Notes: I am so sorry this is a day late – I totally blanked that publishing fic is I thing I'm doing at the moment and didn't remember until I was half asleep. Unless I forget again, though, the schedule will remain the same, and I'll mention on Tumblr is I'm going to be late again. :) Also, sorry this chapter's so short; most chapters in Book Two are about this length, but I'm sure it's obvious why. I hope you're all still faring well and dealing with your grief as you need to.
Chapter warnings: More throwing up; a kinda graphic description of someone fainting; mentions of eating disorders, disordered eating and the events of the previous chapter.
chapter viii
Kurt jerked awake and threw himself to the bathroom. He made it just in time to reach the toilet. There was no vomit – he had barely eaten over the past two days so all that was left in his stomach was bile. Afterwards, he brushed his teeth and gargled three mouthfuls of water, and then he hurried back to his room to avoid looking at his reflection. He knew how he looked, dark rings under puffy eyes and a couple of spots threatening his hairline. If he looked too closely, he could see Blaine haunting his eyes; if he looked for too long, he couldn't help but imagine bruises on his cheeks shaped like fingertips.
Not even his dreams were an escape anymore: nightmares filled the absence of Blaine and their mysterious world. Each nightmare was different but they were never without Blaine – Blaine asking why Kurt had abandoned him and broken his promise, Blaine just out of reach, Blaine but on the other side of a glass wall and Kurt can only watch his scream, Blaine lying in a hospital bed and unable to wake up – or Karofsky – closing in on Kurt, kissing him, not physically there but Kurt could feel him touching everywhere in the darkness—
But the worst were the ones with both of them.
In his latest nightmare, he'd been walking through the forest. Blaine had been just ahead of him – Kurt could see him through the trees occasionally. He would shout out but Blaine never turned around. Then the scene had changed to the locker room and Kurt had turned the corner to find Karofsky on top of Blaine, meaty hands around the smaller boy's throat. Blaine had looked at Kurt, furious and devastated, and accused him of never caring in the first place.
That was when Kurt had woken up. He was still tired now, exhausted from worry and fear, but the thought of going back to bed made his stomach churn again. It was only four in the morning – far too early to go for a run, especially if he was going to keep his dad unworried – but he needed to move around so he quietly continued packing up his room. The families were moving into the new house tomorrow and most of his wardrobe was still out.
He worked thoughtlessly until his alarm went off, packing all but his most shapeless jeans and undecorated shirts. It almost seemed ridiculous to care about his appearance – of the only two people who ever looked at him, one had only ever seen him in pyjamas anyway and the other he never wanted looking in the first place – but he needed to at least to keep up appearances. The Kurt Hummel of two weeks ago would look fabulous even with a limited wardrobe. This Kurt Hummel needed to pretend he was still jubilant over winning Sectionals and his parents marrying and moving into a new house.
Breakfast was quiet. His dad asked if he was excited about moving. Kurt confirmed they were able to use the truck from the garage. They both looked melancholically at the boxes and bare walls surrounding them.
Then Finn crashed through the house, stuffed at least six waffles in his mouth, and then ran to his car so he couldn't be late picking his girlfriend up for school.
Kurt avoided being alone in the corridors as much as possible. It was a lot harder than last year – there was a lot of distance between himself and his friends now, partly purposeful, partly just because they've all got relationship drama to focus on and not enough left over for himself, and also he just had fewer classes with the other Gleeks.
Still, he could usually find someone, and he had very quickly figured out the fastest ways to get to class. It meant he carried around most of his books all day but that was a small price to pay to avoid Karofsky. He used the extra time sitting in class to mentally create floor plans and jot down potential new routes of research. 'Astral plane' was the best he had, but that didn't explain the why of anything.
Luckily, the final bell rang and Kurt made it to his car without seeing Karofsky once, although it wasn't until he'd closed his front door behind him that the heavy feeling of someone watching went away. He wasn't exactly comfortable in his home anymore – everything was in boxes, waiting for Burt to arrive with one of the trucks from the garage so Finn, Puck and Sam could help the Hummel-Hudsons move the last of their belongings.
A part of Kurt resented his friends for their help, for the exact same reason he had been so grateful when they'd first offered: the heavy lifting. Burt was still restricted from extreme manual labour – or at least doing a lot of lifting in one day, and he'd already had a shift every day that week – so it would have been up to Finn and Kurt to rearrange furniture and carry boxes. He ended up mostly bossing the other boys about and only carrying the boxes with his clothes and fragile items.
He ended up being merely tired and not exhausted, and dreamt of Karofsky slowly strangling him while Blaine screamed in the background.
The weekend provided some relief to Kurt. He all but kicked Finn out of the house to have some 'bro time' with the other Glocks so he had basically full reign over the physical work, and the mindless orders and organising helped distract him. The house was almost entirely settled by Sunday evening, in part because of Kurt's dictatorship during the day, in part because he had little else to do when he inevitably gave up sleep in the early hours of the morning.
But then Monday arrived again.
"Honey, are you alright?" Carole asked. "You look a little queasy."
"Nothing to worry about, just a bit of a stomach ache," Kurt said. "I took a couple of painkillers upstairs. I'll be fine by Glee club."
Carole pulled a sympathetic face and Kurt gave her the smile she was looking for. At least it got him out of having to choke down the rest of his breakfast.
He wasn't fine by Glee club, of course. Actually, he was feeling so much worse, his stomach protesting against every movement, although he barely noticed over the dizziness and a headache which pounded against the backs of his eyes.
Kurt shook his head and bile burned at the back of his throat.
"Now, I believe Finn and Kurt have prepared a song for us," Mr Schue was saying. Probably. Honestly, he sounded very far away; Kurt felt like he had cotton wool stuffed in his ears.
"We do," Finn said. "Basically, we want to thank you guys for everything you've done over the past few weeks – what with the wedding just before Sectionals, and then decorating the new house and helping us move in. Right, Kurt?"
Right, Kurt thought, although his mouth was too full of cotton wool too for him to talk.
He tried to stand up. He heard white noise – or was it someone screaming?
And then there was nothing.
When Kurt woke up, Mr Schue immediately took him to the nurse's office, for which he was glad because everyone panicking at him just made him want to faint again. The nurse gave him a granola bar and a cup of water and asked him for his name, his birthday, what his dad's name was. "Do you still feel like fainting?" she asked.
Kurt considered saying he was fine but that seemed like literally the dumbest thing he could do at that moment. He'd just fainted.
"No, but I still feel dizzy and a bit nauseous," he grudgingly admitted.
"How long have you been feeling like this?"
"A couple days."
"Have you been eating?"
Kurt hesitated. "Not really."
"Have you been throwing up?"
"Yes, but I'm not making myself throw up."
Neither the nurse nor Mr Schue looked convinced.
"Can I just go home?" Kurt asked tiredly.
"I'll need to call one of your parents," the nurse said. "You shouldn't be alone in case you faint again."
Kurt's lips thinned. "Fine."
While the nurse went to call the garage, Mr Schue sat next to Kurt on the bed.
"Kurt," he said, gently lying a hand on Kurt's shoulder, "I know I things have been tough for you lately, but there's never a good reason—"
"I don't have an eating disorder, Mr Schue!" Kurt interrupted. "I promise. I've just not been feeling well lately."
"Still, I think you should make an appointment with Mrs Pillsbury-Howell tomorrow."
Kurt thought some very unkind words about Mr Schue just then. "Fine."
The nurse came through the curtain. "Your dad'll be here in ten minutes. You can wait either here – I'll need to talk to him when he arrives. Keep eating!"
The granola bar wasn't actually too bad. It tasted kind of bland, except for the bursts of fruit, and it didn't make him want to run to the nearest sink. Maybe he could convince his dad to stock up on crackers on the way home.
Speak of the devil, Kurt thought, hunching his shoulders as his dad appeared at the nurse's door. Burt immediately pulled Kurt into a hug, holding him a little too tightly for comfort. Well, Kurt's comfort; it probably wasn't tight enough for Burt's. After the nurse briefly filled Burt in on how to get Kurt to recover ("Keep his blood sugar up – lots of water, granola bars, soda, anything like that. If he doesn't feel better within a couple of hours – tomorrow morning at the very latest – or he throws anything back up in the next couple of days, take him to a hospital immediately."), Burt picked up Kurt's bag and they drove home in silence.
"Nurse said you've been feeling like this a while now."
Kurt avoided his dad's eye and didn't say anything.
"This have anything to do with why you were sneaking around all hours the past few days?" At Kurt's surprised look, Burt snorted. "Kid, one thing you've gotta know about parents is that we're light sleepers, especially when we're worried about our children."
Tears unexpectedly and without warning began spilling down Kurt's cheeks. "I'm sorry, Dad . . ."
"No, no need to say sorry. Just . . . talk to me, Kurt."
Just with as little warning and control as his tears, words spilled from Kurt's mouth – not the whole story, not a single thing about Blaine or Karofsky's kiss, but the locker slams and slushies and taunts and the death threat . . .
By the time Kurt was finished, both men were crying, and Burt pulled Kurt close again and this time they clung to each other. For the first time since Sectionals, Kurt felt that everything would turn out okay, wrapped up safe in his father's arms.
And indeed, the next day, when school had barely begun, his tormentor was expelled without question, and Kurt allowed himself just a few moments to bask.
End notes: I know I don't usually put these in multi-chapter fics, especially when it doesn't give any information, but I just want to draw your attention to the relationship between Burt and Kurt. Because it is a damn good relationship, and Burt is the best father in the world, and I love it and love them just so so much.