Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or "Nobody's Home".

Note: Okay, here's the deal. This was supposed to be tomorrow's chapter, actually. But, after re-reading what I wrote last night, I knew I had to switch this one for the one that I originally had slated to write today. You'll see why tomorrow. Anyway, this probably isn't my best chapter, but I felt the song fit both Santana and Kurt. I have only 4 more chapters, including an epilogue, after this one! Review away!

Kurt was late to Glee.

"Hey, have you guys seen Kurt?" Mr. Schuester asked the group. They shrugged.

"He's been acting weird lately," Brittany commented, pointing out the obviously.

"His best friend just died, Britt," Artie rolled his eyes.

Puck was unusually quiet. "Everything okay, Puck?"

"I can't stop thinking about little du—about Kurt," he corrected himself.

"Why's that?" Mr. Schuester asked in concern.

"Um, well, yesterday, I was walking out of this place, right? And I hear someone playing the piano in the auditorium, so I go listen, you know? And it's Kurt in there, 'cause I can hear him singing. So I wait 'til he's done and I go in there to talk to him 'cause the song was real sad and all." Puck cleared his throat. "And we were talking and then he got all defensive and abr…abr…what do you call it again?"

"Abrasive?" Mr. Schue supplied.

"Yeah. Abrasive. Anyway, so I asked him what the hell was up and he said, um, well he said that he was in love with me."

"Oh, God," Santana muttered.

"In love with you?" Quinn asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah. And then he threw a vase at me. I think he might be bipolar or something."

"He threw a vase at you?" Rachel questioned, not believing this.

"Yeah," Puck said, "and he was swearing and everything."

"That doesn't sound like Kurt," Mr. Schue said, shaking his head.

"Well, it's true," Puck shrugged, sliding back into his chair.

Will sighed. "Let's just…everyone act normal when Kurt gets here. We don't want him to get upset again, especially in the new…emotionally unstable state that he's in."

Kurt strode into the room, climbed the choir steps, and plopped down into his favorite corner seat, away from all of them.

"Um, Mr. Schuester, may I sing something?" Quinn volunteered.

"Sure," he said, surprised. Quinn didn't usually volunteer to sing solo.

She smoothed her skirt out and walked slowly to the front of the room.

I couldn't tell you why she felt that way
She felt it everyday
And I couldn't help her
I just watched her make the same mistakes again

Kurt pulled the brim of his oversized sunhat down so that it shielded his eyes. The same mistakes, over and over again. The same mistakes of falling in love with straight guys that he knew would never love him back. The same mistakes of getting so attached to people that he knew would always hurt him in the end. And it was true, nobody could—or perhaps, would—help him. They just watched him make the same stupid mistakes again. What could they do, really? How could they help him when he was so low that he couldn't even help himself?

What's wrong, what's wrong now?
Too many, too many problems
Don't know where she belongs, where she belongs

Way too many problems, Santana thought. I have too many, too many problems. I'm in love with Brittany. I'm irrevocably in love with Brittany S. Pierce, and I can't do a damn thing about it. Why do I even love her so much? She's as dumb a rock most of the time. And she's made out with everyone in the school—even Kurt! (Even Janitor Clyde, Santana thought disgustedly) But still, I'm in love with her. And I wish I weren't. Is this how Kurt feels, being in love with Puck, who will clearly never love him back?

She wants to go home, but nobody's home
It's where she lies, broken inside
With no place to go, no place to go to dry her eyes
Broken inside

Broken inside. Those were two words that described Kurt Elizabeth Hummel perfectly. If you were to look up 'broken' in the dictionary, you'd see my picture, Kurt thought to himself bitterly. I'm broken, purely broken. I'm no longer whole. I'm weakened; I'm destroyed or badly hurt by grief or misfortune. I am a broken man. I'm incomplete. I'm just broken, pure and simple. That's all there is to Kurt Hummel anymore. Just the broken pieces that have been left behind.

Open your eyes and look outside, find the reasons why
You've been rejected, and now you can't find what you left behind
Be strong, be strong now
Too many, too many problems
Don't know where she belongs, where she belongs

Be strong. Be strong. I love you, be strong. The last words that Mercedes had ever said…or rather, typed…were ringing through his ears. It was as if she was hovering over his shoulder, whispering them to him. They were words she'd said to him a thousand times over, and how many of those times had he actually listened to her? Not many, he thought regretfully. Be strong, I love you. I love you, be strong. I love you, I love you…

She wants to go home, but nobody's home
It's where she lies, broken inside
With no place to go, no place to go to dry her eyes
Broken inside

Broken, Santana thought, I'm so broken. Broken inside, just as the song says. Broken, just as I'm sure Kurt is broken. I can't help but to think that he is more broken than I, though. He has to be, just has to be. I'm just in love with someone who won't love me back. And what girl doesn't go through that at some point in her life? But Kurt…Kurt has lost his mother, his best friend…he's lost almost everything that matters to him.

Her feelings she hides
Her dreams she can't find
She's losing her mind
She's fallen behind

Losing my mind, Kurt thought. I'm losing my mind. No. I've already lost my mind. I lost it a long, long time ago. I don't think it ever came back, really. My feelings…I hide my feelings. I hide them from everyone around me. Hell, I hide my own feelings from myself. Isn't that pathetic? Isn't it pathetic and sad that I have to hide my own feelings from myself? Fallen behind…so far behind…

She can't find her place
She's losing her faith
She's fallen from grace
She's all over the place

Fallen from grace, Santana thought, looking over at Kurt. He's fallen from grace, as am I. This isn't a human, it's an angel fallen from Heaven and stuck in his own personal Hell. And I can't even help him and send him back up. He's lost all faith in himself and in others. He can't find his place here on Earth. What is he doing here? He belongs in a much better place than his hellhole down here on Earth.

She wants to go home, but nobody's home
It's where she lies, broken inside
With no place to go, no place to go to dry her eyes
Broken inside

Broken inside, Mr. Schuester thought, looking over at Kurt and Santana. They're both so broken inside, and they have no place to go. If only there was something I could do to help them. What else can I do as both a friend and educator? I've already tried to get them counseling, but that did not work out. I've tried to talk to them. But nothing works. They'll only talk to each other; can only seem to find comfort in each other's eyes. I guess if that's what works, that's what will be.

She's lost inside, lost inside
She's lost inside, lost inside

Kurt began screaming, an eerie, shrill shriek emitting from his raw throat. Those who heard him likened him to a banshee at that moment. The glee kids all backed away in terror. All but Santana. She dropped down by his side and threw her arms around him, whispering to him in hushed tones. Mr. Schuester wasn't sure what she was saying, as it was all in French, and he was a Spanish teacher, after all.

"Je suis ici, Kurt. Cri. Cri tout ce que vous voulez. Tout dire, bébé."

The French seemed to calm Kurt down a little bit. He screamed for a few moments more before stopping abruptly, rocking back and forth in Santana's arms. She glared at the rest of the group, and they scurried out of the room. Rachel dragged Mr. Schuester with them, who looked as if he wanted to stay.

"Êtes-vous cassé, trop, Kurt?"

"Oui."

"Moi aussi."

Santana rocked him back and forth gently, laying soft pecks on the top of his head from time to time. It was almost as if she were his mother, comforting him after a nightmare. It was as if she cared.

And, as much as Kurt wanted to deny it, Santana did care about him. He was the only person she could bring herself to care about right now. She couldn't bring herself to care about Brittany, or about Rachel, or about anyone else in that damn school. The only person who mattered, the one person she would fix even if it killed her, was Kurt.

Even if it killed her.

Even though the flames wouldn't kill her, something else ultimately would

But what?

We'll just have to wait and see, now, won't we?

For the time being, though, she'll just sit by and love. She'll sit by and love Kurt, to protect him and comfort him in these dark, dark moments of screaming and black, blind fear.

For now, Santana is all that Kurt has.

But he won't realize it until it is too late.