Notes: Written for a Kurtbastian Hummelsmythe brothers AU prompt on GKM, found here: glee-kink-meme .livejournal 26585. html? thread = 28669913 # t28669913 (remove spaces).
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Summary: He'd only introduced Carole to his father so that he could get closer to Sebastian - it was just a simple crush at first. He didn't expect to become his stepbrother. And he certainly didn't expect to actually fall in love. Kurt/Sebastian and Kurt/Blaine. AU.
"So we learned a juicy little tidbit today about Sectionals."
Kurt glances up at Sebastian's reflection in his vanity mirror, pausing only for a moment before continuing to swipe the toner pad across his chin. "Interesting. So did we."
"Yeah, apparently the Warblers are up against some old folks who managed to somehow form a show choir in between bingo and cleaning their dentures. Oh, and some group called the Nude Erections. Great name, right?" Sebastian says conversationally, sinking down on the edge of Kurt's bed. The smirk on his face is entirely too smug, like he's positively delighted at this turn of events.
Kurt rolls his eyes. "Very mature, Sebastian. How long did it take you to come up with that?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Sebastian raises an eyebrow.
"I don't pretend to understand Mr. Schue's reasoning. After all, he was the one who thought that doing disco at McKinley's pep assembly would attract new members to the club."
Sebastian grins and falls back, stretching out across Kurt's bed. "I'm guessing that didn't work out."
Kurt stops mid-moisturizer pat and thinks back a year - thinks of Salt-n-Pepa, thinks of an appalled Sue Sylvester and an initially silent gym, thinks of an innocent ass slap that had Finn Hudson avoiding eye contact with him for a good two months. "...Strangely enough, everyone seemed to love it. Not enough to join, though."
"Jesus, you'd think your club had the plague or something," Sebastian comments, picking at threads on Kurt's throw blanket, and Kurt shoots him a dirty look through the mirror because hello, genuine mohair.
"Unfortunately the sing-and-dance combination embraced by the American entertainment industry deems one a social pariah at McKinley," Kurt pauses again and sends Sebastian a look of cautious disbelief. "They really don't feel that way at Dalton?"
"Nope, they pretty much worship the ground we walk on."
"Well then, I can't imagine how much your ego's grown since joining them," Kurt responds with a chuckle.
"Enough to beat you guys at Sectionals for sure," Sebastian says, and Kurt scoffs at this.
"Please, you're going to be eating your words come December."
"We'll see about that," Sebastian sits up, smirking, and he reaches across the space between them to give Kurt a hearty clap on the shoulder.
It's just Kurt's luck that it happens to be the same shoulder that had gone crashing into the lockers today after Karofsky shoved him. Kurt hisses sharply and jerks away from Sebastian's touch, knocking into the edge of the vanity table top. When his forearm begins to throb too, he curses inwardly and rubs gently at the spot, hoping desperately that he won't wake up to yet another bruise tomorrow.
When he glances back up to the mirror, Sebastian's eyes are heavy with confusion and what looks like angered suspicion.
"I'm fine," he says, but it's obvious Sebastian doesn't believe him.
"Let me see." Sebastian begins to lift up the right sleeve of Kurt's t-shirt, but Kurt again edges away.
"Shouldn't you be doing homework or something? Wait. I asked you to help me with trig, didn't I? What happened to that?"
"Stop deflecting and pull up your sleeve."
Kurt matches Sebastian's stare for a few long moments before sighing deeply and gingerly rolling up his shirt sleeve. He probably should have seen this coming - if Sebastian had gotten all worked up over that slushie on the first day, there's no way he's going to let a bruise slide.
"It's not that bad," Kurt insists, trying to keep his tone casual. Maybe, hopefully - this struggle is just a matter of willpower. If he sticks to the mindset that Karofsky's habits aren't getting to him, maybe he'll start to believe it. It's a little convoluted and illogical, but what else can he do? He's only got so many defenses.
"Not that bad," Sebastian echoes incredulously. "You have a bruise the size of Africa and you say it's not that bad?"
Kurt pivots to face away from the mirror, examining his shoulder's reflection. "What? Don't make stuff up, I - " A large, splotchy kidney-shaped mark purples the skin between the joint and the ridge of his shoulder blade. Okay, so it's not Africa, but it's still generously-sized. He shuts his eyes for a moment, trying and failing to shut from his mind today's memory, the winded feeling of slamming back into the lockers. "It looks worse than it is."
Sebastian reaches out to trace the edges of the bruise, stilling his movements when Kurt starts to wince. "Tell me you at least told one of the teachers about this."
"The only people who care even less than the students are the faculty," Kurt sighs, eyeing Sebastian's fingertips, still resting gently on his shoulder right next to the darkened skin.
"And it hasn't occurred to you to just - I don't know, tell them off? You haven't just said, 'I'm not gonna take your crap anymore'?"
"Somehow I don't think that would accomplish anything. They're about twice my size with only half of my intelligence."
Sebastian gives a nonchalant hum. For a moment he looks as if he's going to speak - until he abruptly gets up and leaves the room.
Kurt stares after him in disbelief. What the hell? That's it?
He's not expecting a pity party or anything, but a little warning about ending the conversation would have been nice.
Then again, this is Sebastian - he always surprises. After a few moments, he comes back in the room, wrapping a paper towel around a bag of - is that?
"Frozen peas?" Kurt asks with the barest hint of a smile. "Seems so cliché."
"Don't knock it till you try it. I can't tell you how many of my lacrosse injuries could have gotten worse without a little swelling control from your so-called cliché."
He startles a bit when Sebastian gently presses the peas against his shoulder. It's freezing, jarring against his flesh like those horrid slushies - but then numbness starts to steadily crawl outward from the bruise site, and the tension slowly eases away from his body as he takes comfort in both the cold press and Sebastian's presence, close and familiar.
"I don't know what things are like at your messed-up school," Sebastian starts, and Kurt has to snort at that. Always so tactless. "And I know you act like it's all okay, but there's only so much you can take."
The implication of being called helpless or weak would normally make his hackles rise - but luckily he knows exactly what Sebastian isn't saying.
He offers a half-smile and reaches up to squeeze Sebastian's hand, the frozen peas numbing his fingertips. "Thank you."
But as he finds out the next morning, Sebastian's comfort doesn't amount to much.
As soon as he rounds the corner for first period, a pair of thick hands shove him backwards. He stumbles to the floor, his rear end crashing into the tiles with a sharp pain that ripples up all the way from his tailbone to his neck. Eyes screwed shut, biting down on his tongue hard enough to draw tangy, coppery blood spilling over his teeth.
His cheeks burn red with humiliation as his classmates and even some passing sophomores stand there watching, some laughing openly, others grinning a bit more discreetly.
And even with Sebastian's quiet affirmation that he's not alone, that he's got the moral support of the rest of the guys from group - and even with Tina helping him to his feet at this very minute - it's not enough.
Not anymore.
His first thought as soon as he sets foot in the door is that there are so many boys. Of course that's a given, but it's nice to look at boys who are actually smiling at him out of friendliness rather than the smugness that accompanies a biting cold slushie. He's been here less than ten minutes, and rather than getting slammed into cold metal, he's instead been given several variations of 'morning, how's it going?'
His second thought is that everything looks expensive and old - in a good kind of way. Where McKinley High is all glass and steel and light and suspiciously shiny floors, Dalton Academy is defined by mahogany and crystal chandeliers and vaulted ceilings and marble statues. It exudes the type of vintage class and luxury that makes Kurt feel both incredibly envious and painfully under-cultured.
Sebastian was right - it really is like a different world.
But then the strangest thing happens - a few of the boys start to look at their cellphones, or at the clocks nailed to the walls, and then they continue on in a rush, chattering excitedly. It's like they're all trying to get to the same place, and the longer Kurt watches this behavior, the more confused he gets.
"Excuse me," he stops a dark-haired boy on the stairs, and when the boy turns away from his pocket watch to look up, Kurt's heart catches in his throat.
Those wide hazel eyes are possibly the most gorgeous eyes he's ever seen.
"Um," Kurt stutters. He's a little shocked that he can even speak right now. "Hi. Can you tell me what's going on here? I'm new."
The boy grins, stowing his watch in his pocket. "Well you're in luck. The Warblers are on in about three minutes. Every now and then they throw an impromptu performance in the senior commons - it tends to shut the school down for a while."
Kurt blinks and looks around him at the mass migration of boys heading downstairs. "Really? All of this for the Warblers?"
"Oh yeah," the boy's smile widens even more, if possible. "The Warblers are like rockstars."
It's a hell of a sales pitch. But that's not what does him in - no. It's being physically here in their territory - seeing the smiles, the rush, the excited buzz in the air - that fills him with a sense of strange wonder and disbelief. Sebastian's always said that the Warblers are like school royalty (or rockstars, according to this boy), but the truth of that statement never really sunk in until now.
It's such a far cry from the daily opposition that New Directions gets from all tiers of McKinley's social hierarchy, and Kurt can't help but feel a little jealous. It must show on his face too because a look of sympathy crosses the boy's eyes, and he takes Kurt's hand and tugs him down the stairs. "Follow me. I know a shortcut."
He leads them down an empty hallway, checking on Kurt behind him and smiling, those bright hazel eyes dancing with curiosity and mischief, like he knows something that Kurt doesn't - but Kurt finds that he doesn't mind. That expression looks good on him, and it's contagious - Kurt can feel himself smiling too.
And this boy's actually holding his hand, touching Kurt willingly and for an extended period of time, not running away screaming out fears of 'catching the gay.'
No guy has ever treated him like such an equal, like it's okay to be exactly who he is. No one since Sebastian.
Don't start, Kurt's conscience reminds him sharply. Don't even think about it.
It's only when they arrive at the senior commons that the boy finally lets go of Kurt's hand, and the weight of the differences between their schools really starts to hit him. The Warblers haven't even started yet, but there's an almost tangible sense of anticipation and school pride - it's a lot like the feeling in the air during homecoming football games, and the realization makes Kurt's stomach twist.
"I should probably get my hands on one of those blazers," he manages with a weak laugh.
The boy offers an understanding smile. "Might be a good idea."
A familiar face across the room catches his eye - Sebastian. He's staring right at Kurt, mouthing what are you doing here? and - Kurt stops in his tracks. He can't admit to spying, obviously. But he can't say that he just came here to check out the school either, because a research trip like that could have easily been done after classes were done for the day.
But before he can think of any alternative answers, he hears several of the boys near the windows humming the opening notes to 'Teenage Dream,' and the boy who led Kurt to this room soon steps away, joining in as lead vocalist and capturing his full attention.
And well. If Kurt wasn't too far gone before, he certainly is now. The rational part of his mind is screaming at him to not start crushing on the first cute guy who happens to be relatively nice to him (because look how well that turned out last time), but he almost can't be bothered with listening to that, because honestly - it's impossible.
How could he see that boy - gorgeous and warm and friendly and sweetly singing the words directly to Kurt - and not instantly fall head over heels? If that isn't enough, as frontman he's like a physical embodiment of what the Warblers are - talented and beloved and accepting. How could Kurt not be attracted to that?
It's an instant connection. For that boy this might be just another performance, but for Kurt it's like each line leaves an imprint on his heart. Even if he forgets the boy's face and never sees him again (he hopes not), he'll at least remember what it felt like to stand here being sung to, appreciated, almost loved.
As the song peters off, Kurt turns to leave - he's not sure if he wants to deal with Sebastian just yet. Maybe tonight. He shuts his eyes, taking in the last few notes of the song and committing this experience to memory. Then there's a round of boisterous applause, cheers and whistles, and just like that, it's over.
Until he hears footsteps jogging behind him.
"Wait up, new kid!"
He turns around and there's that same boy, all charisma and smiles and charm.
"What'd you think - " The boy's brow furrows. "Uh, I never did catch your name."
Before he can answer, someone else speaks. "It's Kurt."
They both turn to see Sebastian walking up to them, his hands stowed in his pockets. "Hey little brother. I didn't expect to see you here."
Sebastian's lips are quirked up in an odd sort of smile, and he doesn't bother hiding the suspicion in his eyes. Suddenly the guilt begins pooling into Kurt's stomach.
"I didn't know you had a brother," the boy looks pointedly at Sebastian.
"Almost brothers. I guess I failed to mention it," Sebastian shrugs. "Just like he probably failed to mention that he's from McKinley High."
Kurt winces. He's not exactly sure what he expected - Sebastian questioning him wasn't just a high possibility, it was an inevitability. Oh God, they're not going to beat him up for spying, are they? Sebastian wouldn't go for that, right?
But to his surprise, the boy just laughs. "I thought so. You make kind of a lousy spy."
He looks down self-consciously at his outfit. The white shirt and striped tie he'd stolen from Sebastian's room this morning made for a halfway decent disguise, but that was the most he'd been willing to take. He isn't quite at that level of comfort with Sebastian where they can share pants. "I suppose I could have at least opted for gray jeans instead of black."
The boy smiles again and shakes his head. He sticks his hand out for Kurt to shake. "Either way, it's nice to formally meet you, Kurt. My name's Blaine."
It doesn't register right away. His first thought is that it's a rather old-fashioned (but charming) name. Then he wonders if Blaine's parents were John Hughes fans. He frowns a little, retracting his hand from the handshake with a sense of deja vu. He's had this thought process before, he's sure of it.
And that's when it hits him.
"Wait. Blaine Anderson?"
Blaine cocks his head to the side with a confused smile. "That's me. Have we met before?"
The gravity of the situation makes Kurt's throat go arid. This is the same Blaine who Sebastian had been chasing several months ago - maybe he's still chasing him to this day. Kurt doesn't know and he's sure as hell not going to ask about it now. He had spent week after week resenting and envying the one receiving Sebastian's affections - resenting Blaine, the sweet, friendly unassuming boy in front of him. Guilt rises up in his gut in sharp, heavy waves. Blaine had done nothing to merit that resentment. He was only - everything that Kurt wasn't.
Maybe that's why Kurt had just spent the last ten minutes ogling him - Katy Perry is far from a lyrical genius, but those words about feeling complete and getting his heart racing? Scarily accurate.
Trying to ignore the irony of the situation, he finally regains enough strength in his voice to answer. "No, I've just heard about you from Sebastian. That's all."
"Oh really?" Blaine glances at Sebastian a little flustered. "Positive things?"
"You have no idea," Kurt laughs quietly, but he quickly sobers at the look on Sebastian's face. He can't exactly place what expression he's wearing. He's - smiling? No, not really. His face remains light, neutral, but he looks guarded, like he's waiting for Kurt to say something - something stupid, something out of line. It wouldn't be the first time. Kurt still remembers that bitter argument they'd had before Sebastian left for Paris, all because he chose not to think before speaking.
No more of that. He's promised that much to himself. With a casual shrug of the shoulders, he changes the subject. "I thought I would scope out the competition - Sebastian always extols the Warblers' praises, but I've never actually seen a performance until now."
"And? What do you think?" Blaine prompts with a smile.
"Your choreography could use a little work," Kurt admits. "But your vocals are amazing. Whether or not you guys are good enough to beat New Directions remains to be seen."
"Well, I guess we'll see come Sectionals," Blaine laughs.
"But the entire school loves you," Kurt sighs. "That's definitely an advantage you guys have over my club."
There must be some underlying bitterness to his voice, because as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Sebastian and Blaine are exchanging meaningful looks. When Blaine looks back at Kurt, his eyebrows are furrowed with concern. "So there actually was an ulterior motive for coming here."
God, was he really that transparent? "I never said that."
"You didn't have to," Blaine responds, grasping Kurt's shoulder firmly but gently. "I know a defeated face when I see one. Trust me, I've been there."
Kurt figures that 'I know, Sebastian told me' isn't the appropriate thing to say, so he keeps his mouth shut and nods, following Blaine to sit at a round coffee table in one of the adjacent rooms.
"Sebastian, do you think you can get Kurt a latte?" Blaine asks when they've sat down.
Sebastian raises an eyebrow. "He doesn't even - "
"Please," Blaine says, shooting Sebastian a look. Kurt watches the exchange - something crosses over Sebastian's face too quickly for Kurt to identify. Much to his surprise, Sebastian actually gets up. He looks at Kurt one last time before backing away - his eyes still have that intense, questioning look to them, promising to ask about the spying issue later on. Kurt resists the urge to sag down in his chair from relief. He really had not been looking forward to that conversation.
Blaine ensures that no one is in earshot before he sets his eyes back on Kurt. "So I take it you're having trouble at school."
Ah, and there's the catch - going from one awkward conversation to another. But something about Blaine draws Kurt in - he trusts him, for some reason. Maybe it's dangerous. He doesn't know him at all, yet he begins to talk. "McKinley High isn't very receptive to the arts - or me, for that matter." He takes a deep breath, scraping his fingers across the table top, focusing his attention there instead of Blaine's face. Opening up about the bullying at McKinley has never been easy, but somehow right now it's easier. Maybe, with an idea of Blaine's history, he can be a bit more honest. "I'm the only person out of the closet at my school. I try to stay strong about it, but - "
Memories of the past two years creep up over him, bringing all of the humiliation, shame, and helplessness to hang over him like storm clouds. His throat catches as the image of Karofsky's sneer lingers at the forefront of his mind. Suddenly it's hard to breathe.
"Kurt?" Blaine's voice brings him back to reality, back to the present.
"There's this - this Neanderthal who's made it his mission to make my life a living hell. And nobody seems to notice." His voice breaks on the last word. So much for staying strong.
But when he looks up, there is no judgment in Blaine's eyes. No sense of mocking, just something that looks like - "I know how you feel."
Kurt nods slowly and frowns, prompting Blaine to continue.
"I was bullied really badly at my old school," Blaine goes on. "I even complained about it to the faculty. They were sympathetic and all, but you could just tell that nobody really cared. It was like, hey, if you're gay, your life's just gonna be miserable. Sorry. Nothing we can do about it. So I dealt with it for a while, but eventually it became too much for me to handle. I finally hit my breaking point."
Oh, that feeling is far too familiar. Kurt shuts his eyes for a half-second. "Then what happened?"
"I left that school. Never looked back. And I came here," Blaine finishes, glancing up at the ceiling.
Kurt would be lying if he said he hadn't been examining this school as a prospective student the moment he'd arrived. Who wouldn't, especially in his situation? Dalton is like paradise compared to McKinley. It's like every utopia he's ever seen on TV or read about in fantasy novels, except it's right here and it's real. But it's also just out of his reach. "I don't really have the option of transferring right now."
"I know. But you do have another option - you can refuse to be the victim. Prejudice is just ignorance, Kurt. And you have a chance right now to teach this guy."
He makes it sound so easy. "How?"
Blaine frowns, hesitating. It starts piecing together for Kurt in that silence - the bullies, the hospitalization that Sebastian had mentioned. Had he actually been beaten up? "You can talk to him. Confront him. But be careful, and be smart about it. If you can sense that things are getting dangerous, back away. You have to try at first, because you never know. But if he's not willing to at least listen, then you have to back out."
"How'd your chat with our frontman go?"
Kurt looks up to see Sebastian settling down on his bed, sitting cross-legged to face him. "I'm sorry for spying."
Sebastian shrugs. "I'll admit I was annoyed, but what can I say? A little dirty competition keeps things interesting. More importantly - you and Blaine looked like you were having a pretty intense conversation. Wanna tell me about it?"
He hesitates. "He was beat up by bullies?"
Sebastian's face quickly sets into a solemn expression. "He told you that?"
Kurt shakes his head. "Hinted, more like."
His future stepbrother nods. "Yeah, he's never actually said it, but you know how it is. My classmates have ways of figuring things out."
"I can't believe that bullies would ever go that far," Kurt says, shaking his head. "I mean, I have my problems, and god knows that Rigo and Seth and Jake have theirs, but it's never gotten to the point where one of us had to get sent to the hospital."
"People do fucked up things when they're narrow-minded. And the people who don't deserve it end up getting hurt," Sebastian says, gently pulling at the threads on Kurt's throw blanket.
He doesn't even have the heart to tell him to stop. He may not have had the horrific experience that Blaine did, but the misery and the anxiety that he had no doubt suffered through during his time at that school? That hits far too close to home for Kurt.
"You guys just swapped battle stories then?"
He shoots Sebastian a dirty look. Did he really have to word it that way? "Yes. And he gave me some advice."
"Such as?"
"Well - he told me to stand up for myself."
"So he basically repeated what I've been telling you since forever," Sebastian says dryly. "Awesome. You've got your second opinion. Are you actually gonna do it now?"
God, he wants to. He wants to stop that locker shove before it even happens, he wants to tell Karofsky to go to hell and that there's nothing wrong with being exactly who he is, but somehow - he can't. "I don't know."
"What, do you need help or something - "
"No," Kurt cuts him off. "If I do it, I have to do it by myself."
"Always the lone sufferer, aren't you," Sebastian deadpans, absently drawing circles on Kurt's bedspread.
"I just don't see the sense in involving anyone else," Kurt answers, his tone defensive. "It's my problem alone."
Abruptly Sebastian stands and stares at Kurt for several long moments. His eyes are heavy and frustrated. "Look, I get that. But it doesn't mean that I have to like it."
That's all he says before leaving Kurt in shocked silence.
In the end, it's Sebastian's constant urgings and Blaine's advice that gets him to make up his mind about speaking out. And he tries, he tries to be brave, but every single time Karofsky shoves into him, his debilitating fear leaves him tongue-tied and any kind of righteous speech he has planned ends up in the dirt.
There are only two more years of this, he reminds himself. Sad as though it is, it actually does reassure him in a way. For a while.
Until the time comes when a week passes without any harassment. It's like the quiet just before a major storm, and even though Kurt tries to distract himself with wedding planning and continuing to adjust to the new house (and his soon to be new family members), the sense of impending dread and trepidation that lurks at the back of his mind cannot be ignored.
And that's when it happens.
He's on his way from sixth period to Glee. He pauses at the top of the staircase to take his vibrating phone from his pocket.
It's a text from Blaine. Courage.
A slow, hesitant smile stretches across his face.
Then someone shoves him from behind. What comes next is an out-of-body experience. His world both speeds up and slows down. He falls, blows hitting his body at various angles. He almost feels like he's drowning. Which way is up or down? He throws a protective arm over his head. Maybe it's too late. Maybe his head is already split open.
He lands on his back, winded. His brain's still rattling around, pounding, pulsing like it's about to burst from his skull. Fuck.
"Nice ballerina tumble, Lady!" Karofsky jeers, and heavy footsteps echoing away indicate his departure.
No, a voice screams inside Kurt's head. No matter how scared you are, you can't let him get away with this. You can't let him win.
"Hey," he calls out, wincing at how weak his voice sounds. He struggles to sit up, ignoring his body's aching protests. He opens his eyes - everything is blurry, and that's probably a warning sign to go to the hospital but that can wait. He has to do this now, before he loses his nerve.
"Hey!" He repeats, his voice stronger now. He staggers to his feet, stumbling after Karofsky. "I'm talking to you!"
"Don't waste your breath, Lady McCripple. I gotta get to football practice like a real man," Karofsky laughs, and Kurt stands up to full height, ignoring the pounding in his head. His eyes focus on two Karofskys - oh. That can't be good.
"What the hell is your problem?"
Karofsky's eyes narrow - at least Kurt thinks they do. "Excuse me?"
"Why me? If I'm such a sissy, such a girl - what are you so scared of?"
"Besides you following me to the locker room to peek at my junk?" Karofsky scoffs, and he continues walking.
In a strange, sudden burst of energy, Kurt darts ahead of him, stopping him in his tracks. "Yeah, every straight guy's nightmare, that all us gays are secretly out to molest and convert you. Well guess what, Hamhock - you are not my type."
Karofsky steps closer, his lip curled in a sneer. "That right?"
"Yeah. I don't like chubby boys who sweat too much and are gonna be bald by the time they're thirty."
Karofsky's fist smashes into the lockers next to them, the harsh clang of metal echoing down the empty hallway. "Do not push me, Hummel."
He stares at Karofsky's fist, remembering Blaine's advice - if things get dangerous, walk away, but he can't seem to stop anymore. The words tumble out. "You gonna hit me? Do it."
"Don't push me," Karofsky growls.
"Hit me. It's not gonna change who I am. You can't punch the gay out of me any more than I can punch the ignoramus out of you!" He yells, the pulsing in his head growing stronger and stronger, pushing against the back of his eyes.
"Get out of my face!" Karofsky snaps. His cruel, cocky expression cracks.
Back off, get away, go - the voice warns, but he stays exactly where he is, dangerously lightheaded. Almost delirious. "You are nothing but a scared little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are!"
Karofsky moves in close. Kurt's not sure what he was expecting - maybe getting decked in the face.
But that doesn't happen. Instead Karofsky's kissing him, lips dry and hot and rough - and it's absolutely disgusting.
At first he freezes up in shock. But once he recovers, he shoves Karofsky away, desperate to get as much space between their bodies as possible.
This can't be happening. This must be a nightmare.
Karofsky reaches for him a second time, his eyes wild and filled with longing, but Kurt again pushes him back, and his form is too solid to be anything other than real.
"Don't," he warns Karofsky, backing up to the lockers. "Don't touch me."
Karofsky swears under his breath, his shoulders taut with tension. He turns to leave, only to face Kurt again. "If you tell anyone about this," he says darkly, "I am gonna kill you."
The threat sends a chill of pure terror all the way through Kurt's bones, and as he watches Karofsky stalk away, his vision starts to fade in and out. Suddenly his breath is far too noisy. His heart feels like it's about to burst through his chest. The world starts to spin, first slowly, then fast and out of control -
And then he's falling.
His memory blacks out during the fall itself, but he vaguely remembers opening his eyes to the bright ceiling lights and someone with a soft, feminine voice asking him if he's okay.
After another minute - or maybe it's been a half hour, Kurt's not sure - he also remembers two men in blue uniforms. Paramedics, probably. One shines an annoyingly bright light into Kurt's eyes, and the other starts asking him really ridiculous questions.
Can you tell me who is the president of the United States? Barack Obama.
Do you know where you are? McKinley High.
What is today's date? November? November 9. 2010.
They ask him some more questions after that - did he eat recently, what was he doing before he fell, is he taking any medications, does he have any drug allergies - countless others, probably just to keep him talking and conscious, but it's getting increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. His head is foggy, he kind of feels like throwing up but mostly he just wants to sleep.
His last thoughts are of green eyes, then green eyes turning to hazel, and then he's out cold.
When he comes to, everything is still a little fuzzy, his mind achey and loose. His limbs feel like lead, limp and heavy next to his body. Slowly his eyes roam his surroundings - a hospital bay, from the looks of it.
"You're alive," a voice says, approaching his right side. Sebastian. "Thank god." His tone is light, but it sounds like there's some underlying worry there too. Maybe. Nonverbal cues are a little difficult to read at the moment.
Kurt's voice is hoarse and scratchy as he answers, "Nice to see you too."
"Burt went to get something to eat," Sebastian says, pulling up a chair next to the bedside. "Doctor said you've got a concussion and some pretty serious bruising. Said you were lucky there wasn't more damage. What happened?"
Good question. Kurt's not sure himself.
Oh, he remembers falling. Stair edges digging into his arms, knees, back, hips - everywhere. "I fell down the stairs, I think."
"Your guidance counselor found you halfway down the hallway from the stairs. Did you try to walk after you fell, or - what?"
"Maybe? I - I don't know," Kurt answers slowly, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, the memories start filtering in. He was walking to glee club, and then - then he was pushed. Karofsky was there.
Kurt feels a wave of nausea rise up in his stomach, and he turns away from Sebastian.
Following Karofsky. Screaming his lungs out. Provoking him. The kiss. It all comes back to him in flashes, and with each scene comes a sharp pounding in his head and the telltale sting of tears behind his eyes.
He's tried - god knows he's tried to be strong. He's put up with the taunting and the mockery and the locker shoves and countless other brands of torment in that hellhole of a school. He's told himself over and over, lied to himself that it would get better, that one day he would rise above and those assholes would be sorry for everything they did.
"Kurt?"
He doesn't even realize he's crying until Sebastian calls his name. He's been so lost in his own head - but now he's acutely aware of how hot those tears are on his face, how loud the nurse's station is outside, how realthis entire situation is, how painful it is to be so utterly helpless and defeated.
"I can't - Karofsky," is all he manages.
"Wait," Sebastian says in a low voice. "That asshole did this?"
Sebastian's chair scrapes against the floor, like he's just stood up, and a sudden wash of fear rolls over Kurt. He launches forward, ignoring his head's protest at the sudden movement, and grabs Sebastian's wrist. "Don't - "
"No! You can't just let this one slide, Kurt," Sebastian snaps. "Look at you - he put you in the fucking hospital!"
"Sebastian, please," he says weakly, pleading him to understand. He can't be alone right now.
Sebastian tenses, and for a moment Kurt thinks he's about to take off anyway - but then his shoulders sag, and he steps toward the bed again, his eyes softening. "Fine, I get it."
He's here - he's staying.
Kurt chokes back a sob and pulls Sebastian in closer, burying his face in his shirt. Maybe it's sad, maybe it's desperate, but - "I can't do it anymore. I can't - "
"Hey - hey, stop. None of that," Sebastian murmurs, awkwardly rubbing Kurt's back. After a moment he circles his arms around him. It almost helps. "You're okay now. You're okay. I've got you."
Pretty words, but they're riddled with lies. He's not okay.
Maybe he can finally admit that he's weak, or maybe he's simply reached his breaking point like Blaine did. It doesn't matter. Either way -
It's over.