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 much for all of your reviews on the last chapter! I appreciate every single one of them, and I hope you all continue to enjoy this.
Chapter Thirteen: Ostinato
It wasn't that Mercedes wasn't angry; she was. Intensely so, mostly because it felt like the floor had fallen out right from under her feet.
She'd gone the last six months mourning. And then, BOOM, her best friend was back and she was watching him move and speak in a way she almost didn't recognize. The Kurt she'd known would never have done what he'd done, taunt something that was fully capable of killing him, slay something. He'd run from her, from them, and went off to gallivant around in a time machine.
Except that…she'd spent years watching him stand up to bullies, who probably were fully capable of killing him.
And now he was back and he was older than her.
Kurt had always had a sort of grace but now he'd grown into it as if he was finally comfortable in his own skin. He'd always used to cover himself up in sleeves and scarves and bow ties for shields, loud and flamboyant clothes that few people understood and that he could use as a weapon. Mercedes remembered that tailored tailcoat that showed off arms she'd so very rarely seen, that had fluttered and whispered when he moved. He'd always been gorgeous but it had always been in more of a cute and childish way, not this blazingly bright sharpness that in Mercedes' mind could probably light up all the darkness in the world.
And she'd missed out on it, all of it.
She'd missed it all and now he was back and she almost didn't even know how she felt anymore. Mercedes Jones had always, always loved Kurt Hummel and nothing in this world would ever be able to change that, and all the reasoning in the world couldn't stop the unfamiliar mingling of fury and love that dueled inside her.
She'd missed him and she hadn't been able to help him, and she hated it.
Despite this, she hadn't been able to resist shuffling forward before they were out the door and hugging that boy, gently because he looked half-broken slumped over that deranged, manic-looking Scottish guy's back. The look Kurt sent her was despicably sweet and he had smiled dazedly at her, letting go of that Doctor guy's collar long enough to let his fingers reach out and brush the nape of her neck and good freaking god he might have looked different but it had been so long since she'd seen him look like Kurt the way he did now.
His smile was honest now, warm and bright, bearing no similarity to the ones he'd left with, all ice chips and winter chill and falsity.
Just for that smile, Mercedes could forgive the fact that she wasn't the one carrying him out.
Kurt had done a lot of things to be furious with him for, but he'd never broken a promise, never mind the kind of promise that she'd gotten from him. He'd definitely keep it so she'd make herself wait just a little longer.
At least Aretha had had the balls to step forward and do something, because Puck hadn't been able to do a single thing.
He'd watched, stunned, as someone he'd taken completely for dead broke down the door (quite literally, in fact) back into their lives. He'd watched him threaten and fight with something that seemed to want them all dead. He'd defended them even though it had led to him getting mauled and practically tossed out a window.
He hadn't been brave enough to take the step forward and touch him to make sure he was real, even when Britt (that fearless, ridiculous girl) had gone up and said hello, all the while ignoring the bloodied mess on the floor next to him.
Mr. Oh-sweet-GaGa-if-you-breathe-near-my-clothing-I-will-eviscerate-you Hummel let himself get dirty and hurt for them and hell if it wasn't the most eye-opening thing that Noah Puckerman had ever seen in his life.
"Rachel Berry, shut up right now. I will get to you when I get to you."
Rachel didn't know if she wanted to seethe and scream and rant at the injustice or if that bitter taste in her mouth could be classified as guilt because she couldn't get the image of Kurt, delirious and hazy and new, out of her head.
The very first sound to reach Kurt's ears when he awoke again, six hours after being set up in the medical bay for treatment was his phone going off, loud and insistent next to his bed. The room was empty and Kurt was alone, which neither surprised nor upset him because it was good to have the time to think and sort himself out, shifting through everything he'd taken in.
He was still in one piece, miraculously.
Cringing, Kurt turned his attentions to his shoulder, clean and bandaged. He gave his arm an experimental rotation, pleased when he felt an achy pull but not much more. He was either on the mend already or he'd been drugged with the good stuff. A peek under the wrapping revealed marks that would definitely scar, marks in the telltale shape of teeth that would eventually join the starburst and the sacrificial cut.
He supposed that, cosmetically, it could have been worse.
It was all on the same general area so he wouldn't have to put more work into covering it up, at least.
His phone was still going off and Kurt slid it off the table and into his hands. The inbox was full, and whatever messages he'd received recently couldn't be shown. For the first time, Kurt opened his text inbox and after a moment of deliberation, cleared them all out. Every single one. He didn't need to read them to know what they said. What he needed was to read the new.
There were ten of them but he fished through the list until he found the name that he could never have missed, suddenly anxious and wary.
Let me know when you're feeling better. I'm worried about you. Kurt read the words over and over again before he could convince himself that they were real and not a rejection or withdrawal. Steeling himself, Kurt typed out a reply, fingers embarrassingly out of practice and weakened with relief.
I'm awake, he typed, the sides of his lips tilting up involuntarily. I'm sorry to have worried you.
He sent it and a response came out not a minute later, startling him.
You should be. Just glad you're safe. When do you think you'll be up to meeting up with me?
Kurt couldn't help but smile because those words were pure Mercedes and left no room for argument, to the point and honest.
If I'm careful and you can promise not to try and yank me around, I can be up and moving by tomorrow.
My parents are going out for a few days and taking my brother with them. Come over at 3.
And the promise of no yanking?
I promise nothing but you'll probably still alive by the time I'm through with you.
A light chuckle bubbled from his throat as Kurt replied, confirming the time.
In their last meeting (if you could really call it a meeting, considering that he spent most of his words telling off Rachel and the rest while his brain felt like it had been on a trip to Mars), he'd mostly exchanged silent looks with his friends (former friends? Kurt honestly didn't even know anymore at this point). How weird was this going to be? How awkward? How much had they both changed? What had he missed?
And then there was the issue of the question that Kurt absolutely refused to consider:
What kind of choices would he have to make?
Kurt shook his head and slid off the bed when his stomach growled insistently. He'd reply to the rest over dinner.
Kurt didn't even have to raise his hand to knock before the door was flung open and he was face-to-face with Mercedes and no excuses between them like investigating bad feelings while incognito and/or being on the verge of passing out thanks to blood loss. For a few, brief moments, both of them just looked the other up and down, and the girl's eyes lingered on the stark white bandage that preceded the black wrap that covered the rest of his arm.
"Come on in," Mercedes said finally, backing away from the door so that he could slip inside.
Kurt had been inside her home more times than he could count and not much had changed in the meantime. It was still warm and homey and there were still action figures on the floor in the living room courtesy of Mercedes' little brother. Unconsciously, Kurt smiled and followed her into the kitchen, parking himself in one of the sunny wooden chairs at the table.
"Hi, 'Cedes."
There was a swell of emotion like an orchestral crescendo and when it comes crashing down, Kurt's out of his seat and hugging the girl like he'll never let her go. That weird, foreign sort of awkwardness fled the moment Mercedes hugged him back, pulling him into a grip both familiar and welcoming.
"God I have missed you, Blue Eyes," the girl breathed into his neck and Kurt smiled despite himself because she was consciously mindful of his arm.
"I've missed you too, Mercy," Kurt said, rubbing his cheek into her hair. "I really, really have."
Mercedes pulled back and for about thirty seconds just looked at him, as if searching for something. He wasn't sure what but she must have found it because she smiled. It was a more watery smile than he was used to, but still a smile.
And then they were sitting across from each other at the table just like they used to, and Mercedes had set her chin in her hand.
"So," she started, "A time machine."
Kurt jolted and stared. Well, that was Mercedes, never one to pull her own punches. He smiled sheepishly.
"You actually believe me," he stated, not a question. The girl just raised a brow at him and cocked her head.
"Not like I have much of a choice, considering that while your blonde friend was ripping your coat apart to make bandages, the crazy dude decided to rip into us. And really? What else can I think when you show up again and look like that?" She gestured to him and Kurt looked down at himself, furrowing his brows.
"That different?" he asked, receiving a snort in reply.
"Yeah, boy? I know you see yourself in the mirror every day but for someone who hasn't seen you in a while? Holy hell." Suddenly, she sobered. "Kurt, was it… was it that bad?" Mercedes questioned, voice soft and tentative. Briefly, Kurt closed his eyes. This was what he knew had been coming and it was what he wanted least to talk about, but he knew he had to. He lowered his eyes to the table.
"Well," he began, wishing he could sound just a little more confident, "Yes. It was that bad."
Mercedes cringed as if she'd been hit and the chestnut-haired boy continued hurriedly.
"I don't think that there was anything… that anyone could have really done. I was in a really, really bad place, and the Doctor was someone who could help me. I was holding the very end of my rope, and he held out a hand and started reeling me in just in time. That's what it was like." Kurt had never really defined what it was that the Doctor had done for him, and to do it now in front of someone he hadn't seen in two years and who was now watching him as if she didn't know quite who he was intimidating and more than a little exposing.
"Do you get hurt often, and what in the good lord are you wrapping your arm in?"
Kurt smiled wryly and rubbed the wraps, avoiding the tender areas.
"I wouldn't say often," he said delicately, "It's only gotten really bad twice. Well," he corrected, "Really bad in that I ended up with scars. Mostly it's just running and the occasional bump and bruise. " That didn't seem to make things sound much better, he realized, when Mercedes' eyes widened. "What?" he asked defensively, "We're a bunch of do-gooders who can't seem to avoid trouble. There's nothing to do about it. Besides, if I hadn't…" He stopped abruptly.
He didn't want to finish that statement.
If I hadn't been there and gotten my ass kicked, you'd all be dead.
Somehow, he didn't think that that would be appreciated and kept his mouth shut instead, flashing Mercedes a nervous, closed-mouth smile.
"What?" he finally asked, and she shook her head.
"Honestly? Half the time I still think I'm in the middle of some deranged, hallucinatory fantasy with you, and that you're not actually here and that I'm legitimately crazy," she said bluntly, "Time machines—"
"TARDIS, actually—"
"British guys—"
"The accent's actually more Scottish than UK, and he's not even from Scotland or even Earth—"
"Random girls with bad dye jobs—"
"Oi, I haven't gotten a chance to touch it up, yet!" Kurt protested, "But okay, fine, I'll give you that one."
"Kurt!" Mercedes snapped, "Do you not get it? Most people thought you were dead. Dead, as in tossed out somewhere to rot. Does that make you happy? I had no clue what happened to you. It took everything I had to not think that, so don't joke about this with me. Puck thought you were dead, Rachel thought you were dead, someone could have helped you—"
"No!" Kurt interrupted, scrambling to his feet because he had never lost the inability to sit down when he was upset, "No, no they couldn't. Don't you get it? I had nothing left! Dad—Dad was gone. Gone forever, and what was I supposed to do? All the supposed family I had? They'd only ever come for the day because I begged and I was okay with that, there was no one and I didn't care that there was no one. I tried my best to keep it together but it just didn't work and I couldn't do it anymore!" His voice lowered, "Were you there when they checked the house?"
Looking bewildered, Mercedes nodded.
"Were you there when they checked the master bathroom?"
"Yes… why?"
Kurt laughed, dry and bitter.
"Did you notice what they found in the wastebasket?"
"Yeah, they just found an old straight razor…"
Kurt's not-happy-at-all smile widened darkly and Mercedes stilled as if she'd suddenly turned to marble.
"…Kurt?"
"My father never had a texting plan or cared about Bluetooth, but he was certainly not old fashioned enough to use a straight razor instead of an electric one." Kurt's voice was velvet off of his tongue as if he whispered endearments instead of poison, "You've never been stupid. What would that be doing there if it wasn't for shaving?"
Brown eyes darted to his bandaged arm and Kurt squeezed it so hard that it hurt.
"No. Not this."
"What are they for, then?" she asked, rightfully skeptical after the nuke he'd just dropped. Kurt bit his lip and reluctantly unrolled the wraps from his wrist to his elbow, letting Mercedes take in the snaking scar that had lightened but not faded.
"This is what I ended up with the first time I got seriously hurt. They tried to sacrifice me on an altar; I didn't…take it well." Those scars were also the reason that Kurt would relish every cheeseburger he'd ever eat for the rest of his life despite the fat grams and the havoc they wreaked on his skin. "People seeing them makes me uncomfortable, so I prefer to cover them up."
That said, he rolled his wraps back up and they sat in silence for a bit longer until, eventually,
"In the choir room yesterday, was that thing really…did you really fight it with lies?" Mercedes asked tentatively, a far cry from her previous bluster. Blue eyes shuttered. "No, you have to be honest. Those things you said… that you've never wanted to die, that you've never felt guilty. Those were lies?" Kurt's stomach twisted because god, she sounded so sad.
Kurt's silence was apparently enough of an answer and she drew in a long breath that trembled.
"So how old are you, now?"
Thank nothing for subject changes.
"A few months away from nineteen," he replied, "I tend to lose track but the TARDIS keeps good records."
"Huh," was all Mercedes answered with. Finally, finally the sides of her lips tilted upwards. Reluctantly, but they did. A plus, all things considered. "So. You get to kissing any cute boys on the trip through time and space?"
Now that was a topic that Kurt could get behind. He waggled a finger at her.
"Now, now. What kind of gentleman would I be if I kissed and told?"
"Don't even try that with me, honey. You're dying to share, which means that you totally did. Don't tell me it was that Doctor fellow."
The reaction was instantaneous; Kurt wrinkled his nose and vehemently shook his head, waving his hands in front of him.
"Oh no, no, no, no, no, no," he exclaimed, "For multiple reasons, the main one being that I absolutely don't have romantic feelings for the man, but you have no idea what Rose would do to me if I did that to her. I probably wouldn't survive. They haven't really done anything about it but anyone with eyes can see what's there." Kurt's smile went playful. "Turns out that it's not too hard to get a date outside of Ohio. I may or may not have exchanged several lovely and exceedingly sweet nothings with Walt Whitman. He took me out to dinner, very nice guy."
And there was that shocked look again.
"You…what. Seriously? What else have you been doing?"
"What? You asked about kissing boys! I told you about kissing boys. You want more of my dirty secrets, you pervert? You wanna know about Tchaikovsky, too?" Kurt stuck his tongue out at her and tried not to think about the Bad Wolf and the kiss that tasted like goodbye.
Mercedes just gaped at him and Kurt leaned back, too smug for words.
"And who have you been kissing, Miss Jones?"
The look he got resembled that of a surprised goldfish and Kurt preened, exceedingly pleased with himself.
"I'm just going to make it easy on you and consider this battle won, Madame," and still thinking about Jack, Kurt tipped an invisible hat at her across the table. "Now, answer me this."
"Hmm?"
"What the hell are you wearing?" he asked, gaze traveling from her trainers under the table to her highlighter yellow off-the-shoulder top, "I do not approve of this."
And then Mercedes had buried her face in her hands, the quietest of whimpers rising from her throat, and Kurt had rounded the table again to wrap her up in a hug, squeezing firmly. He was suddenly aware of just how much taller he was than her, that she had to look up to look him in the eyes now, that he would never really, really understand what she'd gone through in his absence. That she'd never really, really understand what he'd done and seen in his extra years.
It was sobering and sad but Kurt couldn't bring himself to regret it, not one little bit.
Old Kurt probably would have been sadder.
"Hey, hey, come on," Kurt crooned, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's okay."
It wasn't, but he was about the last person in the world who was going to tell her that.
AN2: As always, please leave a review if you enjoyed this or even if you kind of hate where it's going. I like to hear all opinions, even if it won't change how this story proceeds. I always love to hear reader thoughts or questions.