Something To Sleep To [10/?]
Title: Something To Sleep To
Chapter: 10/?
Author: wishof_wings
Betas: Becky & Therese
Rating: R
Pairing: Klaine
Word Count: 3200
Summary: What started as a volunteer gig at Lima Memorial is slowly turning into a fairy tale for Kurt Hummel. Except Kurt is pretty doubtful that a kiss is going to wake his Prince Charming from his coma.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: AU, homophobia related violence
Author's Notes: Late. Again. I know. I'll try to do better next time? Also, this chapter gaves my betas ~feelings~ so I suppose this serves as a warning.
Go back to the beginning.
Despite the fact that he’d gotten to see Blaine, Kurt is sure that the week insists on being bad to spite him.
He feels stupid.
He feels stupid because he made a stupid plan and it backfired.
Kurt hardly sees anything when he walks down the halls that day, blinded by the thoughts reeling right behind his eyes. Mercedes would probably accuse him of reverting back into a zombie if she was talking to him at all. He’d been prepared to dodge her all day, and yet she seems to be doing a good job of avoiding him on her own.
He’s angry. It’s a smoldering fire that makes him push through bunches of people, that twists around his throat making him want to yell and scream. He doesn’t. His face is in a cool mask, detached, the way he’s always is when he deals with anger. Where he wants to use words, he uses glares, and those are poignant enough.
The dinner was supposed to be an important stepping-stone in a game Kurt had practically forgotten he was playing. It was a game he had set into motion and it had, rather quickly, fallen to the back of his mind and almost out of his head completely. As opposed to their parents getting together as Finn had seemed the other day, Carole had still managed to convince him to go to dinner with all of them the night before. Kurt had been riding his high from seeing Blaine, content to have the evening go well.
And, in all respects, it had.
For everyone but him.
Kurt has never seen his dad as enthusiastic about a conversation as he had been while talking to Finn at dinner. Carole and Kurt can hold a conversation, of course, and he really does like her, but this is his dad.
He doesn’t relish the thought of forcing himself through the day. It’s the end of the week and he’s so ready for it to be over and done with. Everything is aggravating and when he catches sight of Finn in the hallways, the jealousy that flares inside of him is next to unbearable. Kurt stands there, people brushing past him, and he closes his eyes and breathes.
It feels like hours, but it’s only seconds, and then he turns on his heels and walks back in the direction he’d come from. He doesn’t stop, though. He goes until he’s pushing out the front doors, crossing the parking lot, and getting into his car.
Kurt has never been the sort of person to skip school. He’s a model student, a model son-well, he had thought he was a model son. Apparently not having an interest in football made him replaceable.
His chest constricts painfully as he shifts into drive, swinging his car and pointing towards home. His dad is working, so it’s as safe a bet as any. After all, Lima cops tend to have way too much time on their hands; they love busting stupid teenagers for skipping. Then again, stupid teenagers do stupid teenage things, like skip and go to the mall or the movies.
Kurt isn’t a stupid teenager, if he does say so himself.
It’s halfway home that he remembers the conversation with his dad the night before. He’d really tried to console Kurt, to make him feel better, but the words seemed to break over Kurt before disappearing completely. As long as Finn could possibly be in the picture, Kurt knows he’ll be fighting a losing battle for his dad’s affections.
The car turns sharply and then he’s driving away from the reminders. He can’t be at home right now because he knows all he’ll do is imagine Finn in his place, imagine the sort of relationship his dad always wanted with his son.
Kurt rubs at his eyes furiously and presses harder on the gas. He knows where he’s going now. It’s the only place he can go.
Cheerio uniforms don’t exactly aid Kurt in his attempts to keep his skipping school agenda under wraps. The Cheerios have a reputation in Lima and everyone knows them. But Kurt’s practice bag is resting on the back seat, full of a change of clothes, and while he never imagined changing outfits in the back of his car, he realizes it’s his only option.
He makes a mental note to not pack skinny jeans the next time he attempts it.
His phone continues to chirp with messages from Tina and Mercedes, who apparently is suddenly worried enough to care about where he is.
Kurt turns it off and leaves it in the glove compartment.
There’s a different nurse at the station when he signs in, who just looks at him and waves him on without a second thought. Hospitals are another place most teenagers don’t go when they skip school. The increasing ache in his heart just reminds him of how abnormal he really is.
He closes the door behind him when he enters Blaine’s room, settling into his chair soundlessly and practically slumping with relief.
Kurt has never liked hospitals, but there’s something about Blaine’s room that makes him feel safe and vulnerable all at once. He knows he can drop the stiffness in his shoulders, let his face fall, and not worry about anyone looking or judging. It’s one of the only places in the world where Kurt doesn’t have to be the way the world sees him.
He doesn’t know how long it is before he realizes he’s been staring at Blaine. In most cases, he would blush and avert his eyes, but Blaine doesn’t know he’s staring. Kurt could stare for days and memorize Blaine without any awkward glances or discomfort on either of their parts. Kurt lets out a huff of breath, the thought making the clutch around his heart tighter. The last thing he needs to think about now is Blaine waking up as a homophobic jerk.
“Remember how I had that plan?” His voice is so soft, hesitant, as if he’s bringing up something they agreed not to talk about. Which is silly, of course. The only thing they don’t really talk about is how Blaine isn’t waking up.
“I wish you could have told me how stupid it was. You seem like the kind of person who would do that. It’s easy for me to brush off other people’s advice, but you seem like you’d be persuasive.” Kurt’s eyes sweep Blaine’s face, and he can’t help but glance away.
“I love my dad a lot. He’s all I have.” He laces and unlaces his fingers again and again. “I don’t-I’m usually good, with planning things. I’ve been planning things my whole life. I thought it was a gift I had. Being able to anticipate everything that would go wrong, having back-up plans.” He can’t keep his hands still. They move down the length of his thighs until they’re clutching his knees.
“I didn’t have a back-up plan for this. I didn’t even-Why didn’t I think about how it would end? How things would go wrong?” Say his dad and Carole really hit it off, then what? They all lived in one house? That would all be fine and dandy, Kurt would see Finn more often, but then what? What if they had gotten married? Finn would be my brother. My brother. Then what?
“And now it’s all… Blown up in my face.” He needs to stop gripping so tightly or his jeans will crease. “My dad loves me, I know he loves me, but I’ve never-We don’t have a lot in common. We hardly even talk to each other, and then I see him with Finn and. They were bonding, Blaine. I’ve never seen my dad like that. He was so… Excited, like Finn was everything he ever wanted in a son.”
Kurt doesn’t realize he’s crying until his voice breaks, and he lifts a finger to his eye, touching the tears curiously. He lets out a humorless huff of laughter, shaking his head and looking upwards as if that will stop them from coming.
“I always end up crying around you.” He sniffs, resisting the urge to rub his hand against his nose because it’s disgusting. He casts around, looking for tissues, and laughs slightly. Because people in comas totally need tissues.
The chair is too small, but Kurt pulls his knees up anyways, gripping them tightly to his chest as if that might make the ache easier to bear. “It’s always been him and me. And now it’s not that anymore. Now there’s Carole, and Finn, and my dad… He doesn’t need me anymore.”
Kurt feels small, closing his eyes and trying to breathe. He hasn’t felt this small in years. It reminds him of nightmares and playground bullies and comforting hands on his back and hair. There are no hands now.
No. That’s not true.
Slowly, he unfolds himself, taking deep, rattling breaths as he tries to calm down more. He knows he must look like a mess, and for once he’s thankful for Blaine’s closed eyes. But the thought is fleeting and he regrets it instantly. No. He’d much rather have Blaine looking at him.
He reaches out for Blaine’s hand again, cupping it with his own. His finger runs back and forth over Blaine’s first knuckle, as if the repetitive nature helps in centering him again.
“I’m sorry. You’re lying here in a coma for who knows what reason, and I’m just… Unloading on you. If I was you, I’d roll my eyes and tell you to stop complaining.” Kurt smiles wryly, squeezing Blaine’s hand. “But maybe you’re nicer than I am. Then again, I don’t think that’s very hard.”
He turns Blaine’s hand over, trying to distract himself by running the tip of his finger over the contours of Blaine’s palm.
“I don’t know what to do,” Kurt admits, voice quiet as if he’s admitting something shameful. Maybe because Kurt always knew what to do or how to act. Life is but a stage. Isn’t that what Shakespeare had said? If I’m a player, I’d really like to get my hands on the script. “My dad is… Happier than he has been in a long time. Carole makes him happy. I did that.” His fingers clench into a fist within Blaine’s open palm, and Kurt’s eyes soak up the difference in their skin tones.
“I want my dad to be happy. Of course I do, but…” Kurt closes his eyes, surprised at the reemergence of the pricking feeling behind them, threatening more tears. “I don’t want him to replace me at the cost of it.” His voice catches and he immediately clamps down on his lip, his teeth digging in uncomfortably hard.
It’s not like it matters. It’s only Blaine. Blaine, who doesn’t know Kurt. Blaine, who probably can’t even hear Kurt. Blaine, who, for some reason, is someone Kurt wants to tell everything to.
Kurt picks up Blaine’s hand again, laying it palm up on one of Kurt’s own hands. It’s rougher than his own-maybe he washes dishes without gloves-and Kurt finds the pad of his finger running over the contrasting areas of skin. It’s strangely fascinating, the way it feels. Kurt hasn’t had the opportunity to hold hands with many boys, and this hardly counts, but it’s… Something. Blaine is something, something that Kurt isn’t altogether familiar with and can’t stay away from. Kurt wonders for a moment if maybe there’s something in the water that brings him back, but he knows that’s not it. He knows that it’s all Blaine.
He curls Blaine’s fingers, almost as if he intends to make a fist, but stops when the roughness of Blaine’s fingertips brush the back of Kurt’s hand. What would it be like to really hold hands with you?
Huffing out a surprised breath, Kurt shakes his head. It was normal to think something like that. After all, this is the closest he will probably ever get to holding hands with a boy until he escapes to New York-unless, of course, Finn-
Kurt’s nose scrunches at the thought, bringing him to a standstill. That… He shakes his head again. He’s just upset and feeling weird. Finn is the reason for all of this, right? Right. Kurt just... Has a lot on his mind. That’s all.
Shifting their mass of hands again, Kurt tentatively laces his fingers through Blaine’s. It’s strange, because Blaine doesn’t grip back, but it’s also… Something. Kurt smiles, laughing at himself. He obviously doesn’t have as expansive a vocabulary as he thinks if the word he keeps defaulting to is something.
He rests his other elbow on the bed, propping his chin on his hand and turning his attention to Blaine fully. Their hands rest, still laced, near Blaine’s hip. Blaine is really very attractive. He always had been, of course, but it had felt weird and borderline creepy to check someone out when they were covered in bruises and bandages (and in a coma).
But now Blaine looks like he could just be asleep. Kurt resists the urge to lean forward and shake his shoulder, just to make sure. But he’s pretty sure the hand molesting and frantic ranting he’d just done would have woken the dead and-wow, really? That was in poor taste.
His eyes dance along the contours of Blaine’s face, the slope of his nose, the bow of his lips, the way his eyelashes fan against his cheeks. It reminds Kurt of butterfly kisses, the kind his mom used to brush against his temple, and he smiles slightly. With eyelashes like that, Blaine probably gives the best butterfly kisses. Kurt chuckles at the thought and how ridiculous it is.
What kind of compliment would that be? You look like you give awesome butterfly kisses.
Kurt doesn’t keep tabs on his staring anymore. He knows he can look at Blaine the way he doesn’t get to look at other people, because Blaine doesn’t know he’s looking. Blaine can’t glare at him, or sneer in disgust, or think Kurt’s contaminating him.
“Please,” he whispers, gripping Blaine’s hand a bit more tightly. “Please be different.”
When Kurt bolts upright, it’s dark outside and there’s a hand on his shoulder. He can still feel his fingers laced with Blaine’s, and his other arm is draped unashamedly across Blaine’s waist. If he wasn’t so groggy, he’d feel more embarrassed, but he’s more concerned with whether or not he has hospital sheet lines on his face.
“Kurt?”
He squints, turning his head to see someone standing there-oh. It’s Carole. He makes a small noise of acknowledgement, knowing his voice is still too rough with sleep.
“I didn’t know you were here. Did you forget to sign in?” Her hand moves to brush hair from his forehead and Kurt stills at the gesture, surprised. It’s such a motherly thing to do that it catches him off guard, until oh god my hair is probably so flat right now.
But. He hadn’t signed in. He hadn’t even thought about it. He shakes his head and sees Carole nod.
“I’ll take care of that, don’t worry about it.” She gives his shoulder a squeeze and he smiles sleepily.
“Thanks,” he mutters, turning his face back into the bed despite the horrible stiffness in his back. This really isn’t a good way to sleep.
“Honey?” Kurt turns again, eyebrows pinched in annoyance. He wants to sleep. “Why don’t you head home? Visiting hours are about over, anyways.”
Wait. Kurt sits up a bit more, eyes flashing around for a clock and why does Blaine’s room not have a clock? He fumbles for his phone before realizing-right. He left it in his car.
“What time is it?” He asks, lifting his head and wincing at the pain in his neck.
“Nearly eight.”
Now Kurt does sit a little straighter. He picks up his arm, flushing now as he realizes where it was, rubbing at his face to get the sleep out of his eyes. His mouth feels dry and tastes awful and how long has he been asleep?
“I’m guessing you didn’t plan to take a nap,” Carole teases lightly as Kurt rolls his shoulders.
“Well, you know, I just wanted Blaine to feel included in the days activities.” His quip is interrupted by a yawn, and when he looks at Carole, he sees her looking at the way his hand is laced with Blaine’s. Dammit.
“It’s late, and we have a date tomorrow, don’t we?”
He feels grateful, suddenly, that she says nothing more about his position. She doesn’t ask why he fell asleep there, why he’s holding Blaine’s hand, or why he keeps coming back every day. It settles in him, solidly, that he truly likes Carole as a person. The bitterness of his rant earlier makes him feel guilty now.
“Yes we do. I hope you’re ready; there’s nothing like shopping with Kurt Hummel.”
Carole laughs, low and quiet, and Kurt stands, his fingers slipping from Blaine’s. His hand feels strangely empty and he flexes it, wanting nothing more than to reach out and reestablish the connection. He doesn’t.
He does pause, leaning and brushing the tips of his fingers lightly against Blaine’s cheek. “I’ll see you on Monday,” he whispers, his words laced with promise. Kurt longs to come back the next day, but the fear of running into his mother is still too raw.
Carole sees him out, and Kurt looks at Blaine one last time and smiles before the door closes.
He doesn’t turn his phone back on until he’s home, and it vibrates for what seems like ten minutes as the texts steadily stream in. His dad’s car isn’t in the driveway, and Kurt can only assume he’s working late at the shop again. He’s lucky, he knows. Carole could have easily backed him up for being at the hospital, but it’s a conversation he rather not have.
He flips on lights as he walks through the house, phone in hand as he scrolls through texts from Mercedes, Tina, and even Rachel Berry. Well, he’d skipped Glee club. It isn’t a surprise that Miss Diva herself made it a personal goal to harp at anyone who wasn’t there to sway behind her.
Even after the nap at the hospital, he still feels exhausted. It’s early, but the day seems to have dragged on forever and now he just wants to sleep. He hasn’t eaten all day, not since the banana he’d grabbed on his way out that morning, and he knows he should put something in his system.
There’s a red light blinking on the answering machine, and Kurt presses it as he looks through the fridge. His dad has a doctor’s appointment coming up; Kurt needs to make sure he goes. The next message is from McKinley, and Kurt stills as it plays and relays his absence from his last three periods.
He chews his lip and the machine keeps going. Mercedes. She sounds legitimately worried and Kurt promises himself to text her just so that she knows he’s alive, at the very least. And then Rachel Berry and Kurt does not want to know how she got his home phone number. He stands in front of the answering machine, taking a deep, steadying breath, before he hits ‘erase.’
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