Fic: These Broken Wings, 1/1
Title: These Broken Wings, 1/1
Author: knittycat 99
Rating: PG-13 for language
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Burt/Kurt, Kurt/Karofsky
Genre: Friendship, parent/child, angst
Warning: brief reference to self-harm
Spoilers: through 2x20, Prom Queen
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters; if I did this is what would have happened after Prom Queen
Author Notes: Companion/follow-up piece to Much Too High a Cost and Watch Me Fly. If you haven't read those, do so first because this will make no sense to you
Summary: Kurt and Dave talk with their fathers
Word Count: 1,803
Kurt woke to odd slants of sunlight through his bedroom window, and to an otherwise empty bed. Dave was gone, and judging from the angle of the shadows on his blankets, he was nothing but wicked late for school. He dressed hurriedly and dashed down the stairs, only to pull up short at the sight of his dad sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in front of him. He looked up at Kurt’s entrance.
“Prom queen.” His voice was flat, but tinged with a harsh edge of sarcasm.
“Did Blaine-” Kurt’s heart fell into his stomach.
“No. It was Figgins’ secretary, when I called you in sick this morning. She thought I was calling for a meeting.”
“Oh.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Kurt?”
“I didn’t know what to say. I was embarrassed, and angry, and hurt. And I didn’t want you to think it was a mistake to let me transfer back. And . . .”
“What?”
“I didn’t want you to be right. About the whole kilt thing, and giving people a reason to hate me.”
Kurt watched as his dad pushed his chair back and stood, crossing the kitchen in three long strides to hug him.
“I just want you to be safe. To feel worthwhile. And those kids at that school hurt you so much, I just don’t want to see you get lost there.”
“I’m found there.” Kurt let his reply get muffled in the soft shoulder of his dad’s blue work shirt.
“So what do we do now?” His dad let go and turned back to the table, pulling out a chair for Kurt before settling back into his own. “Do you want me to talk to Figgins?”
“No.”
“No? You were humiliated in front of your entire class.”
“And I stood up and wore that stupid crown, and I danced with my boyfriend, and I showed them that they can’t break me. I’m more than their stupid practical joke. I’m better than that. If you go in to that school to fight for me, it will take away everything I did the other night.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? Who are you and what did you do with my crazed father?”
“I saw you with David last night. Sleeping.”
Crap. “Oh.”
“What’s his story, anyway? I thought you hated him.”
“It’s complicated.” How to explain to his dad without telling someone else’s secrets? “He’s become something of a . . . friend, I suppose, the past few weeks. He’s having a hard time with . . . some things. Apparently I’m a good listener.” Kurt rolled his eyes on purpose in an attempt to lighten the situation, but he could see that his dad wasn’t buying it.
“His dad called here last night looking for him.”
“Ah. What did he say?”
“That David came out to him. And then ran off. And clearly came here.”
Kurt’s voice was lost, so he just nodded.
“How long have you known?”
There it was. His chance to let all of it go, all the fear and anger and awful heartache from last fall. But it wasn’t only his story to tell, so he took a deep breath and said the first thing that came to him. “I didn’t, not for sure, until I got back to McKinley.” And in some ways, that was the truth. Because Dave could have been confused back then, and between the kiss and the day he left for Dalton the only contact they’d had was Dave’s hand or arm or shoulder pushing Kurt into hard metal.
“And you’re helping him?”
Kurt nodded. “I’m trying to. He’s not. Um. He’s not the same kid he was in the fall.”
“Neither are you, Kurt.”
Kurt looked down at his hands. There were times when he wished that his dad couldn’t see him. He was so used to hiding himself when he was out in the world that he sometimes forgot he could never hide from his dad. He’d never been able to. None of his masks worked in this house. He kept his head down, but listened as his dad kept talking.
“I know you weren’t happy at Dalton, but the time away changed you. I always knew you were strong, but I think the difference is that now you know it too. I’m proud of you, Kurt.”
Kurt blinked back tears. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Since I got you the day off from school, how about working with me today? I could use the help.”
Kurt smiled in spite of himself. He’d lie to anyone who asked, but he loved working with his dad. “I’d like that a lot.”
*****
Dave stood at his back door, breathless and jittery. Again. He’d felt better when he woke up, warm and safe in Kurt’s arms. In his bed. In a totally platonic kind of way. It had been the best sleep he’d had in close to a year. But the effects weren’t lingering. There was a ball of nerves in his stomach. He felt (again) like he was going to be sick. But he didn’t have a choice. He had to go in and face the music. Face his father. He took the deepest breath he could manage, and turned the knob.
His dad was sitting at the kitchen table, gaze lowered over the morning paper and an untouched plate of toast next to him. He lifted his head at the motion of the door, at Dave’s push into the room. It was now or never. He’d rather never, but he couldn’t swallow back last night’s confession.
“Dad-”
“David.” His dad’s eyes were a cautious mix of concerned and stern.
“I’m sorry I ran off. And that I didn’t call. I just . . .”
“I was worried. I called all your friends.”
“I wasn’t-”
“I know. I took a guess. I called Burt Hummel. Did Kurt know before last night?”
“Yes.”
“When? When did you tell him?”
“I didn’t.” Not a lie. Not really a lie. Kissing wasn’t telling. “He’s been trying to help me.”
“Help you with what?”
With his anger, his self-hatred, his pain. With the awful, suffocating feeling in his chest. “With whether to tell people. What to say. How to do it.”
“Did he pressure you to do it?”
“What? No! I mean, he thought I should, but he’s not like that!” Dave could feel anger crawling up his spine, unjustified rage that anyone would think that Kurt would do something like that. He curled his hands around the back of the chair he was leaning against, worked to calm himself.
“David?” His father’s voice was soft. “Do you . . . are you . . . is there something going on with you and Kurt?”
“Oh. No. He’s a friend. Now, he’s a friend. He’s a good guy.” Dave swallowed around the words he couldn’t say: he’s the only person I trust anymore. Saying that would be saying too much, showing his hand in a way that would leave him nothing.
“Why did you tell me last night?”
“Something happened at Prom.” The words were out before he could stop himself. He finally pulled the chair out and sat, toyed absently with the edge of the tablecloth while his dad slid the plate of toast across to him. He shook his head before continuing.
“I’m sure it’s going to be all over town. The idiots at school wrote Kurt in for Prom Queen. And he won.”
“And you were king.” His dad had been proud to see his crown, but hadn’t asked about the night beyond that when Dave had finally managed to get home well after midnight. It had been the perfect encapsulated moment of their relationship for the past year: brief, stilted and meaningless conversation in passing, nothing too hard or too emotional. Dave wasn’t sure when things had changed, but he knew that it was mostly his fault. Closing his father out, his father who loved him and knew him better than he knew himself, had been his response to the threat of discovery. It had hurt.
“We were supposed to dance. And I couldn’t.” He turned away and swallowed back tears before turning back to his dad and continuing. “I wanted to, Dad. I wanted to. It would have been so easy. Then I wouldn’t have had to tell anybody. But I couldn’t do it.”
“You shouldn’t have had to. Figgins shouldn’t have done that to you.”
Dave shook his head, let out a harsh breath. “You don’t get it, Dad. Nobody did anything to me. They did it to Kurt. The kids, Figgins. Me, in the fall. We all did that to Kurt. He’s the one who gets hurt all the time, and he’s so strong. He just keeps going.” I’m not strong like that. “I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t be in my head anymore.” I couldn’t stand the echo of my thoughts, the loud tick of my heart. “I had to tell you. I couldn’t wait anymore.” Couldn’t wait. Had to tell before my disconnected limbs touched cold metal to delicate skin, just a little sting of physical pain to cut the heavy haze of being buried under emotions I can’t name.
He was fumbling with the sleeves on his sweatshirt again, and he was beyond shocked when his dad reached across and pressed his hands over Dave’s, much the way that Kurt had the night before. This felt different, like a tentative thread of connection between him and his dad. The connection was weak, but it was there. It was better than nothing.
“I’m glad you did. Say something. I was surprised, but I’ll get used to it. David.” His father’s voice turned stern, and Dave looked up to see unmasked love in his dad’s eyes. “You’re my son. I love you. I need you to know that. This doesn’t change anything. You don’t need to change anything. Any trouble I have with this, it’s my stuff to work on, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I called you in sick today, but I have to go to work. Will you be all right at home by yourself?”
Dave scrubbed a hand over his face. “I need to sleep. I’ll be fine.”
“Good.”
Dave pushed his chair away from the table, moved to head up to his room, to the comfort of a shower and a dvd and, hopefully, blissful sleep. He was intercepted by his dad, who grabbed him in a very brief hug and whispered I love you into his ear before he gathered his briefcase and headed out to the car. Dave rounded the corner and sagged against the stairs in relief; he didn’t see his dad, back against the door, crying awkward tears into the sleeve of his suit jacket in the cool spring morning.