Fic: Mad World, Chapter 1
Mad World
By: Mytay
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Kurt is tired and hurting. When his dad finds out why . . . Burt gets angry. Very angry. In the meantime, a few people are waking up to reality and Kurt is not as alone as he thinks. AU after season 2, episode 6, Never Been Kissed. Originally posted Nov. 10, 2010, here: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6467367/1/Mad_World
Pairings/Characters: Hints of pre-Klaine, Kurt, Burt, the whole Glee club, Blaine, and others.
Warnings: Some swearing, homophobic language, and in later chapters, violence (more specific warnings when those parts are posted).
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own, anything Glee related. Nor do I own the song whose title and bits of its lyrics I am borrowing for the title of this fic and its chapters (Mad World, originally sung by Tears for Fears, though I prefer the Gary Jules version).
Note: Yet another Burt and Kurt fic (which ended up being multi-chaptered because the episode ate my brain) . . . I had to. I like to call this episode the 'OMGWTF?' episode. Call me naive - I didn't see it coming.
As of June 2013: This fic is now fully revised. I've caught some mistakes here and there, and fixed them, so hopefully it is error-free - of course, please let me know if this is not the case.
Feb. 2014: Revised again, and completed - that is that for this story, and love to all of you that have put up with my sporadic updating. I will always reply to any comments left here or on fanfiction.net, so please sign in to either site before you do so, but that's the end of my Glee writing. See final notes in last chapter for more info.
Spoilers: None.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Chapter 1: Familiar Faces
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Burt was sitting on the couch, listening to some Mellencamp, trying to relax - he'd just gotten back from a short day at work (all he could manage were five hours before his tiredness became too much to hide and his mechanics kicked him out and sent him home), when Kurt burst through the front door. He craned his neck to stare down the hall, a simple 'Hey kiddo' on the tip of this tongue, but then he saw the red-rimmed eyes.
"Kurt?"
Kurt just looked at him, breath hitching. It had Burt frowning - his boy had been so out of it these past couple of days and right in that moment, he looked dead on his feet.
It had been getting worse lately - his son could be moody like any other teenager, but in the past few of months the down swing had been nearly constant. He said 'nearly' because Kurt did his best to keep up a front at home, but Finn had been informing him about Kurt's occasional outbursts at school, and the fact that the bullying was just not letting up. It made Burt long to be sixteen again - if only so he could sneak into that school and pound on those assholes for his kid, grind them into paste so there'd be nothing left but a smear on the wall.
Kurt confessed to going to scope out the all-boys private school in Westerville to 'spy' for Glee club, all soft-words and so wearied, likely expecting a grounding, but Burt had let it go. He'd seen the joy in his son's eyes when he'd gone off on a tangent about 'zero-tolerance' and 'acceptably stylish' uniforms, and an incredibly talented glee club. He'd heard the tremble in his son's voice - the indication of barely restrained tears. He couldn't help but notice the awe when Kurt explained breathily about how the students there really didn't care that he was gay. At all.
Burt had seriously considered transferring him, because even though it might make things tough around their home (he had money saved up, but with medical bills, it would be tight for a long time), he hadn't seen his son that happy since . . . since before his mother died. He'd forgotten how amazing it was to behold.
"Kurt? You're kinda freakin' me out a bit, son. C'mon, have a seat."
Kurt blinked, unfreezing himself, finally doing more than just breathing deeply and staring off into space. He shut the door behind him and walked zombie-slow to the couch, falling onto it heavily. He then curled on his side towards his father, who immediately reached over, putting an arm around his son's shoulders.
"Okay, no pressure or anything, but do you need to talk about somethin'?"
Kurt shook his head once, and burrowed closer to his father's side. Burt couldn't help himself - he squeezed him tightly in a half-hug.
A hard flinch and sharp intake of breath made him drop his arm. As soon as he did, Kurt hunched in, shifting with pain clearly outlined in his features - but trying to look casual, to play it off as nothing.
Burt was so not buying it.
"What the hell happened today?" he asked worriedly, moving so he could face his kid directly, reaching up with a gentle hand to try and discover what Kurt was hiding.
Kurt flinched away again. "I pulled something at Glee practise a couple of days ago. It's nothing."
"Yeah? Every time you tell me it's nothing, I know it's something. So either tell me or I start diallin' Mercedes' number - I've done it before, and you know she'll tell me -"
"That's incredibly low of you," Kurt sighed out, but he began to take off his yellow sweater/jacket thing. "You're not going to like it. Can't you just trust me when I say I've got it covered?"
"No, I can't - and not because you're not trustworthy - but because I'm your dad and I need to know if there's something going on. Now hurry up before I get your girl on the line."
Kurt gave him another one of those tired looks from beneath heavy lids. Then he yanked off the sweater he had been wearing under the other yellow one, and geez, how did he not sweat through all those layers? When he reached his shirt he was more careful, wincing slightly as he undid the buttons. Burt knew this was going to be bad, and he'd seen Kurt come home with a couple of nasty bruises before, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him when Kurt sat there, in a sleeveless undershirt, horrible black and yellow marks doting his arms almost everywhere.
"Fuck," he swore without restraint. "Kurt -"
Kurt sighed again, turning his head away. "It's my back, actually. I . . . hurt it a couple of days ago, like I said. But it's -" He tried to pull his shirt back on, but Burt wasn't having it - he tugged it out of his son's hands, eyes narrowing.
"Lemme see the damage."
Kurt tried to object but Burt just crossed his arms and glared. Maybe his son had been doing more of the 'taking care' bit for the last little while, but that didn't mean Kurt was suddenly capable of handling everything on his own, whatever he may think, and Burt sure as hell wasn't going to let him get away with hiding things like this.
Kurt was biting his lip, still looking pained and so very exhausted. "Okay - but don't get mad. I'm sure it looks worse than it is."
That did not make him feel better. When Kurt turned completely, Burt was already catching a glimpse of the horrible black and blue, his stomach twisting hard and fast. Then Kurt haltingly hiked the thin white material up, and all of Burt's insides clenched horribly and tightly. God. The bruise spanned from the middle of his back and up towards his shoulders; it was so ugly and stark on his son's pale skin.
Burt felt his eyes widen until they started watering, and he reflexively put a hand out, wanting to make it better, knowing perfectly damn well he couldn't. "Jesus Christ . . ."
It was excruciating to look at, and a blind fury, one that he had never known before, rose up in him. The phone was in his hand before he even registered reaching for it.
"No, dad, no complaining to Figgins," Kurt insisted, taking the phone from him in one swift move.
"Don't you dare tell me what to do about this!" Burt hissed, his voice sounding raw. "This isn't like a slushy or a dumpster toss, which already had me wantin' to rake those punks over the coals - this is pure violence. God damnit, I'm this close to skipping over that useless principal and just calling the police. I won't let these assholes -"
"Asshole actually - singular - the rest of the jocks stick to what they know - the slushies mostly. There haven't been any dumpster tosses in a while. I think Puck actually -"
"I don't care." Burt made a grab for the phone, but Kurt tossed the cordless onto the other couch and held onto his father's shoulders.
"Dad, listen to me - this is far more complicated than you realize. I mean, I just . . . I don't know what do, it's . . ." His son's eyes were filling with tears, and his hands fell away to rake through his hair. To mess up his hair. Burt watched, stunned and horrified, as this unkempt boy before him started to sob.
Burt wanted to hug him close again, but he was so damn angry that he was shaking and what with Kurt's back, Burt didn't want to risk hurting his kid further. Goddamn, he just couldn't stand this. He took in three deep breaths before reaching a slightly less trembling hand out to his son, who thankfully threw himself at his father, making it easier for Burt to embrace him. He kept his touch as gentle as possible, and when Kurt calmed down enough to pull away, Burt felt his own anger settle down to a simmer - he was pissed off enough to punch through a wall, but it was under control. For now.
"He's . . . incredibly more screwed up than I am," Kurt said finally, after a too long silence.
Burt blinked, his brain scattered by too much heartache and rage. "You mean . . . the guy who did this to you?"
Kurt nodded, picking up one of the dozens of blankets he kept around the living room - leftovers from Burt's endless days on the couch - and wrapping it around his shoulders.
"He . . . he's always been one of the worst ones - him and his buddy. They've picked on Finn and the other Glee kids horribly too, and in a weird way, that made me feel better, but lately . . . Karofsky, he's been brutal. And I always chalked it up to ignorance and general asshattery, but it just got harder and harder to take it, dad. I mean, really, why is it so important to keep me down?" Kurt looked up at this father imploringly, and Burt really wished he didn't know the answer to that question, but he did, at least partially, from personal experience.
"Because it makes him feel tough, makes all of them feel tough, being able to keep someone in line like that. All of that crap about machoness and whatever - well, it's not all crap. Some guys are just douches with nothing better to do other than to make other kids' miserable 'cause it makes 'em feel big and strong. It's stupid as hell, and I promise you, kiddo, that it isn't your fault in any way."
"And the fact that I'm gay, dad?" Kurt asked dryly. "I'm sure that has nothing to do with it, right?"
Burt swallowed. "Yeah, then you have those ignorant jackasses who really have a screw loose, and think they're doing society - or even more stupidly, you - a favour. Think you're wrong, think you're a disgrace or pathetic - but don't you dare start believing that they have a point or that -"
"No, no, I know they're idiots," Kurt cut in, smiling gratefully. "Thank you, dad, but I know exactly what I am, and what that means, and I know it isn't any of those things. That's what makes Karofsky so . . ." Now Kurt was the one swallowing hard, and for some reason, the tears were back. "I understand and I don't understand, and I'm so pissed off that he won't admit it, if only to himself, and just leave me the fuck alone." The vehemence in that last statement took Burt aback - he'd never heard his son so furious.
Kurt wiped away a tear with frustration. "He's such a damn moron, and I want to feel sorry for him, but I can't, not after all the crap he's put me through, all because he can't deal with the truth."
Burt was lost, and he couldn't keep up with Kurt's ramblings. "Son -"
"He's taken so much from me, and now he's taken this too, and a part of me wants to punch him, shove him into a locker, and I would, if I didn't think he would kill me -"
"Kurt! What are you -"
"That bully, that bastard, had the nerve to-to actually kiss me as if -"
"Wait, what?!" Burt hadn't meant to sound so outraged - well, yes, he did, but not to the point that it made Kurt jump and scramble back slightly.
"Are you," he began slowly, because he really couldn't wrap his mind around this, "telling me that this . . . punk little son of a bitch . . . kissed you?"
Kurt's lips were a thin line, but he nodded and that was it: Burt was officially beyond angry. This was rage, pure and simple, and all he could think in the midst of the red-hot fury was I'm going to murder that punk, right now.
"Dad, no." Kurt was pushing him back down onto the couch, sitting on the coffee table now - something he would never do, normally - and leaning in close. "Dad, calm down -"
"Calm down? Calm down! You're telling me that this asshole assaulted you and I'm suppose to calm -"
Kurt raised a hand, pleading for silence, and Burt gave it to him, but just barely. The vibrating anger was back, and Kurt was looking worried, a hand on Burt's wrist, taking his pulse. He forced himself to take the fury down a notch, but it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Then his son took in a deep breath. "It . . . it wasn't, I mean . . . it wasn't assault -"
"Did you want him to kiss you?" Burt demanded. "'Cause if that's a 'no', then that makes it assault."
"That's not the point." Kurt's hands were in his hair again. "It wasn't even a question because it would never, in any dimension of space or time, have occurred to me that Dave Karofsky would be a closet case - and a closet case attracted to me, no less. I'm still having trouble absorbing this and it's been a day or two - when he tried to kiss me again I almost -"
Burt made a sound that may or may not have been a low growl, but Kurt only gave him a warning look, hand back on his pulse point, squeezing lightly before continuing. "I tried to confront him about it later but he just, he's so angry, so in denial, and the locker shoving hasn't stopped and the way he looked at me today, like he was proving something to me. That he could beat the gay out himself, by beating me up. It's . . . this complicates things, and I don't want to . . . He's an asshole, and I hate him, but he's also so lost, dad and I . . . I lied - maybe I do feel sorry for him too. Like, minutely. But it's there."
Burt had to force himself not to fly off the couch and do something. Kurt just kept watching him with those gleaming eyes of his, and Burt had to grasp one small, long fingered hand in his to help keep his calm. Kurt smiled a weak, half-smile. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you on the day that it happened but dad, it just came out of nowhere and it scared me. I went to . . . someone else, a friend, to help me out, because I thought he could . . . Anyways, doesn't matter, point being -"
"Point being, from now on, you're going to tell me everything," he said quietly in response, as sternly as he could. "You're going to tell me each and every time that bastard touches you. And if he ever tries to kiss you or . . . if he ever tries something like that again, I am callin' the police. Because it is an assault, Kurt, it is."
Kurt breathed out heavily through his nose. "Okay. Now, please calm yourself down, because I'm about to call 911. If you have another heart attack because of me . . ."
Burt leaned back onto the couch. "I'm fine, kiddo. We're playing it your way for now. I know that sometimes calling attention to these things, especially when you know the people in charge are going to do jack squat about it, makes it all worse. That damn principal, and those damn teachers - I mean, even Schuester I bet, hasn't tried -"
"Well, he did try talking to me," Kurt offered. "It was the first time anyone on staff has ever tried to help me. I think I could go to him if it gets any worse, and he'll try -"
"Like he's been tryin' all this time?" Burt ground out. "Don't get me wrong, kiddo, you go to your teachers, to your principal, when shit like this happens, but you make sure you tell me too, 'cause I don't trust them to do anything other than what they've been doing so far - which is jack squat."
"Yeah . . . okay," Kurt conceded, sighing and resuming his position on the couch, on his side, his forehead on his dad's shoulder.
They sat in silence for a long time.
Burt knew his heart was straining under the weight of so much anger, but another feeling was pulling at him too, making his eyes burn and his breathing uneven, because aside from wanting to commit some serious acts of violence, and feeling physically pained by all the crap his son had to put up with . . .
He was scared.
Scared, like he'd been when he got a phone call from a deep voice telling him his son was a fag. Scared like he'd been when Kurt came home, clothes stained from his first dumpster toss, and then all the times after, when he'd come back wearing a different outfit than the one he'd left the house in. Like he'd been in the first years after his wife died, and Kurt came home crying his eyes out after school one day because some little jerks had made fun of him for wearing his mother's nail polish.
Scared like he'd been when his son was three years old, and asking him clearly and eagerly for a pair of sensible high heels.
A homophobic jackass jock was one thing - and a pretty predictable one at that - one that he hated to admit he was incredibly familiar with. A self-hating homophobic, closet-case jock asshole that may actually have some kind of . . . crush on his son? That was terrifying and completely out of left field.
Kurt sat up eventually, clearing his throat. "I, uh, I have homework to do." He was gathering up his clothes and bag as he spoke, shrugging the blanket off his shoulders and standing gingerly, doing a horrible job at covering up another wince. Guilt was pulling at Burt now - how could he not have noticed this? It had happened two days ago and Kurt must've been hurting and he, his father, hadn't seen it. What's wrong with me, this is my son - how could I have missed all this? This is my boy, damn it, mine and my wife's baby boy, how Goddamn dare they! Another series of deep breaths were needed to calm a resurgence of that blazing anger, that need for justice and vengeance.
Burt let him go, reluctantly, giving his hand a soft squeeze as Kurt walked around him to head to his bedroom. Kurt paused, grasping his father's hand between both of his own for a moment before finally leaving.
Burt sat on the couch, waiting until he heard the basement door shut - the second he did, he was standing and picking the phone up from the sofa Kurt had tossed it onto.
His fingers hesitated over the keypad as he rummaged around the kitchen for the numbers to Kurt's school that he only had half-memorized. He wasn't sure which one to call first - Figgins or Schuester (if only to leave an angry rant in the teacher's mailbox) - but both were going to get a talking to before the week was out. He needed to put the fear of God in them because if anything happened to his boy as a result of their dumbass inaction . . . there wasn't enough hurt in the world to compare with what he would put them through.
As he dialed the first number that he came across, he considered looking up the all-boys school Kurt had been at; if all else failed, he was transferring Kurt, money issues be damned - no one could put a price on the safety and well-being of his son that he wouldn't be willing to pay.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Author's Note: *breathes* Okay, this starts off a little slow, with a lot people becoming aware/realizing a lot of things to do with Kurt that they hadn't before . . . then things happen. I love my angst, just for the record :)
I know there was a lot of discussion when this episode aired, on whether or not what Karofsky did was assault, and I just want to point out that this chapter is written from a father's perspective, so naturally in his eyes, that's all he sees. My opinion is similar, but I can understand both sides, (I sympathize with Karofsky, and don't view him as a monster, but I can also see all the pain and fear he's inflicted on Kurt and most certainly do not look upon it kindly).
Thanks so much for reading, it is very much appreciated!
Next: Chapter 2: Worn Out Places
By: Mytay
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Kurt is tired and hurting. When his dad finds out why . . . Burt gets angry. Very angry. In the meantime, a few people are waking up to reality and Kurt is not as alone as he thinks. AU after season 2, episode 6, Never Been Kissed. Originally posted Nov. 10, 2010, here: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6467367/1/Mad_World
Pairings/Characters: Hints of pre-Klaine, Kurt, Burt, the whole Glee club, Blaine, and others.
Warnings: Some swearing, homophobic language, and in later chapters, violence (more specific warnings when those parts are posted).
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own, anything Glee related. Nor do I own the song whose title and bits of its lyrics I am borrowing for the title of this fic and its chapters (Mad World, originally sung by Tears for Fears, though I prefer the Gary Jules version).
Note: Yet another Burt and Kurt fic (which ended up being multi-chaptered because the episode ate my brain) . . . I had to. I like to call this episode the 'OMGWTF?' episode. Call me naive - I didn't see it coming.
As of June 2013: This fic is now fully revised. I've caught some mistakes here and there, and fixed them, so hopefully it is error-free - of course, please let me know if this is not the case.
Feb. 2014: Revised again, and completed - that is that for this story, and love to all of you that have put up with my sporadic updating. I will always reply to any comments left here or on fanfiction.net, so please sign in to either site before you do so, but that's the end of my Glee writing. See final notes in last chapter for more info.
Spoilers: None.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Chapter 1: Familiar Faces
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Burt was sitting on the couch, listening to some Mellencamp, trying to relax - he'd just gotten back from a short day at work (all he could manage were five hours before his tiredness became too much to hide and his mechanics kicked him out and sent him home), when Kurt burst through the front door. He craned his neck to stare down the hall, a simple 'Hey kiddo' on the tip of this tongue, but then he saw the red-rimmed eyes.
"Kurt?"
Kurt just looked at him, breath hitching. It had Burt frowning - his boy had been so out of it these past couple of days and right in that moment, he looked dead on his feet.
It had been getting worse lately - his son could be moody like any other teenager, but in the past few of months the down swing had been nearly constant. He said 'nearly' because Kurt did his best to keep up a front at home, but Finn had been informing him about Kurt's occasional outbursts at school, and the fact that the bullying was just not letting up. It made Burt long to be sixteen again - if only so he could sneak into that school and pound on those assholes for his kid, grind them into paste so there'd be nothing left but a smear on the wall.
Kurt confessed to going to scope out the all-boys private school in Westerville to 'spy' for Glee club, all soft-words and so wearied, likely expecting a grounding, but Burt had let it go. He'd seen the joy in his son's eyes when he'd gone off on a tangent about 'zero-tolerance' and 'acceptably stylish' uniforms, and an incredibly talented glee club. He'd heard the tremble in his son's voice - the indication of barely restrained tears. He couldn't help but notice the awe when Kurt explained breathily about how the students there really didn't care that he was gay. At all.
Burt had seriously considered transferring him, because even though it might make things tough around their home (he had money saved up, but with medical bills, it would be tight for a long time), he hadn't seen his son that happy since . . . since before his mother died. He'd forgotten how amazing it was to behold.
"Kurt? You're kinda freakin' me out a bit, son. C'mon, have a seat."
Kurt blinked, unfreezing himself, finally doing more than just breathing deeply and staring off into space. He shut the door behind him and walked zombie-slow to the couch, falling onto it heavily. He then curled on his side towards his father, who immediately reached over, putting an arm around his son's shoulders.
"Okay, no pressure or anything, but do you need to talk about somethin'?"
Kurt shook his head once, and burrowed closer to his father's side. Burt couldn't help himself - he squeezed him tightly in a half-hug.
A hard flinch and sharp intake of breath made him drop his arm. As soon as he did, Kurt hunched in, shifting with pain clearly outlined in his features - but trying to look casual, to play it off as nothing.
Burt was so not buying it.
"What the hell happened today?" he asked worriedly, moving so he could face his kid directly, reaching up with a gentle hand to try and discover what Kurt was hiding.
Kurt flinched away again. "I pulled something at Glee practise a couple of days ago. It's nothing."
"Yeah? Every time you tell me it's nothing, I know it's something. So either tell me or I start diallin' Mercedes' number - I've done it before, and you know she'll tell me -"
"That's incredibly low of you," Kurt sighed out, but he began to take off his yellow sweater/jacket thing. "You're not going to like it. Can't you just trust me when I say I've got it covered?"
"No, I can't - and not because you're not trustworthy - but because I'm your dad and I need to know if there's something going on. Now hurry up before I get your girl on the line."
Kurt gave him another one of those tired looks from beneath heavy lids. Then he yanked off the sweater he had been wearing under the other yellow one, and geez, how did he not sweat through all those layers? When he reached his shirt he was more careful, wincing slightly as he undid the buttons. Burt knew this was going to be bad, and he'd seen Kurt come home with a couple of nasty bruises before, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him when Kurt sat there, in a sleeveless undershirt, horrible black and yellow marks doting his arms almost everywhere.
"Fuck," he swore without restraint. "Kurt -"
Kurt sighed again, turning his head away. "It's my back, actually. I . . . hurt it a couple of days ago, like I said. But it's -" He tried to pull his shirt back on, but Burt wasn't having it - he tugged it out of his son's hands, eyes narrowing.
"Lemme see the damage."
Kurt tried to object but Burt just crossed his arms and glared. Maybe his son had been doing more of the 'taking care' bit for the last little while, but that didn't mean Kurt was suddenly capable of handling everything on his own, whatever he may think, and Burt sure as hell wasn't going to let him get away with hiding things like this.
Kurt was biting his lip, still looking pained and so very exhausted. "Okay - but don't get mad. I'm sure it looks worse than it is."
That did not make him feel better. When Kurt turned completely, Burt was already catching a glimpse of the horrible black and blue, his stomach twisting hard and fast. Then Kurt haltingly hiked the thin white material up, and all of Burt's insides clenched horribly and tightly. God. The bruise spanned from the middle of his back and up towards his shoulders; it was so ugly and stark on his son's pale skin.
Burt felt his eyes widen until they started watering, and he reflexively put a hand out, wanting to make it better, knowing perfectly damn well he couldn't. "Jesus Christ . . ."
It was excruciating to look at, and a blind fury, one that he had never known before, rose up in him. The phone was in his hand before he even registered reaching for it.
"No, dad, no complaining to Figgins," Kurt insisted, taking the phone from him in one swift move.
"Don't you dare tell me what to do about this!" Burt hissed, his voice sounding raw. "This isn't like a slushy or a dumpster toss, which already had me wantin' to rake those punks over the coals - this is pure violence. God damnit, I'm this close to skipping over that useless principal and just calling the police. I won't let these assholes -"
"Asshole actually - singular - the rest of the jocks stick to what they know - the slushies mostly. There haven't been any dumpster tosses in a while. I think Puck actually -"
"I don't care." Burt made a grab for the phone, but Kurt tossed the cordless onto the other couch and held onto his father's shoulders.
"Dad, listen to me - this is far more complicated than you realize. I mean, I just . . . I don't know what do, it's . . ." His son's eyes were filling with tears, and his hands fell away to rake through his hair. To mess up his hair. Burt watched, stunned and horrified, as this unkempt boy before him started to sob.
Burt wanted to hug him close again, but he was so damn angry that he was shaking and what with Kurt's back, Burt didn't want to risk hurting his kid further. Goddamn, he just couldn't stand this. He took in three deep breaths before reaching a slightly less trembling hand out to his son, who thankfully threw himself at his father, making it easier for Burt to embrace him. He kept his touch as gentle as possible, and when Kurt calmed down enough to pull away, Burt felt his own anger settle down to a simmer - he was pissed off enough to punch through a wall, but it was under control. For now.
"He's . . . incredibly more screwed up than I am," Kurt said finally, after a too long silence.
Burt blinked, his brain scattered by too much heartache and rage. "You mean . . . the guy who did this to you?"
Kurt nodded, picking up one of the dozens of blankets he kept around the living room - leftovers from Burt's endless days on the couch - and wrapping it around his shoulders.
"He . . . he's always been one of the worst ones - him and his buddy. They've picked on Finn and the other Glee kids horribly too, and in a weird way, that made me feel better, but lately . . . Karofsky, he's been brutal. And I always chalked it up to ignorance and general asshattery, but it just got harder and harder to take it, dad. I mean, really, why is it so important to keep me down?" Kurt looked up at this father imploringly, and Burt really wished he didn't know the answer to that question, but he did, at least partially, from personal experience.
"Because it makes him feel tough, makes all of them feel tough, being able to keep someone in line like that. All of that crap about machoness and whatever - well, it's not all crap. Some guys are just douches with nothing better to do other than to make other kids' miserable 'cause it makes 'em feel big and strong. It's stupid as hell, and I promise you, kiddo, that it isn't your fault in any way."
"And the fact that I'm gay, dad?" Kurt asked dryly. "I'm sure that has nothing to do with it, right?"
Burt swallowed. "Yeah, then you have those ignorant jackasses who really have a screw loose, and think they're doing society - or even more stupidly, you - a favour. Think you're wrong, think you're a disgrace or pathetic - but don't you dare start believing that they have a point or that -"
"No, no, I know they're idiots," Kurt cut in, smiling gratefully. "Thank you, dad, but I know exactly what I am, and what that means, and I know it isn't any of those things. That's what makes Karofsky so . . ." Now Kurt was the one swallowing hard, and for some reason, the tears were back. "I understand and I don't understand, and I'm so pissed off that he won't admit it, if only to himself, and just leave me the fuck alone." The vehemence in that last statement took Burt aback - he'd never heard his son so furious.
Kurt wiped away a tear with frustration. "He's such a damn moron, and I want to feel sorry for him, but I can't, not after all the crap he's put me through, all because he can't deal with the truth."
Burt was lost, and he couldn't keep up with Kurt's ramblings. "Son -"
"He's taken so much from me, and now he's taken this too, and a part of me wants to punch him, shove him into a locker, and I would, if I didn't think he would kill me -"
"Kurt! What are you -"
"That bully, that bastard, had the nerve to-to actually kiss me as if -"
"Wait, what?!" Burt hadn't meant to sound so outraged - well, yes, he did, but not to the point that it made Kurt jump and scramble back slightly.
"Are you," he began slowly, because he really couldn't wrap his mind around this, "telling me that this . . . punk little son of a bitch . . . kissed you?"
Kurt's lips were a thin line, but he nodded and that was it: Burt was officially beyond angry. This was rage, pure and simple, and all he could think in the midst of the red-hot fury was I'm going to murder that punk, right now.
"Dad, no." Kurt was pushing him back down onto the couch, sitting on the coffee table now - something he would never do, normally - and leaning in close. "Dad, calm down -"
"Calm down? Calm down! You're telling me that this asshole assaulted you and I'm suppose to calm -"
Kurt raised a hand, pleading for silence, and Burt gave it to him, but just barely. The vibrating anger was back, and Kurt was looking worried, a hand on Burt's wrist, taking his pulse. He forced himself to take the fury down a notch, but it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Then his son took in a deep breath. "It . . . it wasn't, I mean . . . it wasn't assault -"
"Did you want him to kiss you?" Burt demanded. "'Cause if that's a 'no', then that makes it assault."
"That's not the point." Kurt's hands were in his hair again. "It wasn't even a question because it would never, in any dimension of space or time, have occurred to me that Dave Karofsky would be a closet case - and a closet case attracted to me, no less. I'm still having trouble absorbing this and it's been a day or two - when he tried to kiss me again I almost -"
Burt made a sound that may or may not have been a low growl, but Kurt only gave him a warning look, hand back on his pulse point, squeezing lightly before continuing. "I tried to confront him about it later but he just, he's so angry, so in denial, and the locker shoving hasn't stopped and the way he looked at me today, like he was proving something to me. That he could beat the gay out himself, by beating me up. It's . . . this complicates things, and I don't want to . . . He's an asshole, and I hate him, but he's also so lost, dad and I . . . I lied - maybe I do feel sorry for him too. Like, minutely. But it's there."
Burt had to force himself not to fly off the couch and do something. Kurt just kept watching him with those gleaming eyes of his, and Burt had to grasp one small, long fingered hand in his to help keep his calm. Kurt smiled a weak, half-smile. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you on the day that it happened but dad, it just came out of nowhere and it scared me. I went to . . . someone else, a friend, to help me out, because I thought he could . . . Anyways, doesn't matter, point being -"
"Point being, from now on, you're going to tell me everything," he said quietly in response, as sternly as he could. "You're going to tell me each and every time that bastard touches you. And if he ever tries to kiss you or . . . if he ever tries something like that again, I am callin' the police. Because it is an assault, Kurt, it is."
Kurt breathed out heavily through his nose. "Okay. Now, please calm yourself down, because I'm about to call 911. If you have another heart attack because of me . . ."
Burt leaned back onto the couch. "I'm fine, kiddo. We're playing it your way for now. I know that sometimes calling attention to these things, especially when you know the people in charge are going to do jack squat about it, makes it all worse. That damn principal, and those damn teachers - I mean, even Schuester I bet, hasn't tried -"
"Well, he did try talking to me," Kurt offered. "It was the first time anyone on staff has ever tried to help me. I think I could go to him if it gets any worse, and he'll try -"
"Like he's been tryin' all this time?" Burt ground out. "Don't get me wrong, kiddo, you go to your teachers, to your principal, when shit like this happens, but you make sure you tell me too, 'cause I don't trust them to do anything other than what they've been doing so far - which is jack squat."
"Yeah . . . okay," Kurt conceded, sighing and resuming his position on the couch, on his side, his forehead on his dad's shoulder.
They sat in silence for a long time.
Burt knew his heart was straining under the weight of so much anger, but another feeling was pulling at him too, making his eyes burn and his breathing uneven, because aside from wanting to commit some serious acts of violence, and feeling physically pained by all the crap his son had to put up with . . .
He was scared.
Scared, like he'd been when he got a phone call from a deep voice telling him his son was a fag. Scared like he'd been when Kurt came home, clothes stained from his first dumpster toss, and then all the times after, when he'd come back wearing a different outfit than the one he'd left the house in. Like he'd been in the first years after his wife died, and Kurt came home crying his eyes out after school one day because some little jerks had made fun of him for wearing his mother's nail polish.
Scared like he'd been when his son was three years old, and asking him clearly and eagerly for a pair of sensible high heels.
A homophobic jackass jock was one thing - and a pretty predictable one at that - one that he hated to admit he was incredibly familiar with. A self-hating homophobic, closet-case jock asshole that may actually have some kind of . . . crush on his son? That was terrifying and completely out of left field.
Kurt sat up eventually, clearing his throat. "I, uh, I have homework to do." He was gathering up his clothes and bag as he spoke, shrugging the blanket off his shoulders and standing gingerly, doing a horrible job at covering up another wince. Guilt was pulling at Burt now - how could he not have noticed this? It had happened two days ago and Kurt must've been hurting and he, his father, hadn't seen it. What's wrong with me, this is my son - how could I have missed all this? This is my boy, damn it, mine and my wife's baby boy, how Goddamn dare they! Another series of deep breaths were needed to calm a resurgence of that blazing anger, that need for justice and vengeance.
Burt let him go, reluctantly, giving his hand a soft squeeze as Kurt walked around him to head to his bedroom. Kurt paused, grasping his father's hand between both of his own for a moment before finally leaving.
Burt sat on the couch, waiting until he heard the basement door shut - the second he did, he was standing and picking the phone up from the sofa Kurt had tossed it onto.
His fingers hesitated over the keypad as he rummaged around the kitchen for the numbers to Kurt's school that he only had half-memorized. He wasn't sure which one to call first - Figgins or Schuester (if only to leave an angry rant in the teacher's mailbox) - but both were going to get a talking to before the week was out. He needed to put the fear of God in them because if anything happened to his boy as a result of their dumbass inaction . . . there wasn't enough hurt in the world to compare with what he would put them through.
As he dialed the first number that he came across, he considered looking up the all-boys school Kurt had been at; if all else failed, he was transferring Kurt, money issues be damned - no one could put a price on the safety and well-being of his son that he wouldn't be willing to pay.
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
Author's Note: *breathes* Okay, this starts off a little slow, with a lot people becoming aware/realizing a lot of things to do with Kurt that they hadn't before . . . then things happen. I love my angst, just for the record :)
I know there was a lot of discussion when this episode aired, on whether or not what Karofsky did was assault, and I just want to point out that this chapter is written from a father's perspective, so naturally in his eyes, that's all he sees. My opinion is similar, but I can understand both sides, (I sympathize with Karofsky, and don't view him as a monster, but I can also see all the pain and fear he's inflicted on Kurt and most certainly do not look upon it kindly).
Thanks so much for reading, it is very much appreciated!
Next: Chapter 2: Worn Out Places