The Untitled Wound

Author: GleekShip

Spoilers: Set During Season 1; spoilers up until episode 20, Theatricality.

Summary: Kurt does everything he can do to survive the final moments of a shooting at McKinley.

Pairings: Kurt/Puck!Friendship, maybe more.

The Untitled Wound

For when push comes to shove, humans are known to be able to fight back in even the most useless hopeless of situations. Even on their last breath, many will still struggle do something that will let them continue on.

The grey sky rumbles above the small town of Lima in the early morning with the sunrise being hid behind a thin layer of clouds in the distance. The small and rusty truck is the only vehicle on the small two-laned road that runs through town. It only takes a small growl in the distance of the sky before the soft tinkering of rain begins padding onto the small metal roof.

Kurt gulps before reaching down and rolling up his window, preferring not to be stuck in wet clothes for the next eight hours of his life. He'd usually roll the window up because sitting in slushie for 8 hours would be bad enough without the rain mixing in, but he knows that he won't be seeing any of those overly sugary drinks anytime soon. It'd be his first dry spell through school in quite some time and he found some odd peace in that fact.

The moment the window clicks shut and the silent town outside isn't silenced even further; Kurt has to resist the urge to roll the window back down again. He had been enjoying the small breeze coming in as Puck drove them slowly along the road at a too careful pace. It was calming and he was finally taking in Lima for the first time in years. He hadn't noticed the graffiti or how run down several of the houses were in years since he had always had tinted windows on his car. It gave him a new perspective on how crappy Lima really is and how he couldn't wait to get out.

Puck had been as silent as Kurt had been during their slow trek towards the school, his downcast eyes trained on the road and his hair standing up on every inch of his body. He knew that he had an air of calmness about him, but he was on some shaky ground in his own mind. He knew that it would be a safe day and all would be calm, but it still didn't snap the connection that he had of the shooting to that school. They'd been told that many parts of the building had been all but demolished in an attempt to redo the image of the school, but it still wouldn't stop him from seeing the familiar place where the worst thing in his life had happened.

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel and looks to his white hands. He quickly loosens his grip and stretches a few fingers at a time to get the circulation going in. He was fine that morning when he woke up and made his way to Kurt's, but the moment that he saw the familiar street signs that led to the school he had started becoming more nervous. He would have been fine if they drove from Kurt's house, but he had taken the wheel after going by his place and the familiar roads just popped back into place.

"So what's your first class again?" Kurt's voice breaks the silence as he turns and angles his body to look at Puck. "I'm completely blanking right now, but I want to know where to meet you before we go off to second period."

"Spanish." Puck answers softly before clearing his throat and glancing to Kurt with a weak smile. "Spanish."

"Fun." Kurt mutters with false enthusiasm. "While you're stuck with random babble, I'm off to math where I'll be forced to take it slow since the school doesn't offer classes for the advanced."

Puck chuckles and the smile stays on his face as he glances to Kurt again with a raised eyebrow. "I thought you liked Spanish?"

"I like languages and learning them, but I do not like learning from an incompetent teacher how can't even answer the most basic question from the next chapter that I want to study because he hasn't read that far to teach the actual class." Kurt huffs out before stopping with wide eyes, gulping quickly before turning and looking out the window. "Sorry." His voice is so much smaller now and Puck can see the boy pulling in on himself.

He looks away from Kurt with a frown, seeing Kurt's sudden change. They would be having a new Spanish teacher this year since Mr. Schue had become victim of the shooting. With the new rules and safety codes, there would actually be a coherent teacher. He didn't want to speak ill of the dead, or even think ill of them, but this was a good thing. It's sad that something so drastic had to happen for the school to step up it's code when it came to teaching the students what they needed to know for the real world instead of the bare minimum that would barely help them at a McDonalds in New Mexico.

"Well you're good at French already." Puck finally chimes in to Kurt's sudden and quick outburst. "Taking Spanish should be a breeze for you. You might even be able to help me out and make me fluent enough to go to Lima Heights Adjacent."

Kurt chuckles softly before resting his head against the seat, his eyes shutting and a sigh of content leaving his lips. He's happy that Puck is there with him. If it had been anyone else, he would have been forced or nagged into explaining his outburst or he would be silently judged. Puck just immediately understood what he was talking about and what his reasoning or even confusion meant behind the words. Puck thought in simple terms without having to over think or complicate things with unnecessary reasons.

It only takes him a second before Kurt sees what road they're on, his eyes flicking to the left to see McKinley High sitting in the distance. The darkening sky and steady increase of rain didn't make McKinley look as welcoming as the new paint job and landscape had wanted it to be. He could see the chain link fence shaking and swaying in the wind of the storm and some of the trees on the side sway with a warning that they're not the most durable. The new shrubs and dirt islands for people to park around were overflowing with mud and painting the new white dividing lines with the brown liquid.

While the building had a new brown shade with an electronic blue and silver sign out front, it still looked like the old McKinley in Kurt's eyes. He could still see the all too familiar dumpsters sitting on the side, waiting for their next victim that would never come. The morning busses had already left to pick of the McKinley students and a good selection of new, with a few old, set of teachers cars were parked on the other side.

"It's going to feel different." Kurt comments as Puck carefully pulls the car into the parking lot and makes his way to one close to the school. "They want us to think that it's a new school, so I'm sure they're going to make it feel like one."

"They should have chosen a new location then." Puck smirks as he pulls into a parking spot next to the handicap parking.

Kurt smiles weakly before looking up at the building, the rain doing nothing to block out the familiar letters on the side or his memories that come with the school. Everything was just too real for comfort and he wanted to leave . . . but he couldn't. He had his dad and Puck thinking that he had become stronger than someone that ran, but he wasn't. He isn't staying because he's brave; he's staying because he'll have Puck at his side. He's staying because he wants to complete school and get out. If he leaves, then who knows what will happen.

"I had a dream about this place last night." Kurt mutters as he looks to Puck popping his fingers in his lap. "It was like that day all over again. It just kept jumping from all of the normal parts of my day and . . . I woke up when the first bullet fires."

Puck slowly reaches over and takes Kurt's shaking hand within his own, his eyes observing Kurt as he takes his next breath. "Kurt . . . those weren't your dream. They're your memory."

Kurt's bottom lip quivers as he looks over to Puck. "You really are a dick aren't you?" Puck snorts and Kurt breaks into a smile. "You didn't have to ruin my dream. I'm more than fine pretending that this whole thing is a dream and that you're my only friend going into my Junior year."

"Then let's do that." Puck nods as he squeezes Kurt's hand and let's go, his hand going to his door handle and slowly opening it. "Come on then, best friend. First day of school."

Kurt stood still as he stared at the all too familiar water fountains, his heart frozen in that moment. He couldn't do it. Everything had come flooding back and he had managed to wait until he left Puck at his class, but it's all out now. The walls and floors may be a new color, but he can still see the blood spills there. The lockers may be blue now, but he can still see the bodies stacked against them. He can see Tina lose her last breath as she stared down that hallway.

He jumps when he sees blood shoot out of the water fountain, the thick liquid splashing around and drenching the metal appliance with it. Kurt stumbles back into the lockers and watches as more and more blood pumps out: his blood. His hand goes to his stomach, feeling a hole their and blood seeping out. He pants as he quickly lifts up his shirt . . . stopping when he sees his clean bandage in the same position that it had been when he fixed it up that morning.

He looks back to the water fountain, no blood in sight. He sees small droplets of water there from the kid he had watched use it a few minutes before. It wasn't real . . . It's not real.

Kurt shuts his eyes and lets his head bang against the lockers, the rattle making a few kids jump.

"Breathe." He mutters as his fingers dig into his arms that he has over his chest, hoping the pain would keep him level-minded. "You're safe. It's over."

He feels the vomit come up before he can act. Luckily for him, he's quick enough to get to the water fountains before he's spouting out his bare-minimal breakfast all over the dual water fountains and the small alcove that they're in. It burns as it rushes out, the vomit running on the fumes and emptiness of his internal body. His shut eyes squeeze out a few tears as he lets his head rest against the fountain, uncaring that his head has landed in a small pile of his own vomit.

His body shakes as he holds on to support of both the fountains and his conscious. The world is spinning and his lungs have taken residence under his intestines: he can't breath. His eyes flash open and he cringes, his stomach pulling for something to more to vomit up.

He brings one shaky hand up to his ear, tapping to no avail. He can't hear. What is that beating? His hand returns to the fountain and he uses what strength he has to lower himself to the floor, his head resting against the wall as he stares out with lost eyes. He can't feel. When did the hallway become grey?

Kurt smiles weakly as an angel appears before him, her face kind and genuine as she smiles at him. He lifts a shaky hand and holds it out to her, waiting . . .

Kurt surges up out of the bed and starts throwing up again. A bucket is suddenly at his lips and an arm is hooked over his back to help support him as he vomits up stomach acid. Just when he thinks it's safe to pull away, he finds himself spitting up some more.

He focuses on the soft hand that's rubbing up and down his spine. It's so soothing. He finds himself wanting to fall asleep to the gentle touch. He can even hear a gentle voice to match it, telling him sweet nothings. He risks a glance out of the grey bucket and spots the angel again.

He smiles weakly before pulling out of the bucket. He looks down as a sanitary wipe is thrust into his hand. He's never been more grateful as he is able to wipe his internal essence from his slimy lips. He frowns as he sees the vast amount of vomit that is still on his lips. Without asking, another wipe is in front of him and he's taking it and wiping more off.

"Here." That gentle voice is back alongside a Dixie cup with some water within.

He looks up to the blonde angel again before dropping his wipe into the vomit bucket and taking the cup with shaking hands.

He pours the water into his mouth, knowing what to do first after throwing up. He swishes the water around in his mouth before spitting it into the bucket while his small cup is refilled with more water. He sips slower on this one, letting his eyes wander. He's surprised that his hands are really pale, but he looks beyond that to see a young blonde woman sitting at his bedside in the nurse's office.

If he's being honest he'd say that she was in her early 30's, but he's going to be human and say mid-20's. His brief memory before passing out would have left him to think that her hair was fake, but he could see that her blonde hair was very natural. Every tick of emotion that she had while watching Kurt showed with her eyes and mouth movements. He liked it. She was an easy read and someone that showed everything they were feeling. He's always felt safe around those people. She felt familiar and it made him happy.

"Thank you." He mutters weakly before setting the cup down on his bedside.

He makes an attempt so sit up all the way instead of being propped up on his elbow, but she shakes her head firmly as she takes his cup and makes her way to the side of the room. "You need to stay down for a bit longer. You had quite an ordeal, but that's not unexpected. Here." She returns to her chair at Kurt's side with another cup of water and a package of crackers. "Try this for now. We'll see how you're feeling in a few minutes before sending you to your next class."

"Thank you." Kurt mutters as he settles back onto the bed, choosing to open the crackers first. "What time is it anyways, if you don't mind?"

"Almost 11." She answers with a smile, a small laugh coming from her when Kurt's eyes widen. "You're fine. Your teachers were notified of your absence and you're excused. I honestly expected a few of you today, but you're the only one so far. I'd like to call that progress."

"Yeah." Kurt mutters as he nibbles on his cracker, his breathing becoming steadier. "I'm Kurt Hummel by the way. Are you the new nurse?"

"I am." She nods. "And it's nice to meet you, Kurt Hummel. My name is Karen Artis, but you can just call me Ms. Artis since I'm required to be formal."

Kurt chuckles before shutting his eyes and setting his crackers on his chest. "So that means that I've missed what? Three classes?"

"Yes." He can hear the amusement in Karen's voice and it makes him smile. "But I'm sure there's nothing major covered today. You actually have about 15 minutes left of third period. Then you have fourth and lunch. I do need you to eat then, though. Even if you're not feeling like it, I'd rather not have you back in here again so soon."

Kurt nods as he turns his head and opens his eyes to look at the school nurse. "I doubt that that'll be an issue. I'm expecting some really good food today."

She smiles at him before leaving him to be while she returns to her desk to tap away at her computer. He smiles as he shut his eyes again, his ears getting tuned in to the familiar chicken poking that Karen was doing. He had always enjoyed the sound of a keyboard or even the sound of a pencil on paper by extension. It reminded him of being in his creative writing class the previous year where he could get stuck the entire class just writing a short story, or something that contributed to a larger story. He wasn't very forward or public about his love for writing, but it was a passion of his. It helped him get past some of the scarier parts of his life. The noise of the typing was content to him, but it also reminded him that he hasn't really set pen to paper since everything. Maybe things were changing. At least he still had . . .

"Can I go ahead and leave?" Kurt asks as she sits up slowly, his joints being a pain in his butt by not wanting to cooperate at their fullest ability. "I want to go somewhere."

"I'm afraid that's out of the question." Karen answers as she swirls in her chair to look at Kurt. "I can send you back to class, but that's the only place I can send you until that bell rings."

"Please." Kurt leans forward, grimacing at the weakness of his own body thanks to his vomiting. "I just want to go to the auditorium. It's always been . . . the place where I go to be myself. To sing."

"Oh." Karen's eyes widen slightly. "So . . . you're a singer? Were you in the glee club here? I heard that they were fantastic."

"I was." Kurt smiles, a million memories flooding back to him all at once, all of happier times. "And we were. I'm sure we would have won Regionals if . . . yeah."

Karen smiles softly before it widens and her eyes become curious. "So what are the chances of a glee club revival this year? I've always been a fan of helping young ones find their voices."

"Well seeing as all of the members are dead apart from two . . . I think the chances are not likely in the slightest." Kurt can't help the sudden venom that comes to his voice, his anger over his dead friends still very much alive in him whenever the subject is brought up.

"Well maybe not for you . . . but for others." Karen suggests with a shrug and a glance to the ground. "Everything's changed since the shooting. Maybe someone out there has finally found their voice . . . and need a place to be heard."

Kurt eyes the familiar auditorium, happy that it seems unchanged for the most part. Flooring, paint jobs, and even an exterior image shake-up cost money, but none cost as much as it would be to completely revamp an entire auditorium. He noticed that the stage was freshly waxed, but it still had its old coloring and remained the old auditorium that had housed him and his island of misfit friends. Within a second, he knows that the auditorium will be his new safe haven.

The auditorium wasn't like what the choir room was to him. The choir room was where he went to make a point, or to send a message to one of his friends, but that's not what the auditorium was for. It was his fortress of solitude. He could go out there and sing what he was really feeling. He could imagine anyone that he wanted in that audience watching him with any emotion of his choice. He finally got to get people to see how he wanted to be seen as, even if they were part of his imagination.

He reaches back over to the light switch and flips on the default spotlights, lighting up the stage. The small dust particles floating in the yellow light felt so warm to him. It was also kind of funny because it meant that the remodeling of the school had essentially over looked replacing the spotlights with light light instead of yellow light that had come from years of wear and tear.

The particles swirled around him as he walked to the center of the stage, his shoes leaving a soft thud trail that echoed quietly. His entire body cast a shadow out onto the front rows of the otherwise dark auditorium. He raises his hands up on either side, stretching them in the glow, smiling when he accidentally makes a few shadow puppets.

He effortlessly pops his fingers before bringing that down and his expression becomes more solemn. His joy in returning to the place seems to have passed as quickly as it had arrived. He was happy to be here, but he also realized that there would be no more group songs there. No more dancing with his friends or playing the piano while singing funny show tunes. This was where it all began, but now it ended and he was still around to sit empty in the dark.

"It's all because of . . ." Kurt stops as his lips tremble, not wanting to even talk about the shooters.

But that won't stop him from singing . . .

I can see your eyes,

Staring into mine,

But it's a battlefield and I'm on the other side.

He remembers back to the first days when he was out of the hospital. Puck had finally gone home and his dad had removed himself from the living room to go back to sleeping in his own room. Kurt found himself crying in a ball on his bed, murder on his mind. He wanted to kill the people that had done this. He wanted to kill those that had killed his friends and turned his life upside down. He had then lied to his dad in the morning about the broken glass from his bedside table. He had thrown it in anger, not knocked it over in the dark.

You can throw your words,

Sharper than a knife,

And leave me cold, in another house on fire.

So many months later and he can still hear the screams and cries in his head. If he thought hard enough, he can distinguish one from the other. He could hear Tina's last cry, to Finn's soft gasp at the sudden surprise. He didn't want to hear them, but he was continuously haunted by them. It was said that your memory is actually based from the last time you remembered that event, so he had hoped that eventually it would fade . . . but the scars don't fade. Every voice is now a scar along his ear.

I, lay low, lay low and watch the bridges burn

I, lay low, lay low, what more could I have done?

He had always wondered what would have happened if he tried saving Tina, or even fought back against the shooters. He's not stupid and is realistic, but he keeps thinking about how he could have done something. All he did was get shot and bleed out. That's not what should have happened. Now his mind may run wild and become like a bad drama movie, but that didn't stop him from wondering what little thing he could have changed that could have saved someone else.

Now you only bring me black roses,

And they crumble into dust when they're held

Now you only bring me black roses,

Under your spell

His dad had tried getting him to see a therapist to at least talk about the shooting if not the effects of it. Finally after the funerals had died down, he agreed. One session later he quit. He doesn't want someone to ask him how he feels, or how he's going to get over it. He doesn't want to live under the shadow of the shooting. He doesn't want to be forever recognized as the boy who survived with just a gunshot wound when people look him up on the Internet. He doesn't want to be treated like a victim. What he does want is to figure things out on his own without being judged at every turn.

And I'm done trying to be the one picking up the broken pieces

And I'm done trying to be the one who says I love you dear but I'm leaving

He wants to be someone that can be seen as a survivor and a thriving person based on what life has thrown at him. He wants there to be a point where this just becomes another bump in the road that he's managed to overcome. He told himself so many times that he is strong, and that's what he believes in. Whether it's true or not remains to be seen, but his belief in himself is what's keeping him going.

Kurt stops the song, not feeling comfortable to sing the last lyrics of the song. He's always liked the message of that song, but the final notes always felt a bit separated from the rest so he was glad to cut the ties right there. He lets out a shaky voice as he stares out into the auditorium. It's been quite some time that he's sang outside of sweet nothings to himself and it felt great to be able to sing openly without limitation. It brought back every piece of love that he has for that place in one blow.

Puck stares out into the packed parking lot, surprised that so many people had been allowed to drive themselves, although he wouldn't put it past some parents to have come along with their kids to make sure that they were safe. He figured that there would be more people being dropped off, like his ma had wanted, but he's not against it. It looks like the people of Lima were stronger than he gave them credit for. Maybe it's not such a bad thing to be a Lima native that he and his friends used to joke about.

He looks over to the empty passenger sear, his eyes suddenly drooping at the sight. He knows Kurt and his ma will be upset at him, but he can't handle yet another class that's reminding him of counselors and help that the school is now providing. It's just too much and it's overkill to him. It makes him sick to know that the school finally cares, but it only took for someone to die. They were just trying to cover their own butts at this point.

It also didn't help that nobody is the same anymore. All of his jock friends that he would usually be laughing with in the back of the classroom are now quiet and reserved. He knows that it's because most of them are guilty and know that had they been cornered, they'd have been tortured for a bit before being murdered. It just made him sick that they had been stripped of their personalities. Were they really just empty shells unless they were picking on some poor kid?

A deep sigh leaves him as he stretches across the long front interior, resting his shaved head on the arm rest of the passenger side. He was bored, tired, and feeling a bit like the Exorcism girl, so he was going to rest until lunch. He'd talk to Kurt then, even if it somehow ended up with him admitting him skipping class for a bit.

The soft patter of rain keeps him awake as he stares at the glove box, his mind everywhere and nowhere. The last time he was in that parking spot he was on a stretcher, and now he was safe inside of his truck. It's amazing how many memories that he relates just to lying down in that parking spot.

He smirks as he shuts his eyes, the rain becoming a distant lull in his ears, the rhythmatic sound being his sheep as his eyelids become heavy. It's funny how it kind of sounds like Kurt's heartbeat. He sleeps with Kurt so much that everything reminds him of the boy. Yeah the rain has an offbeat pattern to it, but it still somehow manages to sound the same. Funny how the human ear can tie even the most opposite sounds into a nice similar one.

Raindrops keep fallin' on my head

Puck sings lightly to himself, a smile wide on his face at the goofy tune.

Just like the guy whose feet are too-

Puck cuts off as he yawns, his body unable to let him stay awake any further. With a small grumble and a lick of his lips, he gladly welcomes some sleep.

So let me tell you, works sucks. I barely have any time to write anymore :( So sorry for the extreme delay. I'm going to start setting aside time in my packed schedule to at least write a little bit. The goal is 500 words a day so I can get one out in 10 days, but we'll see how that goes.. :)

So yay! It's back. Let me know what you think.

And Kurt's song is Black Roses by Clare Bowens.