A/N: Thanks for the reviews/alerts. I think it's a good thing that you're disturbed. lol :P
Chapter Twelve
The church where the service was held was beautiful. People could say what they wanted about Catholics, but their churches were exquisite. The high ceiling was majestic in its architecture. The stained glass windows were eerily ethereal. The afternoon sun streamed through the multi-colored glass and sent light rainbows over the pews. The cross mounted beyond the altar captivated Kurt. It was so sad and brutal, but the sacrifice behind it was undeniably moving. As large as it was, the church was packed.
Santana's and Brittany's funerals had been full too. Their deaths were getting a lot of media buzz according to what Kurt overheard from Carole. He had been avoiding television since the whole debacle started. He did not need to know what people were saying about him and his friends. Besides Quinn's bountiful family and friends, strangers and voyeurs who saw her story and the story of the 'aquarium survivors' on the news showed up in droves.
The Hudson-Hummels were sitting in a pew closer to the back. Kurt sat at the end so he could comfortably rest his crutches out of the way against the pew. His ankle wasn't broken, just badly sprained. He had to wear a brace for a few weeks and had a prescription for painkillers, but he escaped having to get a cast. A black sock poked out of the end of his brace, and an Armani shoe protected his other foot.
He had woken up in the hospital after being sedated but wasn't surprised or confused the next morning. He dreamt about Quinn's death all night. Rachel and Mercedes' parents picked them up some time in the night, but both Carole and Burt were asleep in chairs next to his bed. Finn was curled around him like an oversized comforter, holding him tightly and snoring lightly in his ear. Kurt had laid awake for an hour before the others stirred.
They had looked at him like he had been waiting desperately to talk since the night before, but that was the last thing he wanted. He didn't even feel capable. The next three days passed with a dull gaze and muteness from Kurt. Finn tried repeatedly to get him to talk, but Kurt's answers were short or evasive. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to think. He felt rotted from the inside out, sick every time he rewound Quinn's fall right in front of him.
He avoided his family like the plague, hiding out in his room and refusing company. He didn't know how he was ever supposed to spend time with Finn normally again. Santana and Brittany were their friends, and it was devastating to lose them. Quinn was someone Finn used to date and once cared about very deeply. She was a girl who he actually thought he was going to have a baby with and had envisioned an entire future with her. Quinn owned a piece of him. She was his first love, and that didn't disappear or go forgotten. Kurt knew, because Finn was his.
Kurt dropped his gaze from the priest talking at the front of the church to his lap, down at his dismally conforming suit in a sea of matching black. He was going to be sick. Getting to his feet as silently and inconspicuously as someone with a sprained ankle could, he tucked his crutches under his arms and made his way down the aisle to the back.
He caught sight of Rachel and Puck in the back row as he passed. In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, Puck's eyes were thick and red-rimmed. Tears were openly cascading down his face, and Rachel squeezed his hand with her far hand, her closest arm hugged tightly around his shoulders. Ice ran through Kurt's heart and sent a freezing wave of grief through him. There was Finn, who thought he was going to have a baby with Quinn…and Puck, who actually had.
Stomach turning dangerously, Kurt barely made it out of the church, pushing the doors open and stepping out into the breezy afternoon. He drew a long breath in and tried to steady himself. Careful as he reached the long stone steps ascending to the church, he stopped and went back to lean one of his crutches against the wall.
The clouds overhead were darkening and moving in bloated bunches across the blue sky, settling in for a grim day of lightning and rain. The temperature was already dropping, wind whipping around and throwing the heavily bushed trees to and fro in the courtyard.
The tall oak door behind him opened and closed. "Babe. You okay?"
Kurt glanced over at Finn, handsome and sweet in the Gucci suit Kurt had bought for him over Christmas break. He had hoped he would have a more pleasant occasion to wear it. A musical, a night downtown, a night out of town. Not a funeral and certainly not a funeral for Quinn. He looked away, back out at the swaying trees and the coming storm.
Finn came up behind him and stopped, imploring him. "Kurt, you have to talk to me."
Kurt shook his head, watching a distant car drive down the quiet street, curbs cluttered with vehicles from the funeral. His voice was a raspy whisper. "How can I talk to you? I can't even look at you."
Finn squeezed his shoulders and dipped down, pressing a slow kiss against his temple. Kurt's eyes fluttered closed and he leaned back against him instinctively.
"Can you explain something to me?" Finn said quietly.
Guilt was overwhelming Kurt to such an extreme that he expected it to be coming at him from all directions, but Finn was being loving and concerned. It threw him off, and he dropped his head back against him. He reached up and grabbed one of the hands on his shoulder, dragging it down and holding it at their side.
"Why is it your fault?" Finn asked.
Kurt swallowed and stared at the trees.
"I didn't have a vision." Finn went on. "Rachel didn't feel anything. Mercedes didn't see a sign. It wasn't really an accident like everyone thinks, because this Death thing is after us. But you didn't do it. Why would you ever hurt Quinn or Santana or Brittany? You did everything you could. I know I'm pretty, uh, un-smart sometimes, but you're being the dummy here. Don't shut me out. Not now and not for this."
Kurt turned slowly and looked up at Finn, his dark eyes penetrating his searchingly. The door to the church opened again and Burt cleared his throat.
"I need to talk to my son for a minute, Finn."
Finn looked to Kurt for confirmation that this was okay, and the fact that he was willing to combat Burt's wishes if he wanted him to stay set a loving ache inside Kurt's already tortured heart. He nodded minutely and accepted Finn's light kiss to his forehead before he turned and slipped quietly back into the church.
Burt gestured to the steps, and as loathe as Kurt was to sit down on a heavily trafficked area in any of his clothes, the strain of standing with his crutch convinced him to oblige. Burt settled next to him and just watched him quietly until Kurt collected his thoughts and spoke.
"I didn't see anything. I couldn't help her. Why would this time be different, Dad?" Kurt bit his bottom lip and looked at his father, not expecting an answer. "I got something with everyone else. A vision, a dream, a feeling, a sign. It was just nothing. She was right in front of me when it happened and I was completely blank until after she was already dead. I saw a shadow in the water." He explained tentatively.
"Hey," Burt met his eyes sternly. "You can't blame yourself for this, Kurt. Maybe not having a vision was the point. If all of this is because of some plan, then maybe Quinn was meant to die that day at the aquarium, and this is just Fate setting itself straight."
Kurt shook his head despairingly. "Then why did I see things with Santana and Brittany? Were they supposed to live, but I was just too late?"
Burt made to reach for his cap, forgetting momentarily that Carole would have chewed it apart with her teeth before letting him wear it to a funeral. He rubbed his head instead. "This is way over my head, kid. All I can say is you can't blame yourself. You did the best you could to save her and you got hurt too. I love you, alright, and we're going to get through this. You, me, Finn, and Carole. I want you in my sights at all times, got it? I'll be damned if I let some pattern or design dictate what happens to my son. You just stay close to me, and I'll look after you."
Kurt didn't have the heart to tell him that wasn't how it worked. If strong will and bravado was all it took, Quinn would have been alive, not laying in a casket a few feet away from where her mother was sobbing. He dropped his head to his shoulder instead. "Thanks, Dad."
Burt wrapped his arm around him, and they breathed in that telltale smell of approaching rain, silently hoping that this would be the last funeral for a while.
It was a private wake, so the media swarm that attended the funeral wasn't allowed. Kurt wasn't sure if he would be allowed, but Quinn's mother had given him a look at the door, blank and unrevealing, before moving on to the person waiting behind him. Kurt had been worried about keeping Finn together at the burial, but he had done a remarkable job of doing that himself. Finn's arm hadn't left Puck's shoulders the entire time, both boys taking support from each other. It was a small relief but banged into Kurt's heart even worse watching him struggle to be strong for his friend.
Now Finn was somewhere in the living room digging through the refreshments with Burt. Carole was talking quietly with Mrs. Puckerman on the sofa, and Kurt wandered away into the kitchen. The wake was catered, and besides the occasionally somber uniformed worker passing through to grab a new tray, it was a safe zone to be alone.
"Hello, Porcelain."
Kurt jumped and turned in the wooden chair to see Sue Sylvester leaning in the doorway. The dark blazer marked only the second time that he had seen her out of a tracksuit. His dad without a cap, Sue without her athletic wear; funerals seemed to be the only thing capable of breaking major fashion faux pas.
"Coach Sylvester." Kurt acknowledged politely.
She moved into the room and leaned against the table where he was sitting, knocking one of his crutches to the floor in the process. He minimized his jump and glanced up at her hesitantly. She studied him a moment.
"From what I understand," she started, "you were with my Quinn when it happened. Her accident."
Kurt's palms began to sweat. Sylvester was always intimidating, but with the current amount of stress he was under, her watchful stare felt like a solar flare being drilled into him. He shrugged stiffly.
"And just recently, I lost Fake Boobs and Blondie."
Kurt forced his eyes back up to hers uncomfortably. "We all lost Santana and Brittany."
"And you were there that time, too." Sylvester ignored him. "You found them and you were with Quinn. I've been hearing rumors in the McKinley High back-lines that you're a fortune teller of doom."
Something gross and heavy settled in Kurt's stomach, and he was glad he skipped lunch. Of course she heard that. If Jacob Ben Israel wasn't spreading it, his videos spoke for themselves, and the news was all too happy to inform those who were lucky enough to have no connection to Jacob. He stayed silent. What could he really say to that? It was true.
Sue leaned down and planted her hands on the tabletop, staring at him with a dangerous intensity. "Porcelain, something is going on here. I can smell it. Something beyond the hocus-pocus jibber-jabber Ben Israel and my enemies at the news station are spewing. It's not fiction…is it, lady hands?"
Kurt held her unnerving stare but stayed silent, not even chancing a nod. No one could be sure when she had a recorder stuffed in her pocket. If she was willing to play Mr. Schuester's humiliating drunk dial voicemail over the intercom at school, there was no telling what she would do with a taped confession of his so-called precognitive instincts.
After several long, grueling moments where she read him and he tried to be unreadable, she stood back up. Eyes darting around the immaculate kitchen briefly, she straightened her blazer.
"Quinn was a good captain." She spoke of her cheerio unexpectedly. "I'm sure you did what you could for her."
Tears prickled and stung his eyes at the sentiment coming from the least likely source of comfort. He blinked against them rapidly. "Thanks, Coach Sylvester."
She nodded once and strode from the room, leaving Kurt to wonder about that heart of hers that she kept so capably hidden from everyone. It was there, and it was hurting. Just another victim of May's grief.
Kurt kept his head against the window on the ride home from the wake, heavy droplets hitting the cool glass in a steady rhythm. The grey sky was a comfort. It might have physically killed him if they had to say goodbye to Quinn under mocking sunlight and serene white clouds. It was better that way. Like the world was acknowledging their trouble.
Finn sniffled quietly across from him in the backseat, his eyes following the fall and splatter pattern of the rain on his side. Kurt reached over and found his hand, squeezing it until Burt pulled the car into the driveway and they all piled out with their umbrellas. Kurt felt stupid with his bright yellow one, but he didn't own a black one and had to make do.
He was up in his room for a while, quietly sitting in the middle of his bed and trying to clear his mind. He couldn't explain why he didn't get any warning of Quinn's death. Like everything else going on, it didn't make sense. But he would try his hardest to get something for Puck. He didn't want to feel responsible for another one of their friends' deaths, and losing Puck would devastate Finn. He broke around the edges with the loss of the others, splintering further and deeper with Quinn dying, but losing his best friend might shatter him beyond repair.
Kurt meditated for a long time, contemplating whether or not to just try to go to sleep. Something might come to him in a dream. Or maybe he was done. The visions, the signs, maybe it was over. In a tiny way, it would be a relief. At least then he wouldn't carry the burden of saving them. Everything would be left to chance and Fate. Couldn't have quit at a more inconvenient time, though, considering he was next after Puck.
That was another thing. What would happen to his father if he died? After losing his mom, his father had been strong because he had someone to be strong for. With Kurt gone, he didn't know how well Burt would cope. He would still have Carole of course, but despite Kurt's insecurities, he knew that he was drilled at the core of Burt's heart. A physically weak heart that might give out if faced with yet another round of grief.
And what about Finn? Kurt leaned back against the pillows and fought to keep his breathing under control. He really, really didn't want to die. He hadn't had a chance to get out of Ohio yet, escape Lima and break out somewhere better. Somewhere bigger, somewhere that would appreciate his creative genius. He was going to drive himself crazy worrying about it.
Pulling himself up, he took off his suit jacket and laid it carefully on the edge of his desk chair to deal with later. Going downstairs without tumbling with his crutches took some effort, but he made it. He searched first the kitchen and then the living room, but no one was down there. He assumed their parents were upstairs, and went to the back door. He saw Finn through the glass, and slid it back slowly.
Finn was standing with his back to the house, looking out under the shaded deck at the heavy rainfall. He was still in his full suit, jacket buttoned and his hands in his pants pockets. The sharp lines sat perfectly on his tall broad shoulders, and Kurt felt his breath catch. He never got used to the idea that Finn was his to have and love. He was entirely unexpected, thoroughly wanted, and a bit of a miracle in Lima. Setting his crutches against the house, he limped over to him delicately.
"Hey." He said softly, raising his hand high on Finn's back and looking up at him sadly.
Finn kept staring out at the beating rain, face stiff with restraint. There were too many emotions behind that mask to be expressed at once. Holding it together seemed easier. Kurt rubbed gentle circles over his back.
"I'm going to go to Puck's." Finn said softly, voice low and scratchy from crying. Kurt nodded. "We should be together today. You know?"
He finally looked at Kurt, and it was all Kurt could do to keep from crying. His own hurt over losing Quinn was amplified by Finn's hurt. He hummed quietly in agreement to keep from speaking. The tears would come if he spoke. For several long seconds, they watched the rain in silence, together but alone with their own grief. Sadness that ran that deep didn't work with a partner. Everyone was on their own.
The afternoon was a dark smoky grey. The sheets of rain pelting the grass seemed to run from an endless faucet, strong and quick as it fell.
Finn wasn't looking at him when he asked. "You're next after Puck?"
His eyes slowly dragged down to Kurt, and he had no choice but to nod honestly. Their gaze locked and they froze within each other, searching and desperate for security or hope. Something to hold on to and tell them that all was not lost. Not yet anyway.
Kurt slowly lowered his hand from his back and stared up at him, despair warning him to prepare Finn for the worst.
His eyes quickly scanned Finn's face, his dark eyes, the strong cut of his jaw, the sweet openness he showed him. He wanted to tack that image in his mind and take it with him. "Finn, if something happens to me-"
"No." Finn broke their gaze and looked away from him.
Kurt pushed against his stubbornness. "But if it does-"
Without a word, Finn left his side and went down the deck steps into the rain. The torrential stream instantly soaked his suit, laying his hair flat and stiffening his shoulders with its cold clashing insistence. Kurt hesitated. Finn could make anything look good, but Kurt's suit was six hundred dollars off of Armani's line. That wasn't including the investment he had put in to have it tailored to himself. And the shoes-well, the one shoe he had on the foot not currently locked up in a brace… It was part of a pair that were twelve hundred by themselves. At least his jacket was safely upstairs.
Kurt hobbled back to the house, toed off his irreplaceable designer shoe, grabbed his crutches, and stepped out in his black socks. He gasped with instant shivers as his white dress shirt was soaked through in seconds, sticking transparently to his skin. His foot squished against the grass as he carried himself out to Finn in the yard and grabbed his wrist. Finn stopped shuffling but didn't look at him, squinting out in the rain and not meeting his eyes.
His increasingly obvious pain stretched over Kurt in a blanket of misery. They lost so much normality in the past few weeks. Kurt remembered his panic over losing Finn. If Finn felt even half of that fear for him, Kurt wanted to take it out of him. It was ugly and consuming. He wanted to smooth it over, make it better. But that wasn't smart, because it was coming despite their fear and panic. It was coming for him soon, and there was no way to keep it at bay.
Finn grabbed the hand on his wrist in both of his and brought it up, resting Kurt's palm flat against his chest. The steady drum of his heart was a single warm spot in the cold rain. Finn's eyes burned into his, voice a low rumble under the distant thunder.
"This doesn't work without you." He said. "So…no."
His earnestness was enough to overwhelm Kurt's own heart, overfilling and squeezing with too much affection and anguish. He nodded slowly, reaching his arms up and around Finn's neck. His crutches fell soundlessly to the rain soaked ground. Finn watched him with wretched anticipation for what was coming their way before he dipped his head. Their lips locked together in the rain, slipping heatedly in rebellion against the icy shower making them press together with trembling hands. Kurt's fingers slid into Finn's wet tangles, and Finn pulled his hips to fit against him.
That was Kurt's place, with Finn, locked together like a permanently set puzzle. Finn nuzzled him closer, and he forced the overpowering fear at being torn away from him back. He would worry about Puck first. One thing at a time.