Pairing, Character(s): Kurt, Finn, Puck, Sam, Artie, Matt, Will, Mercedes, Glee Girls, Burt, Carole, OMCs, OFCs, Kurt-Centric. Matt/Kurt
Rating: R
Word Count: 3083
Spoilers: All of season one, season two up to episode 2.04. Probably AU after that.
Summary: Every year, the football team has annual party where every member of the team participates in a bonding exercise. Usually, it's just a night of drinking and an epic, creative prank. This year, it's something different.

Warnings: Violence, language, adult themes, sex (nothing graphic).

A/N: Again, thank you for the reviews. So I'm following the prompt and exploring how everyone around Kurt reacts to the situation and how their own actions/words towards Kurt have really affected his feelings/emotions. One reviewer said how much Matthew Sheppard's murder horrified them, and that they lived in Wyoming. I live in Colorado and let me tell you, I heard some very nasty things regarding that tragic case. I live in an area that has quite a large gay community and I was absolutely horrified when I heard some of the things coming out of my own family's mouths. They're pretty tolerant people for the most part, and are generally accepting of my gay friends, but my stepdad is quite homophobic and is very uncomfortable around my sassy and fabulous friend H. It's pretty sad, since H is a wonderful person.

Part Three

At first, Puck thought he'd passed out in a ditch. Again. Things weren't going so well for him. Losing both Quinn and Beth had been hard. His mom was tight on money. She struggled to make ends meet and worked long twelve-hour shifts five days a week. Nursing paid pretty well, but she had a mortgage and two children to care for. Puck's life had spiraled downhill ever since regionals. Ending up in a field or the back seat of some random girl's car wasn't exactly unusual these days.

Waking up in a ditch was a whole lot better than waking up in jail. At least he could see the stars, once he managed to open his eyes. The pounding inside his skull made it difficult to concentrate on anything except the pain. Blue and red lights flashed across the crisp autumn night. Puck tried concentrating on them, but everything was blurry. A cacophony of voices filled the air. One in particular sounded familiar. Someone was holding his hand.

"—Ambulances are on their way," a woman said matter-of-factly, "Puckerman, Evans, and Thorne are the priority."

Puck didn't recognize that voice.

"We know your story about following Thorne's truck from Home Depot is bogus," a deep, baritone voice insisted nearby, "I ran your plates, and they certainly don't register under Jeffrey Tremble. They belong to someone named Nick Cortez."

"He's a distant cousin," the speaker sounded calm and smooth, "twice removed on my mother's side."

"Uh-uh," the woman answered, obviously unconvinced, "funny thing is, we found some rather interesting items in your car."

"A metal detector," the baritone huffed, "a Glock17, a .38 Special, and several aerial maps of Allen County. We know you were already on the property before you interrupted that scene in the barn. Judging from the hay on your shoes, I'd guess you were trespassing. What were you looking for?"

The hand relaxed its grip a little. Puck thought he could make out a blurry outline of Jeff Tremble, sitting beside him. The runner's concern confused him, because Puck had slushied the kid a few times and tried for the better part of a year to throw him in the dumpster like the rest of the losers at West McKinley High. Puck had largely given up on showing Tremble just where he belonged on the social ladder, because the dude was way tougher than he looked. Plus, he was pretty fast and ditched class a lot. There wasn't much opportunity to torment the guy.

"Bone Hill," Jeff answered derisively. "I have it on good authority it's somewhere in Allen County."

"I think you might be willing to talk some more at the station."

The man sounded frustrated and tired. It took Puck a moment to realize it was Sheriff Ford, the cop that had arrested him two weeks ago after the badly planned, moronic, and drunken crime spree. Now that his vision was finally clearing, he could see Sam leaning against that hippie chick (whose name he couldn't remember). The blonde had a split lip and a sling wrapped around his shoulder. Puck thought it was the same shoulder he had injured in the football game last month, but he couldn't be sure. Derek Thorne lay several feet away from them, sobbing and clutching his leg. Puck hoped the asshole never played football again.

Puck listened to the cops grilling Tremble with mild interest, impressed at the guy's calm resolve. He kept a firm grip on his hand while they waited for the ambulances. There was something comforting about his presence. For the first time in a long while, Puck felt like someone actually cared whether or not he lived or died. The world blurred again. Puck closed his eyes and drifted into darkness, hoping Kurt Hummel wasn't dead yet.

The shoulder was an easy joint to dislocate. It could turn in many directions and was prone to popping out of joint quite easily after it happened the first time. Sam Evans remembered every sordid detail the doctor's said about this type of injury. For once, the Dyslexia didn't affect his ability to learn something new, probably due to the sheer amount of pain he'd experienced after being tackled by that gigantic twenty-three-year-old football player.

Dyslexics usually learned through visual and auditory techniques. Sam could still hear that horrible snap in his shoulder. The doctor had rattled off the anatomy of the shoulder. Sam thought his Scapula was cracked. The paramedics seemed to agree, obviously surprised at his accurate self-assessment as they hustled him into the ambulance. One of them had placed a simple sling around his shoulder, supposedly to offer some relief. It wasn't helping. Connie Voss squeezed his hand, promising to stop by the hospital in the morning. A tall, lanky paramedic took Puck's vital signs and barked numbers to the dark-skinned woman sitting on the bench.

Sirens wailed as the ambulance finally pulled away from the farm. The cops had corralled everyone outside. Some of the football team had run away when they heard the approaching sirens, but it wouldn't be long before the police hauled them into the station. Sam hoped they got into a lot of trouble for this. Hate crimes were serious. The nasal, Fran like voice of Mrs. Ziegler suddenly filled his head:

"In Wisconsin v. Mitchell (1993), the Court upheld, against a First Amendment challenge, a state statute that increased a defendant's punishment for battery because he selected his victim on the basis of the victim's race. In a unanimous opinion the Court rejected the defendant's argument, adopted by the lower court, that the penalty enhancement represented punishment for bigoted thought. The state could legitimately punish criminal conduct motivated by bias more than the same criminal conduct without such motivation because of the greater harm likely to flow from the former. After R.A.V. and Mitchell, hate crimes statutes in the form of penalty enhancements became the preferred form at both the federal and the state levels."

Sam tended to memorize things Mrs. Ziegler said, mostly because he had a hard time tuning out her high, nasal voice. The Dyslexia made him focus more on auditory sources to learn. Dalton Academy had a strict tolerance policy. Parents paid large sums of money so their children could go to a school so they could receive an excellent education without any harassment from other students regarding their race, religion, or sexual orientation.

There were a few downsides about attending a school like Dalton. The guys were nice enough, but some of them were snobs. Some of the more popular kids made snide remarks about the students that attended on scholarships. Sam's parents were richer than Zeus. At least, they had been until the IRS decided to audit his father's company. Richard Evans skipped the country for an unknown destination. The IRS had placed holds on his bank accounts until further notice. Sally Evans moved the family to her parent's ranch and promptly enrolled her two children in the public school system.

It was a major adjustment. Sam didn't have anything left except his natural prowess at sports, music, and love for astronomy to get by at school. In retrospect, he felt incredibly stupid for trying to impress the other students at West McKinley. Some of the kids at Dalton might be snobs, but they would never do something like this. Kurt might be dead. Sam regretted singing with Quinn. Kurt was adorable, and now he might not get the chance to actually tell him that. There were other things Sam wanted to say to the soprano: you're sexy, and kiss me being among them.

Tears pricked at his eyes as the ambulance swung into the hospital's parking lot. Red neon letters spelled something that said em rg ne cb yr o mo. Sam knew it probably said Emergency Room, but he couldn't make out the actual word on his own. The paramedics pushed Puck's stretcher out first. Two nurses helped Sam into a wheelchair, wincing at his high-pitched scream.

The world went white for a few seconds. He wished he'd just pass out until some killer pain meds flowed through his veins. The only thing stopping him from slipping away was Finn Hudson. The freakishly tall teen walked beside his chair, yelling at the nurses.

"What's wrong with Puck?" he sounded terrified.

"Concussion," Sam muttered through the pain. "How's Kurt?"

"I don't know!" Finn rubbed at his eyes. "I mean, he's in critical condition, but they won't let me see him."

Sam grimaced. The tenor looked wrecked; his eyes were red from crying and snot leaked out of his nose. A gray-haired doctor stepped around the corner, narrowing her blue eyes at Finn.

"Mr. Hudson," she scowled, "I realize your concern for your friends. However, I'm too busy right now to deal with any more temper tantrums. Please return to the waiting room."

Finn wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve, spun on his heels, and stomped down the hall. The nurse pushed Sam's wheelchair through the big white doors, stopping at an exam table. She yanked a curtain around the small space, providing flimsy privacy. Sam suspected anyone passing by would be able to hear their conversation.

The exam went fairly quickly; partly due to the fact that Sam passed out for a few minutes when the doctor reset his shoulder. Everything faded into black. The next thing he knew, his grandfather was there. Eli Thompson hovered near the edge of the bed.

"Where's mom?"

It hurt to talk. Sam thought about asking for a cup of water, but he refrained from doing so when he saw the look on his grandfather's face.

"She took a sleeping pill," he spat, "You know how she is; can't deal with the reality of having a husband who's a crook and a son that's stupid."

Sam cringed at the harsh words. It was no secret that Eli Thompson had hated Richard Evans for years. There was some bad blood between them, but Sam didn't know any of the details. They never spent much time with his mother's side of the family. Eli never said a bad word about his daughter or her other two children, but Sam was loser in his eyes because he had a learning disability and struggled in school. Being insulted every day by his own grandfather hurt.

"The doctor's coming back with your discharge papers and a prescription. They are going to go ahead and release you. Your shoulder bone has a hairline fracture; they said there was no reason to keep you over night," his grandfather eyed him for a moment, "Think you can be a man, and not faint again? They might want to keep you overnight if that happens again."

Sam nodded, fighting tears. It had been a really bad night. The boy he secretly liked was in critical condition, Puck had a serious concussion, Finn was a mess, he'd dislocated his shoulder again, and his grandfather was here instead of his mother. Sam couldn't leave without seeing Kurt first. There was no way in hell his grandfather would understand that; he needed an excuse to sneak off on his own for a few minutes.

"I have to pee," Sam announced loudly, "Where's the bathroom?"

"Around the corner," Eli grunted, "You need me to help you get there?"

"No!" Sam answered too quickly, "I can manage."

Eli watched him skeptically as he slowly maneuvered himself off the hard exam table. Sam felt slightly unsteady on his feet, but his shoulder didn't hurt very much. Actually, it felt pretty good, which meant someone had slipped him some pain medication. Sam was incredibly grateful for that.

The bathroom was a short distance from the examination area. It was well out of his grandfather's sight. Sam used the railing along the walls for support, hoping he'd be able to find Kurt quickly. Any absence longer than ten minutes would be trouble. Fortunately, Finn Hudson instantly spotted him once he rounded the corner. It looked like the teen was still blatantly ignoring the doctor's orders to stay in the waiting room.

"Sam!" Finn rushed to his side, easing Sam's good arm around his waist. The support made it easier to walk. "I saw your grandfather go in there a while ago. What are you doing out here?"

"I can't leave without seeing Kurt," Sam confessed, "I really need to see him before I can even think about sleeping tonight, even with these killer pain meds."

"He's in the I.C.U.," Finn informed him, "room 117."

"I thought they wouldn't let you see him?"

Sam clutched Finn's waist, trying to fight dizziness. He didn't know if it was from the injury, the medication, or a combination of the two.

"They won't," Finn admitted, "But the nurse went for a smoke break three minutes ago and Mr. Schue went to get coffee. I was on my way there when you came out."

"You've been spying on the staff?" Sam was impressed. "How long have you been out here?"

"Three hours," Finn sighed, "It feels a lot longer than that, though. Artie already left with his parents. So did Mike. Puck's mom is out there. Santana got here about an hour ago and even brought her father—he's a doctor—and Miss Pilsbury and her boyfriend are here, and Coach Sylvester and Coach Bestie showed up too. I'm not really alone out there, but I wish my mom and Burt weren't in Florida anymore, and I really wish Rachel was here. And Mercedes."

Sam blinked, realizing he'd only caught about half of what Finn had said. The drugs made the world somewhat hazy. No pain was sort of nice, so he wasn't complaining. Their trip down the hall was brief and uneventful. Kurt's room was dark. One machine beeped and listed a series of numbers; Sam couldn't make them out. Finn started crying again as soon as he laid eyes on his friend.

"I can't believe this happened," Finn sobbed, "He looks so…small."

"Yeah," Sam solemnly agreed, "He does."

"Dad?"

They both jumped at the question. Sam thought it sounded like more of a plea; small and frightened. Kurt's haunted eyes roamed around the room, searching for his father, and finally settled on Finn. "Finn?"

"Yeah," Finn eagerly reached for his friend's hand, "I'm right here, dude."

"You helped me," Kurt whispered, squeezing his hand, "I—I didn't think you would."

"What?" Finn asked indignantly, "I wore the Gaga dress last year for you, didn't I?"

"I know you only did it because of Matt," Kurt muttered, "What happened to your shoulder, Sam?"

"Dislocated it," Sam smiled, even though it felt false, "I wanted to see you before I had to leave. I never got a chance to tell you how much I liked your solo-er—duet with yourself."

Kurt pursed his lips into a thin smile. "Thanks. You're nice; almost as nice as Matt—except Matt let me see him naked. I bet you'd look just as good as he did!"

Sam blushed, opting out of responding. It was obvious the guy was high as kite. They must have given him some really strong drugs, though he wouldn't mind stripping down to his birthday suit if it cheered Kurt up.

Finn stopped crying and abruptly let go of Kurt's hand. "What! When!"

"Last year," Kurt continued dreamily, "After Regionals. He was the one that talked you into wearing that dress, right?"

"Yeah," Finn seemed confused at the abrupt change of subject, "Matt was running late that day; he asked me to look for you."

"He thought you would try to stop those guys from hurting me again, but I wasn't so sure," Kurt yanked the blanket up to his chin, "You didn't care when they wrecked my costume. I'm glad you decided to help me that day."

"Karfosky and Azimio hurt you before?" Sam didn't miss the guilty look on Finn's face when he asked the question.

"Only once," Kurt continued, "Hit me in the stomach that day they ruined my costume; Matt was in detention that day and couldn't protect me—or Tina."

"They hit Tina?" Finn frowned, "Matt was protecting you?"

"He tried," Kurt closed his eyes, "We had a deal—I tutored him and he offered me some relief from those jerks. They didn't really hurt Tina, though. I was the one they were after—just like always."

"I never even asked if you were okay," Finn gasped with horror, "Not once, and I totally blew you off when you asked me for help. I asked you to tone it down."

"For a second," Kurt whispered, "I thought you guys would help them; except Artie. I knew he'd never hurt me. Puck was a bully—so were you. I just never saw it until that night in the basement."

Sam glanced at Kurt, horrified at his jumbled story. He couldn't believe that the bullies got away with so much at McKinley. At Dalton Academy, they would have been expelled for simply throwing slushies at their peers. Half the students at Dalton were academically gifted, gay, or minorities that had transferred into the private school because of all the bullying at their old schools. Sam didn't know what to think about Finn anymore. All he could hear was the firm, insistent warning not to sing with Kurt during their duets competition.

"I'm sorry, Kurt."

Finn plucked at Kurt's fingers, but they remained limp. The injured boy had fallen asleep again. Sam didn't want to be here anymore; he couldn't deal with all this drama.

"Finn?" Sam lurched towards the door. "He's asleep. I think we should leave him alone—it's not right, talking to him like this when he's so out of it."

"Yeah," Finn agreed, "I see your point. I had no idea Matt was gay!"

"I think you should probably keep that information to yourself, for now. I don't think Kurt meant to out your friend on purpose."

"Probably not."

Once again, Finn helped Sam walk down the hallway. All he wanted to do was down a few more pain pills and hide under his down comforter. Eli's harsh comments were easier to deal with than all this drama. Sam could never tell Kurt how he felt about him; no one could know the truth. Quinn was pretty, popular and female. It was easier dating someone like her. Dating Quinn Fabray wouldn't end with isolation and broken bones.