Limits
Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?
Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.
AN: Thank you so, so much for all your reviews, alerts, and favorites. I really wasn't expecting the response, and I really appreciate it! –beams-
Kurt had a routine.
It wasn't a good routine, it wasn't even a remotely pleasant routine, but it worked. Sort of. It worked about as well as anything else did, which really meant that it didn't work well at all. It all started with bed.
Kurt always started with bed at eleven, laying awake until exactly 1:30 he'd then give up and get up again. From 1:30 until about 4:00, he'd pace and walk the house. It was the only time lately that he could bring himself to even set foot upstairs, walking past that closed bedroom door over and over and over again. He'd pass it countless times in a single night and every time, it was like having a splash of salt water thrown into a cut.
Forget being opened, that door hadn't even been touched.
He could barely look at it.
After his brain was fuzzy and dazed, he'd finally go back down to the basement and collapse into bed. Sometimes he wouldn't even bother getting back underneath the blankets even though his bedroom was always cold and it was January.
Tonight was different.
About halfway through his walking routine, Kurt stopped short and went to grab his coat off the rack, pulling it on over his pajamas. He yanked on his boots too and made sure that he had his keys before stepping out of his house into the blustery winter morning.
For once, not a single soul walked the streets. No one swept their driveways, no one threw snow, no one spoke or laughed and for just a little bit it was like no one else existed. It was quiet and Kurt could finally just stop thinking. There weren't any bills out here, no taxes to worry about. No loneliness, no isolation, no distance because he chose it this time.
Kurt didn't realize where he was walking until he noticed the dark, rectangular shape nestled up against the line of fencing. That box was still there, tall and sharp and oddly imposing in its obscurity, and Kurt started walking faster to get away from it.
How did everyone just miss it?
Was there something wrong with him that made him notice the damned thing?
"You know, last I checked people generally were sleeping around this time."
Kurt's heart leapt into his throat and he sidestepped. Unfortunately, he sidestepped in the wrong direction and nearly ran headlong into the Doctor, who reached out a hand to steady him.
"Whoa, easy there. It's just me."
"And you wonder why I'm worried?" Kurt tossed back with a snort, noting with intense suspicion that the Doctor had apparently decided that now would be a good time to walk with him. "Could you not? It's kind of creepy."
"Why were those boys after you yesterday?" The Doctor asked bluntly, "And Rose told me that they tried to waylay you again this afternoon."
"Mind your own business."
"Yeah, that's kind of a problem. You see, I'm known for being a tad nosy. It's your own fault for running out on our discussion earlier."
"More like ear-sy," the boy muttered under his breath.
"Oi, no ear jokes from you! You'll not emulate Jackie Tyler, thank you very much. The world has enough of those."
Kurt glared at him.
"You'd think it'd be obvious enough, wouldn't you? My face, my clothes, my voice, my sexuality? No one ever needed an excuse to hate before but there's always one when it comes to me. What's yours?" he asked, kicking a snowdrift. For a good thirty seconds, the Doctor said nothing, choosing instead to look over his rather unwilling and reluctant walking accomplice. Kurt shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny and finally looked away.
"I don't know about other people, but I know that I generally need a reason to hate someone. Sorry kid, you don't quite qualify."
A laugh forced its way from Kurt's throat, bitter and breathy and for just a second, it threatened to turn into a sob instead.
He held it back and stayed silent.
"You've got enough resentment for someone with three lifetimes, though. What's Lady Fate ever done to you?" the Doctor asked, and Kurt's vision swam and blurred.
Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad. I need you, where are you? Where'd you go? I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be alone. Please don't leave me here by myself, you're the only one I've got. Please, please, please. I'll do anything, be better than anything, be perfect forever if you don't leave me here alone in the dark.
Kurt stopped walking and lowered his head, hands clenching uselessly in the fabric of his pajama pants. The Doctor stopped with him and waited.
"Oh yeah, I'll tell you something I think you'll understand," the words came, trembling and the melody shaky and painfully familiar, "When I say that something, I want to hold your hand… I want to hold your hand, I want to hold your hand." Kurt hadn't sung a note for three months and it felt stranger than strange to do so now, much less in front of the guy in the leather jacket who couldn't seem to find his way out of Kurt's life. He couldn't finish the first lyric before his lower lip began to tremble and he wrapped his arms around his stomach.
The Doctor simply watched him, an unreadable and completely indecipherable expression on his face.
"And w-when I touch you, I feel happy inside…" Kurt's voice broke off completely and the words were replaced by furious, tearless sobs that he cut back with everything he had and just couldn't because he could never touch Burt Hummel again and he didn't remember what being happy felt like. He didn't want this. He didn't even know why he was still here or why he didn't just leave or why he'd even left his house in the first place.
He thought of that little velvet box and realized, for a very short moment, that it was a very good thing that he had left his house because his mind had suddenly jumped to ledges and edges, sharp edges that sliced and cut and might let some of the grief out if he could just find the nerve.
And then there was a hand, reaching out and slipping around his own.
It was an unfamiliar hand, calloused and big, but it was strong and it squeezed and Kurt couldn't help clinging to it with everything he had, squeezing back with a ferocity that he didn't know he still possessed. He couldn't speak, could barely breathe; the only thing he seemed to be able to make himself do was hold on tightly to that hand. A part of him thought of Mercedes and the comfort she still sought to offer that he couldn't accept and he felt so ashamed of himself.
Kurt wanted to slap it away.
He couldn't.
"Come on," he heard a voice, deep and close to his ear, "I'll walk you home."
He didn't protest.
The box had moved.
It was bad enough when he had to pass it on the way to school, but taking up shop next to his house? That was a step too far and Kurt was not a fan.
At all.
He only barely remembered walking home and in fact didn't remember unlocking the door when he knew that he'd locked it when he left. He didn't remember getting back into bed but he definitely woke up there. In fact, school was already over by the time he woke up and he'd more than missed Glee club and he sort of didn't care. He had eight missed calls from his friends and ten texts asking where he was but he didn't reply to any of them outside of confirming his own life signs.
It had gotten to the point that that would be enough and Kurt didn't know which was worse: that it was enough or that he was relatively okay with it.
As okay as anything got, anyway.
The house was always so quiet.
Sitting on the couch in the living room, Kurt glanced out the window.
The sun shone bright on the show outside, and the skies were a pleasant purple-grey. That stupid box was just out of sight but he knew exactly where it was anyway.
It was five in the afternoon and Kurt got up off of the couch to head back down to the basement to crawl into bed and try to go back to sleep.
"Good morning!" Rose greeted Kurt the next morning when he opened his door.
"…oh god."
Kurt had almost expected it. Almost.
"I brought you your paper," the older girl informed him, shaking it in his general direction. Kurt took it gingerly and then peered around her, narrowing his eyes at the Doctor.
"And you, Doctor?"
"I don't need an excuse; I'm just nosy."
"Ear-sy," Kurt mumbled, covering the words up with a badly done actor's cough and garnering a scowl from the jacketed man.
"You're also a skinny little slip of a child so be grateful, I brought breakfast," the Doctor said, tossing a bag up and down in his palm. Now that Kurt noticed, Rose was holding a box and a drink caddy. "Mind being a good host?"
"I have school."
"That starts in five minutes," the Doctor said dryly.
"I could make it."
"Four stop lights, a traffic accident, and a full parking lot say you can't."
Rolling her eyes, Rose shouldered the Doctor out of the way and, ignoring his protests, took the bag out of his hands before he threatened to drop it. Kurt noted that despite the fact that he towered over her and didn't have to let her do much of anything, the man just rolled with it as if he knew to pick his battles. In retrospect, he probably did if he lived in a time machine spaceship who-the-hell-even-knew-anymore with her.
Kurt sighed and backed away from the door, reluctantly opening it wider to allow them entry.
"Fine. Come in, then. The kitchen's this way, please don't touch anything."
Kurt stared steadily ahead as he led Rose and the Doctor through his house, missing the significant look the two exchanged, missing the Doctor take note of the living room and the hallway, missing his eyes narrow in epiphany.
It was weird to have people inside the house when it seemed like he'd been alone forever and Kurt wondered idly when it had become his normal and when it had gotten so easy. It was easy now, in the daylight but it was never easy at night, never ever. Being around people felt strange now, even though the Doctor and Rose were the farthest from normal people he'd ever met in his life.
"I didn't know if you were a coffee or tea kind of guy, but I figured you could use some sweetening," Rose informed him dryly as she pushed the mocha across the table towards Kurt, who poured it out into a mug and was surprised to find it damn near perfect. She was noticeably less talkative this morning and Kurt couldn't help feeling just a touch of nerves because she was focused, watching him intently over her own tea.
This was weird as hell.
"What are you even doing here?" Kurt asked, finishing off his coffee. "Surely there are more interesting times and places to be than Lima, Ohio."
"Well," Rose began, snagging a pastry out of the bag and popping it into her mouth, "We were aiming for Peru. It kind of didn't work—"
"I'm here to keep you from dying," the Doctor interrupted, conversationally as if he hadn't just dropped a verbal nuke. Kurt froze and Rose choked out a ragged, coughing breath.
"What?"
"You don't deny it? It started as an accident, but you made it into my TARDIS for a reason. Something in your life is causing you pain and whenever you're hurt, you think of something else that makes it better. There's not a single soul in this big empty house that can do that for you, so what's your safety net? A knife, a bottle of pills? Daddy's pistol?"
Without a word of warning, Kurt flung his hand back and hurled his empty mug at him; it broke against the wall and scatted coffee drops on the walls. It was a bad throw and missed completely. Rose squeaked and ducked, wide-eyed. The Doctor merely settled down into his seat and scrutinized the boy in front of him who'd begun to shake and shiver like a leaf in the breeze.
"Don't... don't talk about-!"
"You're standing on a ledge, boy, and you know it. It's easy for stupid people; they hurt and delude themselves enough until eventually it all gets better. Smart people know better. You…no, you're definitely a smart one. You know exactly where you are and where that edge is and smart people plan. So what is it?"
Gone was the mocking joker of a man who teased him and Rose indiscriminately and had reached out and taken Kurt's hand those nights back, replaced with someone dark and all-too serious who was looking at Kurt in the eyes like he knew him. The terrifying thing was that the part of Kurt's brain that wasn't currently seething with rage wasn't entirely positive that he didn't.
"Answer me this, then."
The Doctor's voice was ice and steel and Kurt couldn't control the trembling that ran up his spine.
"You're a child by every even remotely humanoid race's standards, so why is this house empty? There's one car, presumably yours. Nothing here looks like it's been touched and yet everything's clinically clean. You're tormented by your classmates but there's no one who does anything about it." The Doctor paused. "There are photos on the shelves but every single one's turned face down as if you can't even stand to look at them."
Kurt shoved away from the table, lurching to his feet.
"G-get out!" he snarled, pale and half-wordless with fury, "Get out, get out, get out!" Steadily, his voice began to rise.
"What part of 'keep you from dying' did you miss the first time?" The Doctor asked dryly with a single, raised eyebrow. "I did say that you were smart, don't make me take it back."
Too much.
Blue eyes blazing and cold, Kurt stormed out of the room, subconsciously heading for the upstairs. Almost immediately, Rose was darting after him. She didn't touch him and he knew she was saying something but a thousand wasps were buzzing inside Kurt's brain, drowning out everything but his own heartbeat.
The Doctor –damned knowing, fearless stalker of a time traveler- had followed at a more sedate pace as if knowing that Kurt had nowhere to go.
"Someone's left you. Who is it?"
That he heard and something inside him snapped with a crack. Kurt whirled and approached the Doctor, unhesitatingly reaching out and tangling his hands in the lapels of his jacket.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" he hissed.
The Doctor raised a brow and forcibly removed Kurt's hands, restraining them in one of his own by the wrists.
"I am a Time Lord and you are on the precipice of a complete breakdown of mind and self," he growled, low and deep and sounding truly angry and frustrated for the first time.
"Oh, and you know this for a fact?" Kurt retorted, trying futilely to take his hands back. And then without warning, he was released but a hand had reached out to grip his chin firmly as one would someone very small.
"You have no idea what you look like to someone who knows, do you?" The Doctor's voice was low and deceptively soft, "I can see it all right here, written in your eyes: grief, loneliness…and rage. You're so angry and hurt and you've kept yourself from hitting the ground for so long…but you're so close to it right now." He paused and looked up and down the hallway, settling on the closed door right next to them. Kurt followed his gaze then stubbornly looked away from it. "And right now, I think that everything is banking on this door being closed."
Without ado, the Doctor reached out and flung it open.
Kurt felt it open as much as he saw it and felt just like he'd stepped outside, cold and frosty and lonely. He could see inside, see the familiar surfaces coated with dust. He saw the bed, unmade and rumpled, the chest of drawers with one half open. His father's spare boots sat next to the bed because that was where Kurt had always put them when he tripped over them in the hall. He could smell it too, engine oil and Irish Spring and a scent that he recognized intimately as belonging to Burt Hummel.
He saw his mother's dresser.
That was it.
Recoiling as if he'd been hit, Kurt backed away to slump against the wall and sink to the floor, burying his face in his hands.
"Close it," he whispered. His voice shook as if whatever decided such things had deemed him unworthy of even that dignity. "Close it, close it, close it, close it, close it, close it now," Steadily his voice rose but the door stayed open. "Please close it now, don't let it out, don't let it go away…"
Someone was speaking, telling him to calm down and breathe, but Kurt couldn't obey it because all he could see was that open door and the only untainted pieces he had of his father were escaping and he'd never get them back. Panicked, angry tears were beginning to slip down his cheeks and there were hands on his shoulders, hands small and soft and strong and all Kurt could do was ride it out, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.
"A parent…" the Doctor murmured, peering inside and letting Rose kneel down and flutter for the time being, "Your father." His voice had softened. "How long ago?"
Forever. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, gone forever and ever and ever.
"Three months," Kurt finally gasped out and wondered when his face had gotten nestled up against Rose's shoulder.
He didn't see the Doctor look around at the untouched space that Kurt had tried so hard to preserve, the photos that hadn't been pushed down or hidden and the tasteful, understated memorial to Mrs. Hummel that was set up on the dresser. The door stayed open and Kurt scrunched his eyes closed because it was leaving, all of it was leaving and it was never coming back.
The next thing Kurt knew, there was a low murmur over his head and he was being handed off to someone else who enfolded him in a sturdy grip. He felt leather against his cheek and a broad chest that only reminded him of the hugs he'd never get again, and Kurt shuddered and curled in on himself.
Long, pale hands clenched in that jacket again and this time no one stopped him.
"You've been alone," the Doctor muttered as if realizing it for the first time, horrified and unsurprised and sad, "All this time you've been alone. You're so young, so young…"
And then a newly familiar, soothing presence settled down behind Kurt and Rose Tyler curled herself around them both, running a hand through Kurt's hair and coiling the other into the Doctor's collar in an offer of comfort to him as well.
AN2: And there we go! Some emotional demolition~ Please leave a review if you enjoyed this, or even if you'd prefer to tar and feather me for it. As always, I am very graceful with criticism.