddy. His dull fingernails dug into the palms of his hands and he ground his teeth as he imagined all too clearly the pain and fear on his boy's features. Kurt was a strong kid but (it broke something inside him to admit this, even just in his thoughts) he wasn't sure if this was something that Kurt could just pack away and move on from. In fact, he knew that that couldn't be the case. Kurt was going to be hurting long after the bruises and cuts faded away.
He tuned back into Ida's voice for the end of her story, trying to force the horrifying images and dark thoughts to the back of his mind – he didn't quite succeed, but he managed to focus on the girl again.
"Karofsky asked me to not mention that he'd been there, but there was no way I was letting either him or Azimio get away with that. No way." Her eyes flashed and she sat upright. "I watch them get away with it every day at school, and this time it was too much."
She deflated after that, her cheeks flushed, but she managed to keep eye contact with him, and her voice, which had risen above a whisper into something strong and clear, didn't fade back.
"I think Kurt's so amazing, Mr. Hummel, to survive that. He kept me going, even though I hadn't tried to . . . "
He reached out as she started withdrawing, falling back into herself, and grabbed a small hand in his. She was cold, and he remembered what the doctor had said about hypothermia, and tried to rub some warmth back into her fingers. "You are amazing. You did something that Kurt's teachers and principal refused to do. You stood up for him, and I can't . . ." He knew he was crying, but he couldn't help it this time – not with the image of Kurt, cold, wet, and alone, getting kicked and punched, laying on a damp floor, probably wondering if he was going to live to see another day. Burt wondered if Kurt had cried out for him, crying for his father to come running in to save him.
"I can't thank you enough," he said after clearing his throat twice. "You saved him. And in saving him, you saved me. You're something else. Thank you, so much."
"Hey, Ida!" Finn stood up and walked over to them with a wide, inviting smile.
"F-Finn," she stuttered out. "Hi."
"My mom said you were coming by for dinner, but I totally forgot about it 'til just now." He was grabbing at her crutches, handing them to Burt, and helping her hop over to the couch. Blaine, Mercedes and Kurt had gone quiet, looking over at them. While Blaine didn't seem to know her (though Burt couldn't recall her meeting Finn either) Mercedes gave her a sweet smile.
"Hey Ida, it's nice to see you again." Burt could vaguely remember Mercedes coming into Ida's room after him, but the doctor had been leading him to Kurt's side, and all his senses had pretty much been focused on that.
"Um, hi," she said again. Her eyes were trained on Mercedes, as if she was afraid of the boy sitting next to her.
Kurt was staring, his smile gone. His eyes glazed over and, for a minute, Burt was worried he was going to have a panic attack. Kurt looked like he was forcing himself to keep breathing evenly; Mercedes reached over with one hand, wrapping her fingers around his. "Kurt? Hey, pretty boy, you with us?"
Blaine was leaning in closer, his own hand hovering over Kurt's knee, then being pulled back to his lap. Finn was kept holding Ida up with one arm, looking unsure as to what was happening.
But Kurt came back to them soon enough, blinking once, and then giving Ida a quick up and down sweep. "You hurt your ankle?" He sounded dazed.
Ida nodded, glancing down at her foot and then seemingly forcing herself to make eye contact. "Yeah. Just when . . . when he tackled me."
Kurt nodded. "But it's not too bad, right?"
"No. And you? You . . . you seem okay?"
He huffed a bit at that, squeezing Mercedes' hand. "I . . . suppose that's one way to put it. I'm okay, I'm alive, thanks to you."
Ida shook her head, and Finn finally managed to get her to sit down, Blaine moving over so she could sit near Kurt. "Don't thank me. What else could I do, in that situation?"
"What everybody else was doing, of course," Kurt said with a sarcastic, bitter smile. "Look away, ignore it. Pretend it wasn't happening. Or just not care."
Mercedes winced, looking guiltily down at her lap, and Finn was studying his feet with great concentration. Burt couldn't help but feel stung a little as well – as Kurt's father, he should've done something as soon as he knew how hard a time Kurt was having at school.
Ida shook her head. "I was – I mean, I knew what you were going through. I watched it happen every day, and just because I managed to help you once –"
"When it most counted," Kurt pointed out. "And it's not like I've made any complaints to the staff . . . or stood up for the other kids that were being bullied –"
"Lies," Mercedes interrupted. "You stood up for Tina!"
"And you took a slushie in the face for me!" Finn joined in. "I know that wasn't exactly the same thing, but it mattered, dude!"
Kurt waved off their exclamations. "So, don't be too hard on yourself for that. Now, moving on – have you been at McKinley long?"
"No, just about a month," she said timidly. "But I, I haven't really made any friends. I like my solitude, I suppose, or at least I did, until I . . . heard about you." She blushed here, dropping her gaze. "You sort of . . . I always wanted to talk to you but . . ." Ida shrugged, laughing to herself. "Sorry, I'm such an inarticulate bumble." Her hesitance made sense to Burt now, and he couldn't help liking this girl for it. Mercedes was grinning at her, and Finn was shaking his head, smiling at her shyness.
Kurt arched an eyebrow, tossing his bangs off his forehead. "Well, allow me to formally introduce myself." He raised his hand up. "My name is Kurt Hummel, and you, my lovely lady?"
"Ida, Ida Callaghan." Burt watched as she lifted her own hand, trembling, placing it in his so softly and gently it looked like they were hardly touching.
Kurt gripped her firmly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ida, and may I say, nicely done – you know, saving my life and all."
There were tears sparkling in her eyes but she smiled widely. "It was my pleasure, Kurt Hummel – if only so you could live to give me fashion advice and take me for drives in your pimped out ride."
Everyone, including Burt, burst out into laughter, giggles or chuckles.
Carole wandered back into the living room, holding a fresh bowl of popcorn. "Okay, gang, I say we order pizza, and start that movie again from the beginning, since I have to confess to really not paying attention – and I know I wasn't the only one."
There was enthusiastic agreement to this, as well as various shouts for toppings and Kurt's complaint that Burt shouldn't be having pizza, unless it was a special, cheeseless kind that had basically no resemblance to actual pizza. Burt groaned as he saw Carole nodding in agreement, but he accepted it since both she and Kurt were glaring at him, scolding him with their gazes.
They eventually settled in to actually watch the movie. At some point, after the pizza arrived, the seating arrangements changed so that it was Carole and Ida on the loveseat, and Blaine, Kurt, Mercedes and Finn all squashed onto the couch. Burt didn't know whether that happened as a result of some fancy and deliberate maneuvering on Carole and Mercedes' part, since they kept shooting each other significant looks around Blaine and Kurt, or if it was Blaine who had done it. The Dalton boy kept darting glances at Kurt, particularly when Jimmy Stewart was on screen.
Either way, the evening passed by quickly, and there was some muted teasing and conversation throughout the movie – Ida seemed to have used up her word quota for the day, but she smiled a lot more easily and seemed way more comfortable over all.
When Ida received a call from her mother as everyone (except Burt) indulged in some ice cream, letting her know that she was waiting outside for her, Blaine took that as his own signal to depart. He offered Mercedes a ride home so she wouldn't have to call her parents to come get her, and the three teens left within a couple minutes of each other.
It came as a surprise to Burt when Carole and Finn said they were going to head out. A part of him had just taken for granted that they'd be staying . . . but they didn't live there anymore, hadn't for a while, though it was so easy to imagine them all as a family, under the same roof.
"I'll be by as often as you need me," Carole said softly at the door, as she waited for Finn to finish saying his goodbyes to Kurt. "And Finn will be by too. He really feels horrible about all this, like it was all his doing."
"I know – so do I, so does everyone," Burt said tiredly, rubbing at his bleary eyes. "Honestly, I think we all do share a little blame." It was his hundredth time thinking it and it didn't get any less painful with repetition.
Carole nodded. "Please, just . . . take care of him, but don't forget to take care of yourself too, okay?"
Burt raised his eyebrows. "You think Kurt's gonna let anything slide with me? Did you see the way he ninja'd that bowl of ice cream away from me? Those pain meds must be better than I thought."
Carole jabbed a finger into his chest. "Good. Now, you be good until I see you next time."
"And then can I be bad?" he asked with waggling eyebrows.
"Ugh, gross! We can hear you, you know!" Finn called from the living room.
"I feel a gag coming on!" Kurt added.
Both he and Carole rolled their eyes, and Burt gave Finn a goodbye hug and a teasing slap on the back of the head for interrupting his and Carole's moment.
When they were gone, he walked back to the living room, sitting on the couch next to Kurt. Kurt automatically curled into him, and Burt tugged him close with one arm, pulling another blanket over him as he felt a slight shiver overtake his son's frame. Silence reigned for a good, long while, before he asked quietly, "You ready for bed, kiddo? I'll help you down the stairs if you want."
"No . . . no, I think I'll just stay here, on the couch – those stairs seem like more trouble than they're worth," Kurt said just as quietly. His arms tightened around Burt's chest and he got the feeling that Kurt didn't want him to leave.
"I'm just going to watch some sport's highlights, if that's cool with you."
Kurt nodded into his chest. "Might help me sleep."
Burt ruffled his hair, knowing full well how much that annoyed his son. "You do that."
Kurt did not utter a single word of complaint, he simply tugged his two blankets up higher on his shoulders. Burt flicked the TV on, channel surfing until he found what he was looking for, listening to the excited rambling of the sport's newscaster, but not really hearing the words.
He tried to tell himself that things were fine now – that Kurt was safe, and home, and everything would slowly go back to normal. But Kurt was bruised, hurting, and afraid. Burt felt his heart jump whenever he even fleetingly thought about that first phone call, about the initial panic that had really felt like another heart attack, something he would never say out loud. His stomach churned viciously whenever he saw, clearly in his mind's eye, his son, pale and still on that hospital bed, covered in blankets and monitored by beeping machines.
But it would get better. It had to. Kurt was safe, right here, right now. He was in his father's arms, he was in his home, and Burt would never let anything touch him here. He was going to send him to Dalton, which would be a hell of a lot better than McKinley. He was going to protect his son in the ways he had been failing in up until now.
And even as he was stumbling down the hallway at three in the morning, falling to his knees on the floor next to Kurt, soothing away nightmares as he pushed his son's hair off his sweaty forehead, he kept up the endless litany – Kurt's safe now, you're safe now, Kurt, it's okay, please, it's okay. And eventually Kurt's cries ceased, fading into soft whimpers.
He rubbed warmth into his son's trembling limbs, waiting until Kurt was sleeping peacefully again before lifting himself up on creaking legs and falling back into his favourite armchair.
He grabbed a blanket and settled himself as comfortably as he could, keeping wide, watchful eyes on Kurt. Watching him dream. Watching him breathe.
Kurt's safe now. It's over. Please, let it be over.
Burt fell asleep to the image of Kurt curled up on the couch and well within his reach.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Author's Note: Holy crap, this chapter is long. This totally took on a life of its own, and my editing was utter fail this time around. *holds head in hands*
That being said, I have scary assignments/exams coming up in school, so this will be the last you hear for me for at least two weeks as I try to get through end-of-term craziness. I want to try to have this story done before the holidays, but it all depends on work and the like . . . and how much I indulge in procrastination . . . which I really, really shouldn't . . .
And spoiler alert for 'Special Education': Dalton Academy made me sad. It totally defies my head-canon, which I believe was the head-canon of almost everyone – general awesomeness, wacky antics, and a happy-Hogwarts feel . . .*pouts* But I guess it can't be a total utopia – Kurt can't stay there forever, at least I don't think so, and he's going to transfer back to McKinley at some point . . . and drag Blaine with him, please! *crosses fingers*
So sorry for the long wait for this chapter, for the long everything about this chapter actually, and once again, your incredible comments defy all universal laws of cool. As do all the favourites/alerts you've given me not just for this, but for my other stories as well - again, I'm stuck with plain words like 'thank you', but they really don't suffice!
Seriously, you guys are a Burt-level of amazingness, something that I'm sure you all appreciate as EPIC levels of awesomeness.
And on a random note, a big thank you to vcg73 who gave some great insight into what would be the appropriate response to the level of bullying Kurt was facing, which McKinley and its staff were clearing failing to take action on.
