"I feel like less of a man because Tina has to do all the hard, dirty, really awesome work." Kurt was leaning down, his hands resting on the handles of Artie's chair; Fiyero's leash was resting loosely around his wrist and the dog was trotting beside Artie's chair.
"I do not understand why people insist on coming to me for girl troubles." Kurt mumbled under his breath and Artie tilted his head back to look up at Kurt.
"Come again?"
"Nothing," Kurt stopped, letting him lean back to help Kurt lift his chair up onto the curb, "Maybe you should talk to Tina about this?"
"We have. I just–I don't know, needed a guy's opinion." Kurt didn't even try to fight the grin that spread across his face, "I mean, not that there's really anything for you to say, but I needed to vent my damage, man."
"I understand completely. Well, not completely, but I understand feeling like less of a man. I mean, just because I don't do the same things other boys do doesn't mean I'm not a boy."
"Preach, brother." Artie lifted a gloved hand in the air and Kurt reached one hand out to high-five him, "Thanks for walking me home, Kurt. It's kind of problematic getting up these stupid curbs." Artie started humming a song under his breath and Kurt struggled to place it, failing to realize Artie had trailed out of the song until he spoke up, "So what's the deal with you and Puck?"
Kurt smiled faintly, tugging Fiyero, who was pulling Kurt's hand off Artie's handles, back towards him.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, he's been getting all up in your grill, but sneaky and shy, like I was before Tina and I started going out." He looked up at Kurt, who forced the smile off his face, "And hide it all you want, but you're practically radiating happiness. It's weird, and not only because you're supposed to hate Puck."
"Artie, I can promise you that absolutely no romantic feelings are developing. And I'm pretty sure you're imagining Puck being 'all up in my grill' because Puck is the straightest boy in Lima, and that's saying something."
Artie snorted–Kurt half-expected him to argue that he was the straightest boy in Lima–and reached over to pat Fiyero's head, "Keep telling yourself that, Kurtie."
On the way back to his own house, Kurt sat down on a bench in front of a children's playground for a while to enjoy the fresh air, and then glanced down at his dog, "Are you ready to go, Fiyero?"
When Fiyero climbed onto the bench and started gnawing on his leash, Kurt glanced up above his dog's head, absently scratching behind the dog's floppy ears; four men were walking down the street together. Kurt didn't expect that they were going to do or say anything to him, but he tended to avoid coming into close contact with strange men who may or may not be homophobic.
But there was no other way to go. Kurt glanced to the right–towards Artie's house–but that was counterproductive and if the men decided to chase him, he doubted he could outrun them. He stood up and turned towards the group of men, tilting his hat down and tugging Fiyero's leash so he leapt off the bench and started trotting in front of Kurt.
"Hey, check out the queer."
Kurt tried to move through the group, but they closed ranks around him; Fiyero whimpered and for some reason, Kurt focused on the sounds of a basketball being dribbled down the street, near the park.
"Look, I'm just trying to take my dog for a walk," Kurt hated that his voice was weary, that he didn't have the energy to throw the same acerbic wit as per his usual, "Can you let me through?"
One of the men stepped towards him, and Kurt stared up into his dark eyes as the man lifted his hand and shoved his shoulder. Kurt stumbled slightly, pushing into a man behind him, and a hand settled on his arm. He closed his eyes, braced for the worst, and then somebody shouted from a way off.
"Hey!" Kurt had no idea who his savior was, but he couldn't hear the basketball dribbling anymore, "Leave him alone!" Somebody cut through the men–somehow larger than all of them–and pushed in front of Kurt, "Back off, dudes." Kurt felt his breath rush out of him in a swift motion as he took in the number on the back of the McKinley letterman jacket in front of him.
Two of the men grumbled something and surprisingly, the other two followed and took off down the sidewalk again at a leisurely pace. Kurt's rescuer turned around and he tried to smile at him, "Uh, thanks."
"I saw you pass the courts and I knew these guys were hanging around," Karofsky's shoulder lifted in a shrug. The basketball was tucked under his right arm, "You need me to walk you home?"
For a minute, Kurt considered declining, but a ripple of cruel laughter echoed from down the street at them, "That would be nice, actually."
"Cool." Dave knelt down to rub Fiyero behind the ears, and then they turned, walking side-by-side, "Cool dog."
"Thanks. My dad and Finn got him for me, right after I…" Kurt trailed off, unsure of himself, "Right after my diagnosis."
"He's a Bernese, right?" Kurt nodded, turning around the corner and feeling Karofsky lean towards him to avoid running into a stop sign, "How's treatment going?"
Kurt glanced at him; he looked more at ease than Kurt had ever seen him. "It's okay, I guess. I get sick a lot, and I probably shouldn't be outside right now because my immune system is shot, but I figured I could walk Artie home and give Fiyero some exercise."
"Artie's the one in the wheelchair, right?"
"Uh, yeah." They turned around the last corner and Kurt spotted two people sitting on his front step, hunched over, "I think I see Finn and Puck, so if you wanted to go back, you could." Dave stopped, and Kurt turned towards him.
"Yeah, I guess," Dave swallowed, not really nervously. Kurt watched his Adam's apple bob, "Stay safe, Hummel, yeah?"
"Yeah." Dave turned and started back around the corner, slipping his free hand into the pocket of his jacket; the other was still curled around his basketball, "Thanks, Dave."
The other boy didn't respond and Kurt turned to finish walking home. When they got about three houses down from his house, Fiyero seemed to spot Finn so Kurt dropped the leash and his dog took off, leaping at Finn when he reached the lawn. Kurt watched them play as he approached, waving at Puck, who had to force himself to stop glaring at the spot where Karofsky had disappeared to wave back.
Puck slid down onto the couch beside Kurt, close enough that their sides pressed together. Kurt shifted a little, glancing over at Finn, who was sitting in his dad's old armchair and hammering away at a game controller, but didn't move away–Fiyero was sprawled across the rest of the couch, his head resting on Kurt's leg.
"When do you start treatment again?" Kurt had steadily been improving since he'd finished his first week of chemo, but Puck knew that he only had about three weeks off before they'd start up again.
"Saturday."
"You scared?" Kurt shrugged, his arm rubbing against Puck's as his arm lifted, and Puck cleared his throat, "Not that I'm making fun of you or anything."
"I didn't think you were."
Finn shouted, throwing his arms in the air as the level cleared and the awards he'd achieved started popping up one by one on the screen. He glanced at them, triumphant, and then turned back to start the next level.
Puck elbowed Kurt, "So who was the guy you were walking home with today?"
Kurt turned his head, lifting an eyebrow as he met Puck's gaze, "Karofsky," Kurt's eyes narrowed and the left side of his mouth twitched, "I thought you were angry because it was Karofsky."
Puck frowned, "What made you think that?"
"You were glaring when I got to the yard, and he wasn't even there anymore." Puck let his eyes slide back to the television screen and Kurt elbowed him back, "Were you jealous?"
Puck turned back to him, unflinching, "What if I was?"
Kurt blinked, letting his eyes drop to Puck's mouth; Puck's tongue darted out and wet his lips, "Puck, what–" Puck leaned forward and Kurt turned his head away, watching Finn tap furiously at a button on his controller as Puck's lips met the side of his jaw momentarily, and then Kurt lifted himself off the couch in a smooth motion, ignoring Puck's huff of what he assumed was either confusion or annoyance.
Fiyero groaned, blinking awake quickly and sitting up to watch Kurt wipe his hands down the smooth fabric of his Dolce shirt and then sliding off the couch to follow Kurt, who stopped in the doorway and looked back towards them, eyes fixed steadily on Finn.
"Would you guys like something to drink before I go to bed?" Puck rolled his eyes, trying to force Kurt to look at him with sheer mind power. Finn shook his head in the negative and Kurt nodded to himself, turning to go without waiting for Puck's response.
Kurt was sick for the first day of his second week of treatment. He spent the day tossing and turning and throwing up and groggily communicating with various people.
He was pretty sure he spent an hour being convinced of Puck's chivalry and other good qualities by Finn, but that could have been a dream, considering he'd also had a conversation about lettuce with a unicorn that Brittany brought over.
When his fever dropped low enough for his coherency to come back, his room was empty. He glanced at the clock: 8:42 p.m. He pulled himself out of bed, still half-asleep.
He was still rubbing his eyes when he found his dad, sitting on his bed with his head bowed and his shoulder's shaking. Kurt dropped his hand, switching his treatment dispenser, which he was carrying because he didn't have pockets, from one hand to the other, "Dad?"
Burt looked up, and Kurt felt a familiar stinging flare up behind his eyelids when he caught sight of his dad's face, tear-streaked and blotchy. He took another couple steps into the room and sat down beside his dad, letting his medication sit in his lap, "I didn't want you to see me like this, Kurt." His dad took a steadying breath; Kurt let his hand slide between them and threaded his fingers through his dad's.
"It's okay, dad."
"I know," Kurt watched a muscle in his dad's jaw twitch; another tear slipped from the corner of Burt's eye and ran down his cheek to drop off his cheek.
"I love you, kid, you know that." Kurt nodded, tightening his grip on his Dad's hand, "It's so hard to see you like this. It brings back so many memories of your mother. I can't lose you, Kurt."
Kurt sniffed, trying to contain his tears, and his voice came out low and breathy, "You won't. I'm fighting, dad, and you know me–nothing's gonna bring me down." His dad smiled, and Kurt almost wished Rachel was here to appreciate his subtle referencing.
His dad brought a hand up to touch Kurt's cheek, faltering as if he'd meant to brush Kurt's nonexistent hair out of the way; dropped his hand back down and Kurt leaned over, dropping his head onto his dad's shoulder.
Reviews are love.