AN: Please be aware, I'm always into giving fair warnings because I know I don't like it when I'm taken by surprise in a story. This chapter contains a violent hate crime, could cause trigger issues, could cause tears and is definitely violent in it's content. If you have a weak stomach or can't take it please just don't read this chapter and continue on, this chapter was written in a way that should you not want to read it, it will not leave you confused in the coming chapters.

Also, please review :-) , not just this chapter but in general. There's a lot of great Glee stories out there and I'd like to know what I can do to help create them for you! The best way I write better is constructive feedback (not flames I don't read those). Thank you to all my readers, unreviewing and reviewing, I appreciate the time you take to just glance. There is another story (a different series) in the works currently that I hope to be posting by September.

Chapter Eight - Rated R

Despite Kurt's initial misgivings, having Puck around was nice for a couple reasons that evening. First and foremost, he was there to reach high for things because Kurt couldn't maneuver his broken rib. He was also some company to have around.

They sat upstairs on the couch watching Doctor Who, which Kurt was surprised to find Puck liked. Or at least he was faking it very well, because every few moments he'd ask where Jack was, and what had happened to Rose. Kurt smiled as he watched the Doctor bid a sad goodbye to Donna. "Thanks, Puckerman."

Puck glanced over at Kurt. He didn't know how to classify the diva. Were they friends? He'd certainly done all he could to protect Kurt lately. "I don't get it, Hummel. Why don't you just tell someone about all of this? Your dad would've done something. That guy is a bigger bad ass than me."

Kurt chuckled softly. "Yeah well, you know better than anyone witnesses are hard to come by in this school, and the minute you complain it gets ten times worse. And to be honest, I don't have any desire to visit my father in a high security prison."

"I'm not sure if I will ever be more sorry for all the shit I put you through, but I do want you to know I'm sorry."

Kurt looked at Puck and gave him a small smile. "I know. It's just going to take me awhile to learn to trust again. Is that okay?"

Puck considered it for a moment. Was it okay? Puck thought it was only fair that Kurt gave him a chance after five terrible years to regain his trust. "I'll be there, dude."

"You must stop calling me dude."

"No way, I love watching you get all huffy." The glare was so worth it.

"We always have Friday night dinner together." Kurt's voice was so quiet that Puck had almost missed it.

"I could get the veggie pizza from the joint up the street," he offered.

Kurt grimaced, shame coloring his cheeks red. "I told him I didn't want to go."

"Why?"

"Typical teenage answers: I'm a teen, Fridays are important to me, I have better things to do. Stupid excuses," Kurt replied, his eyes growing a little bright.

Puck studied him for a long time. "I'm sorry." He wasn't sure what other response was good.

"He told me he was disappointed in me."

"When?"

"Last time I saw him before the heart attack."

"He was upset and you were too."

Kurt nodded. "Thanks, Puck. If you want to order the pizza, I'm going to take a shower."

"Sure thing, du—" He grinned as Kurt glared at him. "Let me know if you need any help, Kurt."

"I don't need any help from you when I'm naked."

"That's what she said," grumbled Puck as Kurt left the room.

They spent part of the Saturday in the hospital with Burt, sneaking in and out under the nurse's radar because Kurt was afraid they'd insist on him getting checked out. Puck kept a watchful eye over the smaller teen. He hadn't slept well Friday or Saturday. It was only under the sleeping pills Puck's mother had used a few years back that Puck finally managed to knock Kurt out long enough to get some sleep himself.

If Kurt's lack of sleep was a clue to how bad he felt, then his eating habits were a giant neon sign. Puck managed to get a single piece of pizza and two bowls of soup down Kurt's throat. Other than that the boy remained steadfast in stating he either wasn't hungry or didn't feel well. Puck was afraid to really push it for fear that if Kurt did throw up he'd only hurt himself further.

There had been no change in Burt's condition. They hoped it was because he was doing okay, and Puck tried to remain positive, but even he was beginning to feel hopeless in helping Kurt. Despite Kurt's injuries, he went to the shop for part of Saturday and had only been dragged away after Jimmy and Puck got together and forced him out.

Kurt's ribs were clearly hurting. Every move made him grimaced, and Puck was fairly sure there were other injuries that were worse than the rib cage. All the same, Puck was afraid to really push Kurt for much more otherwise he feared the boy might break completely.

When Sunday dawned, Kurt was preparing to join Mercedes for church. Puck lay on the bed watching Kurt fight with his tie. Every time he moved his arms, he would groan in pain. "Hummel, you're going to kill yourself because of stubbornness," he grumbled as he stepped forward, swatting Kurt out of the way and began to fix it himself.

"Puck...Promise me you'll be there if I need you." Kurt's voice was abnormally unsteady.

Puck looked at his friend. "Of course I will, you know that. Just because your dad isn't here doesn't mean no one will protect you." Leaning forward Puck gave him a warm smile. He glanced at Kurt's lips, deciding to go for broke. Kurt looked unsure, but also leaned in, their lips meeting briefly.

When Kurt pulled away his cheeks flared red and he gave a weak smile. "I'll see you in an hour."

"Sure thing, Hummel." Puck replied, unable to hide his grin.

And that's how he found himself looking through the window of the ICU as he shook his head, feeling exhausted beyond belief. He stood at the door for another moment, before deciding it was time to face the fear and step inside. "Hey Mr. H, it's Mohawk," he offered, smiling weakly at the nickname he'd gone by as a kid. Taking a seat he took Burt's hand in his own and sighed. "I know you're a little busy, what with being in a coma and all, but...Kurt needs you and while I'm not your favorite person right now...I'll do anything to see that smile on his face again. Mr. H...I'm sorta in love with your kid."

He paused and smiled, as if he could imagine how the conversation would go. "I know you probably think I don't know what love is...with my more promiscuous ways—yes I know what that means. But...Kurt's always been different. He's always seen me. Not some jock or jerk or idiot...he sees the kid with goals and dreams. You know when we were seven, shortly after we met, he told me he wanted to be on Broadway and I told him I wanted to be a gourmet chef. He said "do it". No one has ever told me that. I guess what I'm sayin' is that your kid is pretty damn awesome and I'm hoping we can put everything behind us so maybe I can date him. You don't haveta answer now of course. Sleep on it." He smirked at his own joke. "I'm a douche," he muttered realizing he was mocking a coma patient.

Taking a slow breath, he dug deep for his next words. "There's somethin' else I wanted you to know, Mr. H. After my pop left, well...you're the only father figure I've ever really had, and while I'll deny it to my grave that I don't need a father figure. It's kinda cool to have one as awesome as you."

"Well I should get going, Kurt's at church, I wanna make sure he's okay. I don't know what Mercedes was thinking by takin' a gay kid into a church."

"Dad, I think you're supposed to leave the chicken in longer than that," Kurt offered as he watched his father withdrawal the chicken from the oven. The elder Hummel grinned and sat it down on the table.

Meanwhile, Kurt sat in the pews watching his best friend sing and he felt a wash of memories and sadness. His mind had long since wandered and he gave a half hearted smile as he sat listening to the church.

"Believe it or not Kurt, I have cooked before."

"Dad, anyone can boil water," Kurt rolled his eyes.

Burt had the good grace to stick his tongue out at his son. "Okay, what do you want?"

"Um, I want to see you cut it first and make sure it's edible."

Burt rolled his eyes and cut into the breast. "Ew," Kurt giggled as the knife had perfectly cut through cooked outer layer, but the inside was still pink and very juicy. The inside was still pink and completely raw. Burt met his son's eyes and they started laughing.

The laughter echoed through the house for the first time in a whole week. But it died down quickly as they looked quietly at one another. "Are you going to put it back in?"

"You want chicken?"

Kurt shrugged. "I could eat McDonalds, Dad."

"I just wanted to give you a reason to remember we're still a family."

Kurt slid his chair away from the table got up and sat down in his dad's lap carefully. "We're always a family, Dad. Mom's here, you told me that. She's in here." He tapped dad's chest above his heart.

"When did you get so smart?"

"I got it from Mom."

Burt laughed out loud, hugging his son close. "Right then, go grab your coat and we'll get take out or something."

"Kay!" Kurt ran off to grab his coat.

Burt watched, feeling his eyes burn with tears, he missed his wife every moment, one week didn't feel like long enough to truly grieve; the psychologists said it could be a year for them to really move on. But he was inclined to say it'd be much longer than that. But Kurt was right, Angie was still here, she was in her son. The way he smiled, his hair, his voice, some of his most basic mannerisms all belonged to his wife.

"Daddy, come on!"

Burt stepped into the main entrance way, pulling his coat on and picking his son up around the waist. "Next time you can cook the chicken."

Kurt sat in the pew despite his beliefs, smiling weakly at the image Mercedes' singing had brought to him. He had to talk to his father, and more than that, he knew what he needed to say to his father. After church he exited the sanctuary with Mercedes, but she quickly got detoured by a few friends, as did Dr. and Mrs. Jones. So Kurt stood awkwardly in the corner.

"Hey, Hummel, right?" A couple young men walked over, probably in their mid-twenties. Kurt froze for a moment looking at them, unsure how to respond.

"Yes," he offered quietly.

"Your dad owns that auto shop on the corner right?" The first young man questioned, smiling warmly.

Kurt felt relief flood his body, "Yes, he does."

The boy nodded. "He's a great mechanic, fixed my car up real fine. Don't s'pose you know a thing or two do you? My friend here's Ford isn't working too well right now."

Kurt shrugged. While he was in his Sunday best, he didn't mind. "Sure, let me just tell Mercedes."

"Don't worry about it man, I'll tell her," one of the boys said.

Kurt nodded and followed them into the parking lot of the church and the boy opened his car door and popped his hood. Kurt felt secure. Cars he knew. "Looks like you haven't gotten your filters cleaned in awhile."

The click of a cocking gun behind him made Kurt's blood run cold. "Fags don't belong in church or on this damn planet. Get in the back of the car," an all too familiar voice spoke.

"Please, just leave me alone. I won't tell anyone."

Azimio cut him off. "I don't want a fuckin' thing from you faggot. I want you to get in the back of the car."

Taking a slow gulp, they walked Kurt around to the back of the Buick where he was shoved into the back seat, Azimo still holding the gun to his head as he got into the passenger's seat. "Drive," the boy demanded. Whoever the other kid was in the front of the car did as instructed.

Kurt gulped slightly. Reaching into his pocket he managed to open his phone, hoping they wouldn't notice. His mind raced briefly over his contacts list, Mercedes had turned her phone off for church. Puck was the only one who would know where he was. He used his one hand to quickly type out a simple message. He texted enough to know where everyone one of the keys were. Closing his eyes he, desperately hoped that Puck would get his message.

They drove out about ten minutes from the actual church into the middle of the field. Kurt was beginning to get visions of Matthew Shepard in his mind. His father was still in a coma. Kurt couldn't imagine what his father would do if he woke up and found out he had died. And a small part of Kurt was positive he was going to die. As they pulled into an open field. Kurt quickly made one more text message to Puck In the field stood Karofsky looking all too ready to destroy him.

Kurt was yanked from the car. He fought, limbs flailing to catch any limbs, nose or stomach. However, when the butt of the gun connected with his temple, Kurt grunted and he hit the ground. Stars whirled in front of his vision as they began to laugh. "Anyone wanna play kick the fag?" Karofsky laughed as he kicked Kurt in the ribs.

"Told you this wasn't over, faggot." Azimo cackled, thrilled that he'd thought to include Dave in the beat the fag game.

Kurt's vision swam as they tore his clothes and beat him. His ribs cracked and broke under the constant kicks and punches. Someone stomped on his hand and arm. He sobbed and curled in on himself trying to protect all of his most vital organs.

It was the stunning blow to his back, and then the feeling of his clothes being torn completely off, that left Kurt gasping in fear. As he tried to get away, he felt one of the guys grab his arms and another grab his legs. He cried out, but another kick to his ribs left him coughing and gasping for breath. Kurt watched, fascinated as he spit up red.

He tried to hold on as long as he could, but he felt like someone was ripping him to pieces he began to lose consciousness. He wasn't sure if it was because of all the blood he lost or the pain, but the darkness claimed him quickly, and he was thankful.

Puck had a bad feeling long before he decided to show up at Mercedes church with Finn and rescue their friend. He pulled up to the church she'd mentioned.

"Puck!" She looked surprised to see him.

"Where's Kurt?"

She looked around and shrugged. "Knowing him, he probably saw a fancy pair of shoes and wandered off."

Puck felt anger flood his veins. She'd knowingly brought her so called best friend to sit smack dab in the middle of a group of people who were generally opposed to gays and then left him.

Finn had already started searching for his almost brother when Puck's ringtone began to sing in his pocket. Puck's sudden concern for Kurt was weird, but Finn shook it off as concern for fellow members of glee. He felt the smile on his face at the sound of "Defying Gravity". Puck pulled out his phone and his face immediately went white as he read the text message. A second one came through and Puck ran out of the building.

"Puck!" Finn followed Puck into the car. Puck handed Finn his cell phone. Finn's eyes went wide at the two messages: HLP AZIMIO TKIN ME IN CR. The second message was: 10 MILES STH OF CHURCH IN FLD. Finn quickly dialed 911 as he managed to get in the car before Puck raced down the street, out of the parking lot. Reading the directions Kurt had left them he rattled them off to the dispatcher.

Puck slammed to a halt in the middle of the street and threw the door open. "KURT!" he yelled. "Oh god, Kurt," his hands shook as he dropped beside the mutilated figure.

Kurt was practically naked, pants down around his ankles. His hands had been tied, and his right hand was clearly broken and bleeding. Blood had dripped from the corners of his mouth, and oozed from his ears. Puck closed his eyes at the sight of bruises forming around Kurt's groin and hip area. "He's bad. But he seems to be breathing and has a pulse." Puck forced back a flood of tears. He reached out gently tapping Kurt's face. "Kurt?" he whispered.

At the sight of his beaten and battered friend, Finn felt his stomach lurch and his face lose all color. "He's...he's alive but bleeding badly, please hurry." Finn mumbled to the dispatcher.

"Oh my god," came a hushed whisper of Mercedes Jones. Finn assumed they'd followed them when they'd run from the church, but neither of them were ready to look at her yet.

"He just stopped breathing." Puck's voice shook.

"Then give him CPR!" snapped Finn. Every fiber of his body was screaming this couldn't happen this couldn't possibly happen.

Dr. Jones had just arrived and knelt down beside the boys, "He could have a collapsed lung, son—"

Puck pushed the doctor aside. "Kurt, come on," he ordered, tears clouding his vision as he began to push against the spot where Kurt's heart lay, pumping in and out. He felt the ribs creek beneath his palms. "Please," he cried.

"Noah," Mrs. Jones spoke.

"Leave me alone!" he screamed, crying as people tried to pull him away. The EMTs had arrived already rattling off instructions. Finn gently gripped the teen's bloody hands. "Come on, Puck. We're meeting them at the hospital."

Puck felt his whole world beginning to darken as he looked at Kurt. "Please," he cried as he watched them pull out the paddles on the bloody pale teenager. "Please, no," he whimpered. He brought his hands to his face to scrub his eyes when he saw the blood—Kurt's blood—drenching his hands. He looked over at Finn, who wasn't looking much better, his body was shaking, tears slipping down his face as he pulled out his phone and forced himself to dial his mother.

"Puck," Mercedes gently touched his shoulder, but he flinched away.

"Why! You couldn't just leave him the fuck alone!" he screamed, sobbing still.

"We're moving him to Lima Memorial. Do you boys want to come?" the EMT asked Puck.

Puck and Finn gave very shaky nods as they climbed into the back of the ambulance. He closed his eyes as he leaned forward and grabbed Kurt's hand. "Please, Kurt."

"Mom," Finn's voice sounded distant as he finally got a hold of his mother. "Mom," his voice cracked.