Summary: In the midst of preparing for Sectionals and drama about yearbook photos and whether Finn or Puck is the father of Quinn's baby, Kurt grieves the anniversary of his mother's death, and the New Directions are confronted with their own selfishness. Allusions from 1x11, "Hairography" through 1x13, "Sectionals." Fill for a prompt in the Glee Angst Meme.
Prompt: Daylight
The same week that Kurt Hummel gives Rachel Berry an absolutely hideous makeover, so that she looks like Sandy, from the end of Grease (and so Finn will be so turned off he won't look twice at her. So that, maybe, he'll look at Kurt, instead…) he goes to the cemetery. Because, like it or not, it was the end of November. Like it or not, seven years had passed since his mom's car accident. This year, he lays flowers.
The first few years, he'd left his homework, so his mom could see it. Laid across the top of the headstone, weighed down by small rocks so the wind wouldn't carry it away. In middle school, he rarely went to the cemetery at all. It was too painful. And besides, none of the other kids at school went to visit their deceased parents. At least, that's what Kurt told himself.
He started coming again, last year, after his dad disappeared and it shook Kurt up enough to take his bike out in the middle of winter and go looking. His dad had disappeared once before. It hadn't been good. Kurt found him, though, in the cemetery, talking to Mom, like everything was normal.
This year, for some reason Kurt can't place, it hurts more. Memories are so vivid. He swears off milk and claims it's in preparation for Sectionals. Milk increases congestion and Kurt can't be congested. Kurt's dad understands. Drops absolution into conversation randomly. ("Did you bring in the mail? Hey, it's not your fault, you know?")
But that's just it. Kurt has never known, not really. He has never been able to forgive himself for the damn gallon of milk he had begged his mom to get the night before Thanksgiving when he was eight. So he'd be able to drown an Oreo cookie as a bedtime snack. She was supposed to be gone five minutes, at most. Instead, she'd slid on black ice, crashed into a tree and been gone from his life forever. The guilt still torments him, despite his dad's reassurances and even, a session with a child psychologist. Something like that…well…you don't get over it. You carry it with you. You pray it doesn't drown you.
Needless to say, it's hard to genuinely care about the goings-on in glee. He fakes it well. Says all the right things. Practices his hairography. Makes over Rachel because it feels good to stay busy. Because if he is busy, he won't have to think.
But the anniversary comes and goes, and Kurt doesn't feel any better. In fact, he feels worse. Seven years, and it hurts as much as it ever did that night. When his mom had been gone longer than she should have and the phone rang. When his dad picked it up and rushed them both out the door minutes later to wait in a tense, quiet waiting room for any word.
When they got moved to a subsequent waiting room - a private one - Kurt hadn't known to prepare himself. He was sure his mom would be okay. She always wore her seatbelt. She was always careful. But she wasn't okay. And Kurt cried, and his dad didn't. Not until days later.
Kurt shakes his head, trying to clear it. Trying to focus on what Mr. Schuester is saying about not being able to travel with them to Sectionals. He tries to care about the subsequent drama of Finn storming out of glee. But he just can't.
Sectionals is over by the time Mercedes notices something isn't right with him. It's been twelve days and Kurt is no better. He's depressed and withdrawn. She calls to ask him to come and hang out, but he just mumbles something and hangs up on her.
He doesn't go to school the next day. He stays home and sleeps because during the nights he can't sleep at all. There's a knock on the door that afternoon and before he knows it, Mercedes is there, in his room. In his bed, arms around him, comforting him in the way only a best friend can.
"Sorry, I totally forgot," she apologizes in a whisper. "I let the kids in glee have it, and myself with them for not paying more attention to each other these last few weeks. I mean, there are more important things than solos and competing and boyfriends…"
Kurt doesn't say anything. His back is to her, so she won't see the truth. That though it's been almost two weeks, Kurt's composure is shaky, at best. She stays for a while, and then kisses his temple and says to call if he needs her.
Over the next few days, odd things happen. Kurt gets flowers and a heartfelt note from Quinn, who says she can't imagine his pain. That she's sorry for his loss. He gets sympathy cards from Tina, Brittany and Artie. A coupon for free pool cleaning in the spring from Puck, despite the fact that the Hummels have never had a pool.
Finn stops by and stumbles through his own version of an apology, likening his loss of the father he never really knew to Kurt's own. Anger surges through Kurt, and he throws a pillow in Finn's general direction because how dare he? He doesn't feel like anyone else who's lost someone. No two losses are alike. Finn should know that. Eventually contrite, he apologizes and leaves Kurt alone.
The next day, Kurt opens his bedroom door to find a plate of Rachel's I'm Sorry cookies and a CD of songs performed by her. The heartbreaking variety (Angel by Sarah McLaughlin, One Moment More by Mindy Smith, My Immortal by Evanescence, Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again from Phantom…and on and on it goes.) Kurt eats the cookies. He can't listen to the music, but he appreciates the effort.
The thing that breaks through his darkness is also the most unexpected. He passes the tree his mother crashed into a million times a day. But one day in January, he's driving to school. Daylight is just breaking when he sees something out of place flapping in the wind from his mom's tree.
He hates that he refers to it that way, but it is what it is. The last place she was. The last thing she saw. It's sacred for that, if nothing else. Kurt pulls over, studies the tree and then gets out, forcing himself to take a closer look.
And he can hardly believe his eyes. The trunk of his mom's tree is wrapped in a careful rainbow of crepe paper streamers, completely covering the damage from the impact of his mom's car seven years earlier. Kurt is breathless, gently touching it, hardly believing that someone, somewhere took the time to remember his mother. That they took the time to make the place where she took her last real breath beautiful.
A sound behind him makes Kurt turn.
In the pale dawn glow, he can just make out three figures, walking away arm-in-arm-in-arm. Two boys and a girl, all dark-haired. All in letter jackets, the girl in a familiar red Cheerios skirt and workout pants. In a second he knows them:
Mike Chang, Matt Rutherford and Santana Lopez.
He doesn't know how they know which tree holds so much significance or how they knew when to do it, so Kurt would be sure to see the tree, at its best, but it hardly seems to matter. He touches the tree tenderly. Stays while the sun rises, so he can see the love his friends left behind, in all its brilliance.
It's the best gift he could have been given. Kurt has no doubt his mom is behind it somehow, because it has the power to break his darkness…
Just like she always did.
The End.
