A/N: The next chapter will be the LAST. Thanks for the reviews and alerts!
Chapter Fifteen
Kurt woke slowly, aware first of Finn's lips on his. He hummed contentedly and wrapped his arms around his neck before blinking slowly against the morning. Finn laid back against the bed and Kurt took a deep breath of musky Finn scented air as he turned his head on the pillow to look at him, disheveled hair and all.
"Hey." Finn reached under the covers and laced their fingers together.
Kurt leaned over and pecked his lips again.
"Any dreams?" Finn asked, and Kurt knew he wasn't talking about the recurring one he had where he played the lead in Swan Lake and had roses thrown at his feet on stage by Cher and Adam Lambert.
He shook his head. Finn brought a hand to his face and pushed back his hair. Fear was busy occupying Kurt's mind with an endless array of gory scenarios he might find himself in. He was regretting agreeing to watch 1,000 Way to Die with Finn last semester all over again. But with Finn's fingers in his hair and his dark eyes intent on him, a conflicting feeling of safety settled next to his nerves.
A knock at the door brought them fully awake. "Boys, breakfast." Carole informed them, footsteps carrying her back down the hall.
Finn got to the kitchen much sooner than Kurt who needed to shower, change, and moisturize first. When he did he was surprised to see his father still there. It was almost 11:30, and he was always long gone by then. School was out but graduation was coming up, and in the days they had free Kurt hadn't seen his father at home this late once. He hoped that didn't mean he had more lecturing coming his way.
"Sit down, Kurt." Burt set his coffee cup on the counter, and Finn looked up from his French toast warily. Kurt caught his worried expression, and suddenly thoughts of how their activities earlier might have carried through the house raced through his head. Ashen, Kurt sat down.
"You know I've already apologized. Not sure how many languages I can say it in." He began, really hoping the lecture would be about that. "I'm sorry. Je suis désolé. Yo siento-"
"It's not about that." His dad cut him off before he could get to his German apology.
Oh great.
"I got a courtesy call from Karofsky's arresting officer this morning." He went on.
Kurt's mind abruptly halted trying to come up with snappy retorts as to why it was none of his business what he and Finn did in private. Good thing too, because one of those remarks went something like, 'We won't be pretending we don't share a bed when we live together in New York in a couple of months'. That would have been bad for a couple of reasons. He wasn't sure his father even informed Carole about her son's change in plans. He knew Finn hadn't. Also, the dangerous impulse to blurt something both embarrassing and unhelpful meant he was spending too much time with Finn.
"What's going on?" Finn asked.
Burt sighed heavily. He wasn't happy. "Karofsky and the other four boys were released on bail today. He called to give us a heads up in case any of them get a wild hair and try to do something stupid."
'Wild hair'; that was a nice way of saying 'decided to give assault and battery another shot'. Perfect.
"Ah shit." Finn deadpanned.
"Finn!" Carole chastised.
"Sorry." He glanced at her sheepishly before turning to Kurt. "It's just-That has to be it, right? Your thing. No way can them getting out at the same time it's your turn be a coincidence. They're going to try something."
Kurt contemplated that scenario. "Maybe…" Going Round Two with the goon squad was far from appealing, but at least he would know what to look for.
"Well, look, you're staying with me." Burt said. "I don't want to hear any argument either. Go get your stuff and let's go."
Kurt eyed him skeptically. "Do you really think a garage is the safest place to be? Mr. Schuester was almost killed by a single bag of tools. The shop is one big hazard. I may as well put on my Sunday best and ask Death out on a date. Our children would have the most bedazzled sickles."
"Don't be ridiculous." Burt grabbed his paper bag lunch. "Your bedazzler is broken."
Finn chortled but choked on it abruptly at Kurt's frown.
"Come on, I mean it." Burt hurried him on. "You'll stay in the office. No tools. Bring a book or one of those fashion magazines so you can circle all the stuff you want."
Kurt's eyes lit up. "Can I buy the stuff I want?"
"No. But you can show Carole and the two of you can discuss thrifty ways to buy the same looking outfit for thirty bucks." Burt burst his bubble.
Kurt got up from the table, setting him with his most fierce bitchy face before leaving the kitchen to get a magazine to do just that. A bag full of Vogue back issues and his phone and charger later, he was back downstairs meeting Finn at the front door, scowling as his father honked the horn for him outside. He pressed a hand on Finn's chest and stood on his tiptoes to kiss him briefly.
Finn rubbed Kurt's upper arms. "Mom has me dropping her off at Aunt Marie's so I can bring the car back. I'll go straight to the shop after that." He promised.
Kurt gave him a thin smile and nodded reassuringly. It must not have been all that reassuring though, because Finn's shoulders slumped and he looked off toward the kitchen.
"I'm going to tell my mom to forget it. She can drive herself." He backpedaled.
"Finn." Kurt laid both palms flat against his chest as he tried to settle him. "I'll be with my dad. It's fine. I'll see you in forty minutes." He shrugged the time off like it was nothing. He hoped it was. There was no way he could have smothered Finn harder when his name was at the top of the list, but he thought he could handle himself.
Finn seemed to consider him a moment but shook his head, face tight with misgivings. "No. No. I don't like this. I'm going to tell Burt he can go to work by himself. And Mom can drive herself, and I'll look after you here. It's safer here just you and me. I'll take care of you-"
"Sweetie," Kurt stretched upward again, catching his face and capturing his lips. "It's forty minutes." And besides, his dad would see red if Finn went out there and 'told' him what Kurt was going to do instead of following his wishes. "I love you." He gripped his shoulders with a tight squeeze and another short kiss before falling back on his heels. "I'll see you soon."
He let his hand linger on his chest as he walked through the door but didn't look back. If he kept moving then maybe Finn wouldn't lose it and run after them or something equally dramatic. Knowing Finn, the second Burt started getting after him he would start blurting stuff about what they did when they went upstairs together. Nope, nope, nope. He needed to leave.
As they pulled out of the driveway, Finn stood on the stoop, face devoid of even a hint of a smile. Kurt did his best to balance his worry out with a confident smile and a flirty wave, but as soon as he and his father were pulled onto the street his smile slipped. He had a really bad feeling about today.
From Mercedes:
How you doin, boo?
Kurt contemplated that as he bobbed one leg over the other behind his dad's desk in the office. He was bored, sleepy and scared; all good things since they meant he was still alive.
To Mercedes:
Good good! shop w/Dad. No 'signs' yet. Love u!
He could see his dad in a far corner of the garage with one of the guys as they talked around the hood of an old Honda. It was hideous. The owner needed to trade up, sell, or burn it. The rest of the garage was empty for lunch, but in a half hour it would be packed back up with ugly stained jumpsuits and testosterone. Something he didn't altogether mind when he and Finn were helping out, taking turns watching each other bend over hoods. He had quite a few shameful fantasies involving Finn and these cars. If only everyone else would just clear out for a few hours and leave them to it.
He was squinting at an Armani suit in the magazine and wondering how well he could duplicate it with dreams of Mood and access to a quality sewing machine, when his phone vibrated on the desk. He grinned devilishly and answered it.
"Hello, lover boy." He made his voice extra saucy since those fantasies of Finn and cars had pretty much been running through the back of his mind the whole time since he got there.
"Hey, baby."
Kurt heard the clear sound of a passing car in the ambience and frowned. "I hope you're not calling from the road. You know I hate it when you talk and drive. Your multitasking skills leave much to be desired. Hang up. Look at the road."
Finn chuckled. "I haven't left yet. Mom needed help lugging the stuff she brought over for Aunt Marie's charity thingy into the house. You're okay?"
Kurt relaxed. "Yes." He looked down at his lap and flipped to the next page of his magazine idly. "Just thinking about bending over the hood of a suped up 2010 Lexus LFA and asking you to help me change the oil."
Finn paused uncomfortably. "Um. Boner."
Kurt snickered with satisfaction. "I'll see what I can do about that when I see you."
"Mean." Finn scolded and thinking about the women he was stuck with for the time being, Kurt had to grin to himself. Yep. It was.
"Okay. You can take care of it on your own. I'll keep my hands to myself. If you know what I mean." He teased suggestively.
Finn groaned. "Hanging up now. Love you."
"Love you more." Kurt replied with a smile in his voice and hung up before he could protest. It was true after all. It wasn't actually possible for anyone to love anyone else as much as he loved Finn. That was just crazy nonsense from Lala Land. His love was a vain one.
He went back to his magazine and didn't look up as he heard someone enter the office, figuring it was his father until they spoke.
"Hummel."
His body recognized the voice before his mind did, flinching hard and dropping the magazine to the floor. His eyes snapped up to take in David-freaking-Karofsky in the doorway. A string of undignified cuss words linked together in his mind, frightened and belligerent. He looked to the window automatically but the garage looked completely empty now. What? His dad wouldn't have left for lunch without telling him. What happened to keeping him in his sights?
He got to his feet and tried to make it look natural to step backward in order to put the chair between them at the very least. The task of appearing cool was made harder by his strained hobble without his crutches under his arms. No, no, no, no, no. Karofsky could not be the obstacle to get across. He was a very heavy, tall obstacle with muscle mass that sort of chilled out and laughed at his own thin arms. Why didn't he hit the gym more? He could have been a gym-whore-gay instead of such a Broadway-loving-fashion-obsessed-stereotype gay. Femme versus David Bunyan. Yeah, the garage was a great idea.
He forced his voice to stay even and strong. "All I have to do is scream for my dad, and I'm sure he'll kill you with a wrench in a very interesting way. The creators of Saw will think 'hmm, why didn't I think of that'."
His eyes flicked to the window in search of his dad, but the garage was still empty. This was bad. He talked big, but it was a front with no means to protect himself in a way that allowed him to keep his distance at the same time. Right now he had his fingernails, and…no. So many 'no's.
"I only came here because I didn't know your number, and I had to get to you somehow." Karofsky was blank faced, which was better than a growl at least.
Kurt lifted his chin haughtily, clinging to his disgust to shield his dismay. "What is this? Another apology? You almost had my boyfriend burned alive. You're not forgiven. Live with it. And if you think I'll ask my dad to drop the charges because of a technicality you can just forget it. Death might be circling us a little more closely than others, but you still gave him a concussion and shoved us in a trunk. You'll have to forgive me if I'm not too keen on hugging it out."
"No." Karofsky exhaled in annoyance. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."
Kurt shook his head at him in aggravation. "What? Apologizing? Because I just said I'll forgive you the day Clinton Kelly approves a Snooki outfit. That means never, David. Never."
"No." Karofsky replied. "The death thing. Uh, you said I was like on a list or something." He shrugged, looking at the wall and trying to act like he was bothering himself being there. Like Kurt wanted him there at all.
"Yes." Kurt snapped.
Karofsky dragged his eyes back to him stiffly. "So what? Am I like next or what?"
"No. I am. But you're after me. Or Jacob or Azimio." He thought about it. "I don't really know. You fell after me, so I don't know the order."
"Fell?"
"Into a gator pit."
Karofsky scoffed. "You're a freak, Hummel."
"You're not the only one of that opinion. I tried contacting the other survivors from the newspaper articles, but they all laughed or cussed me out. I don't know how to help them, and I haven't gotten any visions about them either, so they're on their own. Like you. I think I'll keep my freak-isms to myself."
"What? No. I…" He mouthed at a loss.
"Yes? Forget how to ask for help?" Kurt felt a little more sure of himself with every bitchy retort. "Or is it just asking for help from someone you've actively tortured for years that's making you tentative to reach out?"
Karofsky's face darkened. "Look, man, I know I've done some messed up stuff. Shoving Hudson in that trunk was stupid. You just pissed me off, okay! I don't think I deserve to die for it!"
Kurt's eyelids fluttered with a half-shrug. "Matter of opinion."
He was satisfied by the fearful look in Karofsky's eyes at that. He didn't actually think he could let Karofsky or anyone die if he could help it. That was too much like passive manslaughter or something equally draining on his conscience. He rolled his eyes.
"Here." He grabbed his phone off the desk and jerked it out toward him. Karofsky eyed it like it was a grenade whose pin just got taken out. Kurt shook it. "Put your number in here. If I see anything about you or Azimio I'll call. Other than that just exercise common sense, as difficult as that may be for you. Don't walk under ladders. Don't party on a rooftop. Be cautious and boring. Any adrenaline junkie moves will probably land you in a piano box."
Karofsky met his eyes, and Kurt glared back. He took the phone and Kurt shifted as he saved his number to his contacts. When he handed it back, Kurt was careful not to touch him. His ignorance might have been catching. Karofsky frowned, looked off to the side and ducked out of the office, making for the back employee entrance and exit.
Kurt caught movement in the corner of his eye and turned to look out the window where his father was making his way back into the garage, looking at the figure who just left his office. He headed over, and Kurt took several deep breaths. So Karofsky wasn't his downfall. Yet at least.
"Who was that?" Burt asked, rubbing the oil off of a wrench with an old rag that was probably soaked in too many germs to name. "Why the hell did they use the employee entrance?"
"Karofsky." Kurt let it drop nonchalantly. That's what his dad got for abandoning him there for the two minutes he actually needed him.
Burt's head snapped up. "What?"
He dropped the rag, getting a firmer grip on the wrench in his hand and started out the way Karofsky went. Kurt's eyes bulged and he hurried forward with one crutch under his arm.
"Dad, dad!" He grabbed his arm, gaze falling to the large wrench in his fist as he recalled his threat to Karofsky. "Wow. Scary accurate. Maybe my psychic powers are spreading. Or I could be a mentalist."
"What? Kurt." Burt tried to shake him off, but Kurt dug his good heel into the floor and yanked on him, pulling him back into the office.
"Calm down. Slow that racing heart." Kurt forced him over to his desk and down into his chair. "He didn't try anything. Just wanted to beg for my protection. Apparently being a freak gives me a marketable commodity. I should open a booth, wear bangles, and charge for these signs."
Burt was still eyeing the door like he wanted to fly through it with a semi-automatic weapon and spray the garage. "Who does that kid think he is? After everything he's put you through he comes here for your help?"
"Yes," Kurt agreed, sitting on the desk and reaching for his itchy ankle uselessly. Stupid brace. "It's all very ill mannered. Even battered wives get flowers before they're asked to make dinner again. His life should be worth at least a coupon to a spa weekend."
Burt snorted.
The itch was getting unbearable, so Kurt braced his injured ankle on the desk and carefully began removing the brace. It came off relatively painless, and he set it aside to scratch delicately at his lower calf. That was so much better.
Burt was going to set the wrench down on the desk but thought better of it at the thick grease on the head. "Dropped the rag." He grumbled and moved to get up, but Kurt shoved him back down by the shoulder.
"I got it."
Swinging his legs over the desk, he left his brace and grabbed his crutches. His hurt leg stayed up as he maneuvered through the office door to get to the discarded rag beyond it.
"Careful on that leg, Kurt!" Burt warned him gruffly. "You wanna know how easy it is to turn a sprain into a break?"
"No!" Kurt carefully hopped over to the rag. "And don't start reminiscing about your glory days on the football field and the array of manly wounds you garnered while you brought your team to endless victories."
"Your problem is that you don't appreciate a good football regaling." Burt scolded him half-seriously.
Kurt was careful to bend slowly as he retrieved the nasty rag. He would need to wash his hands in acid. "Yes. Well. Finn will be here soon, and you can regale him to your heart's content."
A strong gust of wind blew through the garage bays, rattling along the mobile red tool drawers and blowing the dirty cloth in his hand. Kurt looked out through the raised mechanical doors, but it looked bright blue out there. No sign of rain. As he turned back another gust blew, and the half-opened door to the office swung closed with a bang.
Burt immediately made his way to the door, yanking up the cheap blinds over the small window as he reached for the knob. Kurt watched the knob twist back and forth uselessly, the door staying immobile in its frame.
"Kurt?" Burt asked confused, like he thought he might be trying to pull another stunt. "Did you lock the door?"
"No…" He looked off toward the open bay doors, a chill tingling up his spine. "Dad-"
An echoing metallic clattering reverberated off the cavernous walls of the large open building as a heavy support chain for one of the rigs came apart and fell from the ceiling, banging into Kurt and knocking him over as it smashed to the ground. Kurt went down hard, crutches falling around him and his injured ankle coiling in the heavy chain.
"Kurt!" His father twisted the doorknob more forcefully. It rattled in short left and right swivels.
Kurt winced and grit his teeth against the sting in his leg but tried to calm him. "It's okay, Dad. I'm fine."
He delicately began pulling his leg out from under the steel pile, but the long linked together line began rapidly pulling back as the pulley system it was attached to began cranking in reverse. The loose loop around his ankle tightened with a snap as the chain tensed and reeled backward. Kurt fell flat on his back as the chain scratched along the cement and dragged him along the floor. The brief numb period passed instantly as the chain stopped with a sudden loss of momentum and left him leashed where his brace should have been. A sharp throbbing ache frayed his nerves and communicated desperate snaps of pain to his brain. The chain gave a final jerk, running between two tall tool chests, and he slid forward another couple of feet. The heel of his foot, covered only in a thin black sock, rammed into one of the wall-like chests as he came to another abrupt stop.
For a moment he laid with his eyes squeezed shut, back arching off the floor and right leg singing with awful shocks. He sat forward and tried pulling it free but cried out at the pain of moving it. The chain was wound like a tight collar around the sprain and locked him in place. A heavy presence caught his attention at the top of his vision, and he fell back on his elbows, doing a double take at the space above him. His stomach dropped.
He was directly under one of the sports cars the mechanics had suspended on the hydraulic jack six feet in the air for easy access while they worked. Its underbelly hovered over him, the underside of a two ton wrecking ball.
"Dad." He called, the frightened weakness in his limps extending to his voice. The lifts on either side of the car gave a long strained wheeze as though the pressure were being released. Kurt filled his lungs and screamed. "Dad!"
Far behind him he could hear his father throwing his weight into the door trying to get out. He sat up again, scooted forward toward his ankle and tried to wiggle his foot free. The extra contact with the area stung worse. The chain dug into him, leaving indentures in his bruised skin. There was no slack whatsoever to play with, and Kurt gave up, reaching forward and grabbing the short piece of chain sticking out from between the two steel chests blocking his way that weighed in close to a thousand pounds each.
The tension in it was tight and he couldn't tug it backward even an inch to move out of the way of the car above. Maybe he could climb over them though. They were wide five and a half feet tall blocks. He could pull himself up and climb between the gap of their tops and the car's bottom. He lifted himself to his knees and reached to anchor himself up. The hydraulic jacks gave a snap and a whistle, losing their set height and shrinking downward with a heart-stopping shriek. The car dropped a foot through the air with a horrendous metal groan, front bumper popping off as it clipped the edge of the top of the chests and closed the distance between them. Kurt screamed, dropping to the floor and shrinking in on himself. As soon as his forearms hit the concrete, the chain gave a final tug, slamming his right leg flush against the chests. The leash tightened and crushed in around his bone.
He cried out in agony, tears prickling his eyes in a harsh sting of pain and fear. "Dad please…" His voice broke as he gulped down a sob before pleading for him. "Help me!"
The jacks gave a terrifying moan.
"Hey." A familiar voice called from the direction of the large garage entrance out of view. Finn's voice.
Glass shattered and clinked over the cement as the wrench and a paperweight were broken through the window of the office door. Finn jumped as Burt's arm shot through the opening, going down to the outer knob to work the door open.
"The crank! Finn, unhook the chain from the crank!" Burt shouted.
Finn's eyes became wide plates of confusion. "Whoa! What?"
"Kurt's under the car!" Burt yelled as the door finally gave and slipped open.
Finn seemed to notice the broken rig for the first time and gasped sharply at the implication. He immediately shot forward, but Burt was out of the office and yelling at him furiously.
"No! Finn, the crank! He's stuck!"
The instinct to run to Kurt was almost too much, but Finn turned on his heels and ran back along the wall where the chain was rolled up along the giant spool and tense as a tightrope. His hands were yanking and searching for a way to unravel it before his eyes fully absorbed the mechanics of it. Burt ran toward Kurt. The jacks shook and creaked, losing more of their stature. With a sound like an engine roaring apart from a plane, they hunched farther down and the car on top shot down several feet, a hairsbreadth away from Kurt's skull.
He flattened himself down as far as he could, crying into the cement and shaking. Burt reached him, dropping to the floor and looking under.
"Dad!" Kurt sobbed into his hand, cheek flat against the ground.
"Here, son!" Burt reached under the car, and Kurt extended his hand for him. Burt clasped it and pulled, but a tortured cry came from Kurt and he didn't budge away from the tool chests. Burt lifted himself back to his knees shouting. "Finn, now!"
He shot to his feet, legs moving out of sight and Kurt panicked. "Dad?"
"I have to find another jack!" His father answered, throwing stuff out of his way and burrowing for anything that might help.
The jacks gave an eerie squeak, weakening towards total failure. There was no more room for error. If the car dropped again it would crush him underneath.
"Finn!" Kurt screamed, voice shredded from terror. "It's falling!"
Finn hollered in frustrated panic, yanking and tugging at the crank, too tightly wound to have any effect on it. He pounded on the large red factory sized button protruding from the wall next to it that was supposed to release the chain, but it did nothing. He spun around and his heart slammed against his ribcage as his eyes landed on the handle of something sticking out of a tool drawer several feet away. Taking a high risk, he abandoned the crank and ran for it.
"Hold on!" He ripped the drawer out so hard it clattered loudly to the floor, sending heavy various tools scattering across the concrete. He stooped and grabbed the long red handle of the tool he wanted. Yes! Running hard for the chain, he dropped to his knees and pulled back the handles of the bolt cutters. "Baby, when I say crawl, GO!"
He lowered the sharp edges to the thick chain and began squeezing down on the handles with all his might. Burt caught what he was doing and his eyes lit, stopping his search. He ran back to Kurt and bent low to the ground, extending both hands for him. Tears wet his cheeks and he jittered all the way to his core, but Kurt reached for his father and clasped his hands.
"I love you, Dad."
Kurt read his nearly paralyzing horror easily. "Hush up, kid."
Finn grit his teeth, muscles in his arms shaking to their full capacity. The jacks hissed out the last bit of their power, and with a deafening snap, the old bolt cutters broke through the chain with a thud and a split.
"Now!" He shouted.
Kurt pushed his knees against the floor, and Burt hauled him out by both arms. His feet cleared the car a second before the weakened jacks snapped under the weight. Kurt crawled into his dad's side as the car crashed down onto the ground with a heavy bounce, slamming against the concrete with enough force to elicit a shrill cacophonous noise like dozens of knives being scraped along a chalkboard. The tail end of the chain was caught under it, beaten down by the gargantuan hammer. Kurt flinched against Burt, stiff and trembling uncontrollably. As the car settled with a monstrous groan, Kurt burst into tears. Flinging his arms around Burt's neck, he cried against his shoulder and welcomed the nonsensical hushing noises being offered to him as his father rubbed his back and held him tight.
Across the garage, all of the air expelled from Finn and he slumped against the floor, dropping the bolt cutters with a clang and sitting dizzily in his spot. Kurt blinked through the rivers streaming down his cheeks and looked over at him, his breaths hitching shortly as much as Finn's were slow and deep. There they were three funerals and a lot of damage later. Still alive.
Finn got to his feet and ambled over, looking like a man who just walked eighty miles through a desert without water. He fell beside them, and Kurt reached out, squeezing his hand tightly the second it landed in his. The energy seemed to drain out of him completely with the contact and Finn dropped sideways against Burt on his other side; the man's free arm moved from patting Kurt to encircle Finn too. Faces pressed against Burt's shoulders, they held hands and let themselves catch their breath. Death had come for them. But they had made it.