Sam was having a horrible, no good, very bad day. Kurt hadn't talked to him at all. He was still mad about last night's heated conversation. His mom had burnt his toast and his favorite shirt was still dirty. Then, when they had finally made it to school, someone in first period warned him about a pop quiz in lit class. Sam was ready to write the whole day off as a loss. Let the suckitude begin, he taunted the world.
The universe seemed to relish the challenge because his pen burst shortly afterwards. His hands, desk, and notebook were covered in Royal Blue #12 ink. Trying to clean his hands off in the boys' bathroom with only a push nozzle and an empty soap dispenser was impossible. With a groan, he attacked the paper towel dispenser and got as much of the ink off as he could. Despite his best efforts, his skin was still a lovely shade of blue. He tried to look on the bright side; it kinda looked like the Na'vi make-up from Avatar. It was in no way the periwinkle color of, say, a Smurf. He held his hands up to the light. No, dammit, it was definitely Smurf-like. He could hear the jokes now. "Maybe I'll get lucky and Santana and Puck will replace Trouty Mouth with Smurfette." He could live with that.
A noise outside the door made Sam dive for one of the stalls. He wasn't quite ready to deal with the jokes just yet. He successfully pulled his feet out of view as someone walked in. Finally, one thing was going his way.
He waited patiently for the sound of running water to end. Boys didn't take that long in the restroom. Sam would be out of here in no time.
The bathroom door slammed against the tile wall as yet another person entered. Sam dropped his head to his knees. He had spoken too soon.
"Don't you know you're supposed to use the girls' bathroom?" Karofsky, double great, Sam silently moaned.
"I was just leaving." And Kurt; wow, was this not his day. He heard the door shut. "Move, Karofsky."
"Make me."
"Real mature."
"You want to see how mature?" There was a shuffle and the dull thud of a fist hitting muscle. Sam cursed himself for hiding and moved to open the door. A weight landed hard against the stall door and made it nearly impossible for Sam to undo the latch.
"Kurt?" he shouted.
"Sam!" came the frantic reply. Sam shoved his shoulder against the door, but it wouldn't budge. Screw this, he thought, and managed to slide under the partition and into the next stall.
"Don't you touch him, Karofsky," Sam warned. Karofsky turned to face him, leaving Kurt huddled against the stall door.
"Lighten up, Evans. He's fine." Karofsky punched Kurt in the shoulder, missing the wince. "See? Now, why don't you take your blueberry hands somewhere else? Me and Kurt need to finish our conversation."
"You're done." Sam could feel the adrenaline start to pump. He tried to shake it out, but his hands naturally balled into fists. "And we're leaving. Unless you want to pick on someone who can fight back?"
"Any day, Evans." Sam stepped into Karofsky, pushing Kurt out of the way as he threw a hook with his other hand. Karofsky rocked back a step, but stayed standing. He threw his own punch, catching Sam on the jaw. It took time for Sam to clear the stars from his eyes, and by then, Karofsky had managed a solid right to his stomach. Sam fought to stay upright. "You quarterbacks are all the same, giant cream puffs."
Sam rushed him, dropping his shoulder at the last second so Karofsky went sailing over his back.
With Karofsky on the ground for the moment, Sam turned to Kurt. He was trying to back into the wall. His cast was held in front of him like a weapon. Sam grabbed him and started for the door. A shove from behind knocked both boys over. Sam, tangled up in Kurt, couldn't protect his head from the edge of the sink. There was a sharp crack, a blur of light, and then a hard landing. Sam tried to blink to clear his vision. No luck. He tried to sit up, vitally sure that something important was happening. He blinked, the world tilted away from him, and Sam passed out.
...
"Sam!" Kurt called. His protector was a dead weight on top of him. Karofsky loomed over them both, chuckling. "Sam," Kurt tried to wake him.
"Sammy boy is out for the count," Karofsky bragged. "I guess it's just you and me, cupcake." Karofsky shoved Sam aside and Kurt slid until he was wedged between the door and the wall.
Kurt didn't know what to do. Sam was the fighter, not Kurt. Kurt used his words, and his longer legs, and his extra half a brain to stay out of these kinds of situations. "Sam?" he called, but there was no answer. He needed help, but there was no one left. He didn't pray so much as fervently wish for his dad to stand in front of him. His dad was larger than life. If he had been there, Karofsky would have been the one cowering. But his dad was gone. No help was coming.
Kurt tried to picture his dad – his big, wide shoulders, his trucker hat, his oil-stained hands. Kurt looked down at his own hands where there were smudges of grease across the knuckles and in the nail beds. He was a Hummel, he told himself. Hummels are too stubborn to shrink back from anything. He stood up. No more hiding. He pulled his casted arm tight across his chest and waited for Karofsky to make his move.
"Now, why'd you have to be like that?" Karofsky smirked, kicking Sam in the ribs as he passed him. "I just wanted to talk."
Kurt tried to remember that summer, two years ago, when his dad had taught him how to punch somebody. "The most important thing," he could hear his dad saying, "is to follow through. Punch like you're trying to drill a hole to China, got me? Then you run like hell."
Kurt nodded to himself. "China," he whispered.
"You are so weird," Karofsky told him. "You should be thankful that someone is taking an interest in your crazy ass." The bigger boy leaned towards Kurt then, his larger form blocking out the lights from the fluorescent bulbs.
"No," Kurt told him and swung his casted arm as hard as he could. His dad would have been proud; Karofsky dropped like a rock.
The pain hit then. Shivers of nails on chalkboard hurt crawled up his arm. His dad had forgotten to mention that part. He stumbled over Karofsky to check on Sam, but he was still unconscious. He had to get Sam out of there before Karofsky woke up. Ignoring the tears of pain staining his vision, he tried to open the door. It wouldn't budge. Karofsky's limp form was blocking the exit. He tried yanking the body out of the way, but he couldn't do it with only one good arm.
"Help," he called. "Somebody? We're trapped in here. Can you help us?" he called again. Minutes passed as Kurt nervously eyed Karofsky. Any minute now, he would wake up and then Kurt and Sam were both dead.
"Kurt?" a voice echoed back.
"Mr. Schue?"
"Are you okay?"
"No, Sam's hurt and we can't get out."
"Stand back," Mr. Schue told him and then the door was slowly bending inwards.
Soon enough, a mop of hair stuck through the opening. "We're almost there," the Spanish teacher called to the group in the hallway. With another heave, they were able to wedge the door wide enough for Mr. Schue to slip through. "Hey, Kurt. Can you tell me what happened?"
Kurt opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Mr. Schuester pushed on. "Did Karofsky do something to you?"
Kurt shook his head. Karofsky hadn't touched him this time. "I hit him," Kurt confessed.
Mr. Schue noticed someone trying to peak their head in and impatiently waved them back. "Why would you do something like that, Kurt?"
"He… I can't. You wouldn't understand. I just can't."
"Kurt," Mr. Schue spoke his name earnestly. "You were the bravest guy I knew. You faced bullies for Tina. You took a slushie for Finn. You protected your dad from the world. Where did that kid go?" Kurt tried to look away, but Mr. Schue's eyes seemed to following him everywhere. "Why won't he speak up for Sam? Why won't he speak up for himself?"
Kurt tried to shrink in on himself. Why was Mr. Schuester trying to make this Kurt's fault?
"You have to say something, or this will happen again."
"You don't know," Kurt tried to protest.
Mr. Schuester softened then. "You're right. I don't. But I would like to know. Would you explain it to me?"
Kurt had to breathe for a moment. It really wasn't as simple as Mr. Schue wanted to make it. Kurt thought about the impossible knot things had become. He pictured Sam slicing through the air with an invisible sword and imagined the knot split in two, threads sliding apart. If only, he wished, but then immediately chided himself for being a child. Life didn't work like that.
Movement out of the corner of his eye startled him. Mr. Schuester had extended his hand between them, offering it to Kurt in a gesture of comfort. "Kurt?"
Kurt looked down at the hand in front of him. There was a pen callus on the middle finger and chalk dust on the wrist. A thinking man's hand, his dad might have said. He reached out to take it. "Karofsky…"
"Hurt you," Mr. Schue finished the sentence for him.
Kurt looked up to meet Mr. Schue's eyes. "Yes."
"He has been for a while," Mr. Schue prompted.
"Yes." Kurt glanced over at Sam and Karofsky limp on the floor. "Karofsky…David is really messed up. He doesn't like himself very much."
Mr. Schue squeezed his hand. "So tell me what's been going on."
Kurt did. He talked as Mercedes and Blaine snuck in to sit by him. He talked as Principal Figgins and the school nurse checked on everyone. He only stopped talking when the paramedics arrived for Karofsky and Sam.
"I should go with him," he told Mr. Schue.
"The police will want to take your statement," Mr. Figgins interrupted. "It's best you stay here for the moment."
"But, Sam," Kurt tried to stand.
Mercedes put out a hand to stop him. "I'll go," she volunteered.
"I…Thank you, 'Cedes." He dropped his head then, a little ashamed of the gulf still dividing them. "Will you call if anything happens?"
"Of course." She smiled down at him.
"You'll need my number," he patted down his pockets for pen and paper.
"I still have it," Mercedes assured him.
"Thanks," Kurt told her, the tears beginning anew.
"I'll call you tonight, 'kay?"
"Yes," he promised. She waved, then followed Sam's stretcher out into the hallway.
Mr. Schue caught his attention again. "You were saying, Kurt?"
Blaine nudged his shoulder with a smile and caught his hand, twining the two together. Kurt smiled and squeezed back. "Where was I?"