The Substitute
Title: The Substitute
Author: nightfire_kvala
Rating: T
Summary: Written for a glee angst prompt. It was supposed to be a joke. A buttered floor never hurt anybody. Until it did.
Trigger Warning: physical abuse/assault (brief)
A/N: So, this has been sitting half finished on my computer for a while now, and I finally had some free time to finish it.I have no experience with this field, and while my beta (GleekMom) helped me out with the finer points of dealing with suspected abuse cases, keep in mind that this is pretty well based off of whatever I've seen on TV.
“Courage”. Kurt smiled adoringly at the collage that decorated the door of his locker. Every time he saw it (and the numerous texts Blaine had sent) he felt instantly better - knowledge that there was someone who understood what he was going through was apparently all Kurt needed. Even with Karofsky lurking, (the thought of that Neanderthal put a shadow into Kurt’s expression) waiting for the perfect opportunity for something menacing, he had managed to get a hold of the coolest substitute in McKinley to help bring some order to the Rachel Berry Glee Show. Shaking himself, he grabbed the textbooks he needed and made his way to his next class.
After the bell rang he went to go find Ms. Holliday, wanting to make certain she would be able to find the classroom, but she had already disappeared. Slightly disappointed (was it so wrong that he felt the need to create a slight edge over the Solo queen by sucking up to her?) he made his way towards the choir room, hoping Ms. Holliday would already be there.
He was so caught up in the potential of having a Glee Club director who wasn’t the world’s biggest Journey fan he forgot to watch himself. A check caught his left shoulder, sending him careening into the row of lockers beside him. As he fell to the floor, he caught a glimpse of the red and yellow jersey that was the bane of his existence. He winced in pain; a sharp flare indicating new bruises rising up underneath the mottled yellow and greens of previous locker slams. As he stood up carefully, he inhaled sharply at the brief flicker of intense throbbing. Making sure to avoid any other possible attacks he gently palpitated the area, flinching at the acute ache that provoked. His back had caught the worst of it; a lock shaped indent was sure to be present on his lower spine. He gently straightened the rest of the way, picking up his previously owned Jack Georges briefcase and slinging it over the less injured shoulder. Even if he was bruised from the meathead that pushed him, it was always easier on his body to have the shoulder strap on the side away from the one that hit the lockers.
He mentally added another bottle of Tylenol on his list of things to pick up from the store after school. He was running low - and the accumulated use of them had increased his tolerance to almost worrying levels. While he had always been carefully stocked with analgesics (dumpster diving not being a risk free activity), the increase in violence after he had confronted Karofsky had been overwhelming. He had gone through enough Bengay and over the counter acetaminophen these past few weeks he was sure the cashiers at the pharmacy thought he was being horribly abused.
Kurt glanced at one of the hallway clocks and cursed silently. He was going to be late for Glee, no time to duck into the girl’s room to check out and tend to the damage. He picked up his pace; striding into the choir room and seeing (with a fair amount of relief) that Ms. Holliday had come. He smiled smugly to himself. He’d like to see Rachel take over the club n -
He inhaled sharply as his feet went out from under him. There was no way for him to brace himself. As he smacked the floor there was just one long, sharp flare of impact along his entire body. He blinked, once, gasping for air, the fall feeling like a punch to the gut, and stared at the ceiling of the choir room in confusion for a moment before the pain hit. He went rigid as his entire back screamed in agony, the multiple bruises clamouring for attention. He closed his eyes against stinging tears, biting his lip until it bled to contain the scream that wanted to escape him. He couldn’t breathe.
He was held immobile by the pain, unable to hear anything past the panting gasps as he tried to bring air into his lungs. Why couldn’t he breathe? His eyes involuntarily opened again, widening as he tried to force himself to inhale. Tears unwillingly began to streak down his face.
---
Puck, who had been smiling, glad that his prank hadn’t totally failed, glanced down as Kurt failed to move. The little smirk that had been on his face disappeared completely as he took in the ghost white complexion and little gasping noises of pain.
“Kurt?” He said loudly, interrupting the substitute’s little introduction. Finn, who had been staring at her, whipped his head around.
Finn dropped to his knees beside the downed boy, hovering worriedly. Puck looked frozen, staring down at Kurt in shock. The rest of the choir room had burst into a cacophony of sound, pushing past one another to be the first one to reach him. Ms. Holliday whistled, loudly, trying to get everyone to calm down, but it wasn’t happening.
“Dude? Are you ok?” Finn asked, increasingly high pitched. His hands fluttered aimlessly as Kurt continued to gasp soundlessly for air, fists clenched. “What do I do?” He looked terrified as tears started to roll down Kurt’s face.
Ms. Holliday bent down beside the two of them, looking critically. “He probably got the wind knocked out of him. I think you can get him to the nurse,” she paused, looking over Finn’s large, lanky frame. “He can rest there for a while.”
Finn nodded frantically. He could totally do that. Gently, he tried to wedge his arms underneath Kurt’s back, and scrambled backwards as Kurt let out an inhuman sounding shriek. He looked around frantically. Mercedes looked pale, Tina and Brittany had started crying and Puck was looking sick. He was probably thinking that he’d go back to juvie with a stunt like this Finn thought absentmindedly.
Ms. Holliday crouched down to look at Kurt more closely. After that shriek and seizure like motion he had returned to flat on his back. He had stopped making those horrible gasping noises, but his eyes remained closed, teeth worrying his lower lip and fists clenched. “Kurt? Honey, open your eyes.”
His lashes fluttered as he squinted in her direction. “Good, good. Now, can you tell me what’s wrong?”
---
It was difficult for Kurt to hear anybody, but Finn (even trying to be careful) grasping his freshly bruised back caused an immediate reaction. As the pain increased exponentially, he couldn’t bite back the scream that he had been holding in.
As everybody proceeded to freak the hell out, he was finally able to breathe properly. At least there was one good thing about Finn’s oafishness he thought muzzily to himself. Ms. Holliday’s voice reached him through the waves of agony flowing along his nerves. He slit his eyes open, and gave her the most impressive bitch face he could muster (admittedly not up to his normal standards, but he had to try).
“Kurt could you try to get up?” Ms. Holliday turned to face the rioting choir room. “Everybody back off!” Her harsh tone brought them to a halt momentarily and she turned back to Kurt who shook his head minutely at her. She modulated her voice back to a soothing register. “Can you please give it one more try?”
He tensed, trying to push off the ground with his right hand, biting down harshly on his lip as what felt like his entire arm spasmed, unable to take the weight. He fell back, exhaling a short yelp as pricks of fire flared again, “Good, that was good.” Ms. Holliday soothed him. She pointed at Finn, mouthing watch him as she stood up and pulled out a cell from her briefcase. She walked off, eying the desperate crowd as she dialled the emergency line.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the professional voice on the other line answered.
“I’ve got a kid who fell on his back and is unable to move without extreme pain. He lost his breath for a moment, but screamed when someone touched him. Could I get an ambulance to William McKinley High school?”
The carefully soothing tone never wavered. “Alright. Where in the building are you?”
“The choir room. It’s fastest to go through the front entrance.” She glanced out the open door. Even with Kurt’s scream, the hallways had cleared out rapidly. Most high schoolers wouldn’t be caught dead in school after it was finished for the day, sports practises notwithstanding. The EMS workers might find it difficult to locate them. As she absentmindedly thanked the woman (they will arrive within the next ten minutes) and hung up she was already marshalling her will.
“Puckerman.” She barked. The boy looked up, startled. “Get to the front entrance and wait.”
“For what?” Even scared out of his mind he was sarcastic.
“You’ll figure it out. Lead them back here ok?”
His eyes widened and he took off, narrowly missing the slippery floor.
The next ten minutes went by in a flash - Holly trying, without success - to bring some semblance of order to the room. She should not have bothered, for when Puckerman came back with two uniformed men wheeling a gurney the uproar started anew. They ignored the racket emanating from the students, carefully wrapping a brace on Kurt’s neck, and speaking to him in low voices. They lowered the stretcher and on Kurt’s slight nod, transferred him to the bed. Kurt yelled out from behind clenched teeth at the movement and groaned as he hit the surface.
Finn trailed behind the men worriedly, the rest of the students grabbing their discarded bags and following. As they loaded Kurt into the ambulance Finn jumped inside. Holly grabbed the driver’s arm. “Where are you taking him?”
He looked carefully at her, then at the gaggle of students crowding around them, “St. Rita’s.”
Holly nodded her thanks than snapped her fingers in front of their eyes. “You heard the man. St. Rita’s. Carpool with whoever is least likely to crash. And somebody call his father!”
She walked off to her car, pulling her keys out of her briefcase. It wasn’t that far, and she felt kind of responsible for the kid.
---
Time passed oddly for Kurt, each moment, each heartbeat echoing oddly in his ears as the pain slowly began to subside. He roused himself as two strange men settled something around his neck and told him they were going to move him. He nodded, not ready for the fresh burst of pain. It wasn’t quite a scream, he held back as much as he could supressing the noises he wanted to make. As he stared at the ceiling tiles flashing over his head he silently freaked out.
The bruising had never been so extensive to cause him this amount of pain. He knew he didn’t have the highest tolerance for pain, but hitting the ground should not have caused this amount of agony. Not to mention, his dad was going to be called and everybody would find out about the level of punishment he was being subjected to. God, he thought to himself, what if he had another heart attack? It would be entirely his fault.
He blinked again, the pain finally down to manageable levels and tried to sit up - but was stuck. His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings. Finn was cowering in the corner of the ambulance and there was a strange man leaning over him
“Why-” he rasped, “Why can’t I move?”
“It’s just a precaution son.” The medic began prodding him gently. “Can you feel this?”
At his repeated and growing steadily more annoying repetition of ‘yes’, Kurt tried again. “Really, I’m fine! I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
Finn let out an indignant sound. “Dude you screamed bloody murder when I touched you. That is NOT normal.”
The stranger stared down at him, “Regardless of what you feel, you are a minor and the only way you’re getting out AMA is with your parent’s signature on the form.”
“You don’t understand, my father’s sick - he just had a heart attack! You can’t call him!” Somewhere in the back of his mind Kurt knew freaking out over a parent’s involvement was suspect, but he couldn’t help it. The ER was a bit of a blur, Doctors palpitating his chest and back reigniting the fire. It was a couple of hours later, after X-rays and photos that the entire Glee club was able to sneak into his room. Everyone was smothering, constantly asking what happened. Kurt shrugged, refusing to give a straight answer. He winced as both movements tightened the wrappings around his chest, holding in place his two cracked ribs, before asking about his father.
---
Eyes dropped across the room; nobody wanted to be the first to speak. Kurt’s eyes darted from person to person, getting increasingly nervous. “Where is he? As much as I didn’t want you guys to call him, I know the hospital would’ve.”
Finn cleared his throat, looking around hopefully for someone to step in for him. “Ah - dude. I mean, we know it -”
He was cut off as the hospital door swung open, narrowly missing Rachel, who had been pushed to the back of the group. A severe looking middle aged woman, dressed neatly in a black suit and carrying a briefcase and folders full of papers entered, closely followed by a slightly harried looking younger doctor. Kurt glanced dismissively at the woman - her hair was coming out of her chignon and the suit didn’t match her shirt, shoes or her briefcase, before looking pleadingly at the doctor.
“Can I go now?”
The doctor pushed up his glasses nervously. “We need to discuss some things with you.” He looked around, before continuing. “Alone.”
Kurt glared at the man, furious he would be waiting even longer, but not willing to air his laundry in front of all his friends. Ignoring the complaints, both strangers shuffled them through the open door, shutting it firmly in front of their protesting faces.
“Kurt Hummel. I’m Colleen Warner, this is Dr. Avery. I’m with Child Protective Services.”
Kurt stared at her, uncomprehending. Finally he laughed a little, nervously. “I’m sorry; I think they’ve got me on some good drugs. I could have sworn you told me you were with CPS.”
She did not smile. “We are called for every case of suspicious activity in which minors are involved. Now, where do you go to school?”
Kurt frowned. “McKinley High. I’m a junior. What does this have to do with you being from CPS?”
She shuffled through her papers. “Ah, yes. I see that here now.” She gave him a quick, tight smile. “It’s nothing to worry about really. Do you have a lot of friends? I mean, other than that crowd outside.”
“Not really, no.” He decided to play along for the time being.
“Oh? Why are they here with you?”
He rolled his eyes. “One of them thought it would be funny to mess with the substitute Glee instructor and buttered the floor. I was the one to slip and fall though. I guess they feel guilty.”
“Glee - what is that?” She seemed curious, ready to write it into that folder she was carrying.
“It’s show choir. We’re all in it.”
“That sounds interesting. Is that the only group you belong to in school?”
“Yes.” Kurt was not giving an inch, and the tightness around her eyes reflected her growing frustration with him.
“So that’s why you were there after school. Ok.” She paused, scribbled some things down. Rather abruptly - or so it seemed to Kurt - she asked, “Do you mind telling me where you got your injuries?”
“I - what?” he looked at the silent doctor. This seriously sounded like they were asking him... “Where’s my Dad?” This had to be a dream. Stupid Puck and his stupid buttered floor. Stupid Karofsky and his inability to suppress his baser instincts. Stupid Ohio hospitals and their stupid rules. Hopefully this was just a nightmare and Puck or one of the other meathead jocks had put him in a coma.
The doctor looked down at the chart, trying to avoid answering. Ms. Warner looked down her nose at him. “I realize this may be difficult to hear, but we do truly want what’s best for you. We noticed you have a lot of healing bruises, and we just want to know where they came from.”
Kurt resolutely ignored her, glowering past her to stare at the door. The door had been cracked open at some point during their brief encounter and the eyes peering around the corner told him exactly how much of the conversation had been actually private.
“Kurt. Please. All we want to know is where your injuries came from.” Ms. Warner softened her expression, enticing him to respond.
Kurt knew what she was asking. Wasn’t it the denouement of at least one episode in those medical dramas, where the child flung himself into the willing arms of the doctors and caseworkers to point the finger at his ‘loving’ parents? He crossed his arms, gingerly. As much as he wanted to be more forceful Kurt had no intention of hurting himself again. “It’s not my Dad. It could never be my Dad.”
The Doctor glanced at the social worker, and cleared his throat, “The amount of bruising, the varying ages and the easy to hide placement suggests no other alternative. Without a statement from you, we are going to have to continue this investigation.”
“He didn’t do anything to me! He doesn’t even know about them!” Kurt yelled at them. His Dad was one of the only good things about his life. He couldn’t be accused of such a disgusting thing.
Ms. Warner didn’t rise to the bait, merely stating. “If you don’t tell us who did this to you, we will have to investigate your father.”
“It wasn’t him!”
“Then who was it!”
“I don’t know!” Kurt bellowed out; anger and fear overriding the instinct that had kept him quiet. He froze. He couldn’t believe he had even alluded to his bullying.
Ms. Warner - for all her unfortunate wardrobe apparently had no trouble manipulating him - continued, “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
Kurt’s eyes darted around the room, not accepting that it was over. He was terrified that once he told, nothing would change. It had happened before - his first slushie had him storming into Figgins’ office only to be told that it had been an accident. The dumpster dives had been instituted the next day.
He sighed, almost collapsing. “I - I’m gay.” He might as well start with that. He glanced up quickly, trying to determine both professionals’ opinion. Neither Warner nor Avery had changed their expression. They were both stone-cold and blank, without even a hint of disgust. Emboldened, Kurt continued.
“It’s always been rather obvious that I was - different. While I was always the odd one out, once we hit middle school - they got worse. Most everyone was rather - vocal - about their feelings towards me. A few of them started displaying that hatred physically. Most of the bruises are from being slammed into lockers. I was thrown into the dumpsters most days last year, but I’ve apparently grown too tall for them.” He paused, shrugging delicately as the movement triggered the deep ache in his chest again.
“I don’t know who is giving me the bruises because I rarely see them coming. I do know that they’re on one of McKinley’s sports teams; their letterman jacket is pretty distinctive. I just - my Dad loves me. He would never hurt me, and to suggest otherwise is just really...I don’t know.”
Kurt stopped, abruptly. He really hadn’t meant to ramble like that. He peered suspiciously at the IV, before chancing another look at the two adults looming over him. He opened his mouth, unsure of what he was going to say, when the door burst open, and the entire Glee club came storming in.
Both ‘adults’ were completely discombobulated, unable to retain any control as eleven angry teenagers tumbled into through the open door, strident voices overlapping into a clamour of sound. Most appeared to be berating Kurt, while Santana went straight over to the doctor and social worker, pushing them firmly out of the room.
Kurt simply stared at them as they yelled with arms akimbo, shouting things like how he could have kept it to himself? They grew more and more upset with him. Finally he could take no more. “You do realize most of you are just as guilty as those Neanderthals right? Hell, Puckerman was still throwing me into dumpsters until midway through last year. I’ve been slushied by most of you, and you have all seen it happen other times. I didn’t think there was anything to tell!”
It was to this standoff that Burt and Carole entered the room. The jocks and Cheerios had frozen, shame highlighting their features. The original members of New Directions were also silent; ashamed for different reasons.
“What the hell is going on in here?” Burt asked. He was having a terrible day. His kid was in the hospital and he had been waylaid by CPS and a police officer before he was able to make sure Kurt was alright. It wasn’t until a few minutes ago, when a shell-shocked official left the room Kurt was sequestered in and cleared him that he was able to gain access to his boy’s room.
Kurt sagged back into the bed. “I - Dad?” He was so tired. “Are you ok? Your heart - ”
Burt forced a chuckle. “You need to start worrying about yourself more kiddo. Way I heard it, you hurt yourself by slipping?” He had no idea what was going on, and the amount of people crammed into the room was not making things better. He glanced towards Carole, who nodded, and immediately tried to herd the other students out of the room. Most left without protest, but Mercedes and Finn tried to stop her. Carole raised an eyebrow at Finn. “I’ll be talking with you later Finn. You can stay outside for right now.”
Finn paled. That was the not-so-secret Mom code for ‘you are in big trouble mister, just wait until I get a hold of you’.
Mercedes remained defiant. “Kurt?” She asked, voice rising as she tried to stay with him.
Kurt closed his eyes, summoning the strength to talk. “Cedes. We’ll talk later ok?”
And for the first time in - she couldn’t remember how long it had been - she looked closer. Bags under his eyes, a fine tremor in his hands and the world-weary gaze that greeted her cut her to the quick. She couldn’t understand how it had gotten so bad between the two of them. She bit her lip and nodded. “I’ll send you a text.”
As she walked slowly out of the hospital room where her best friend was lying in serious amounts of pain because none of them had noticed anything wrong with him, she could hear his exhausted voice begin to explain to his father. Tears began to slowly drip down her face as she past the other members of the New Directions and ignored their strident claims to ‘make things better’ and ‘put the beat down on the jocks’.
It was too late to make things better.
Author: nightfire_kvala
Rating: T
Summary: Written for a glee angst prompt. It was supposed to be a joke. A buttered floor never hurt anybody. Until it did.
Trigger Warning: physical abuse/assault (brief)
A/N: So, this has been sitting half finished on my computer for a while now, and I finally had some free time to finish it.I have no experience with this field, and while my beta (GleekMom) helped me out with the finer points of dealing with suspected abuse cases, keep in mind that this is pretty well based off of whatever I've seen on TV.
“Courage”. Kurt smiled adoringly at the collage that decorated the door of his locker. Every time he saw it (and the numerous texts Blaine had sent) he felt instantly better - knowledge that there was someone who understood what he was going through was apparently all Kurt needed. Even with Karofsky lurking, (the thought of that Neanderthal put a shadow into Kurt’s expression) waiting for the perfect opportunity for something menacing, he had managed to get a hold of the coolest substitute in McKinley to help bring some order to the Rachel Berry Glee Show. Shaking himself, he grabbed the textbooks he needed and made his way to his next class.
After the bell rang he went to go find Ms. Holliday, wanting to make certain she would be able to find the classroom, but she had already disappeared. Slightly disappointed (was it so wrong that he felt the need to create a slight edge over the Solo queen by sucking up to her?) he made his way towards the choir room, hoping Ms. Holliday would already be there.
He was so caught up in the potential of having a Glee Club director who wasn’t the world’s biggest Journey fan he forgot to watch himself. A check caught his left shoulder, sending him careening into the row of lockers beside him. As he fell to the floor, he caught a glimpse of the red and yellow jersey that was the bane of his existence. He winced in pain; a sharp flare indicating new bruises rising up underneath the mottled yellow and greens of previous locker slams. As he stood up carefully, he inhaled sharply at the brief flicker of intense throbbing. Making sure to avoid any other possible attacks he gently palpitated the area, flinching at the acute ache that provoked. His back had caught the worst of it; a lock shaped indent was sure to be present on his lower spine. He gently straightened the rest of the way, picking up his previously owned Jack Georges briefcase and slinging it over the less injured shoulder. Even if he was bruised from the meathead that pushed him, it was always easier on his body to have the shoulder strap on the side away from the one that hit the lockers.
He mentally added another bottle of Tylenol on his list of things to pick up from the store after school. He was running low - and the accumulated use of them had increased his tolerance to almost worrying levels. While he had always been carefully stocked with analgesics (dumpster diving not being a risk free activity), the increase in violence after he had confronted Karofsky had been overwhelming. He had gone through enough Bengay and over the counter acetaminophen these past few weeks he was sure the cashiers at the pharmacy thought he was being horribly abused.
Kurt glanced at one of the hallway clocks and cursed silently. He was going to be late for Glee, no time to duck into the girl’s room to check out and tend to the damage. He picked up his pace; striding into the choir room and seeing (with a fair amount of relief) that Ms. Holliday had come. He smiled smugly to himself. He’d like to see Rachel take over the club n -
He inhaled sharply as his feet went out from under him. There was no way for him to brace himself. As he smacked the floor there was just one long, sharp flare of impact along his entire body. He blinked, once, gasping for air, the fall feeling like a punch to the gut, and stared at the ceiling of the choir room in confusion for a moment before the pain hit. He went rigid as his entire back screamed in agony, the multiple bruises clamouring for attention. He closed his eyes against stinging tears, biting his lip until it bled to contain the scream that wanted to escape him. He couldn’t breathe.
He was held immobile by the pain, unable to hear anything past the panting gasps as he tried to bring air into his lungs. Why couldn’t he breathe? His eyes involuntarily opened again, widening as he tried to force himself to inhale. Tears unwillingly began to streak down his face.
---
Puck, who had been smiling, glad that his prank hadn’t totally failed, glanced down as Kurt failed to move. The little smirk that had been on his face disappeared completely as he took in the ghost white complexion and little gasping noises of pain.
“Kurt?” He said loudly, interrupting the substitute’s little introduction. Finn, who had been staring at her, whipped his head around.
Finn dropped to his knees beside the downed boy, hovering worriedly. Puck looked frozen, staring down at Kurt in shock. The rest of the choir room had burst into a cacophony of sound, pushing past one another to be the first one to reach him. Ms. Holliday whistled, loudly, trying to get everyone to calm down, but it wasn’t happening.
“Dude? Are you ok?” Finn asked, increasingly high pitched. His hands fluttered aimlessly as Kurt continued to gasp soundlessly for air, fists clenched. “What do I do?” He looked terrified as tears started to roll down Kurt’s face.
Ms. Holliday bent down beside the two of them, looking critically. “He probably got the wind knocked out of him. I think you can get him to the nurse,” she paused, looking over Finn’s large, lanky frame. “He can rest there for a while.”
Finn nodded frantically. He could totally do that. Gently, he tried to wedge his arms underneath Kurt’s back, and scrambled backwards as Kurt let out an inhuman sounding shriek. He looked around frantically. Mercedes looked pale, Tina and Brittany had started crying and Puck was looking sick. He was probably thinking that he’d go back to juvie with a stunt like this Finn thought absentmindedly.
Ms. Holliday crouched down to look at Kurt more closely. After that shriek and seizure like motion he had returned to flat on his back. He had stopped making those horrible gasping noises, but his eyes remained closed, teeth worrying his lower lip and fists clenched. “Kurt? Honey, open your eyes.”
His lashes fluttered as he squinted in her direction. “Good, good. Now, can you tell me what’s wrong?”
---
It was difficult for Kurt to hear anybody, but Finn (even trying to be careful) grasping his freshly bruised back caused an immediate reaction. As the pain increased exponentially, he couldn’t bite back the scream that he had been holding in.
As everybody proceeded to freak the hell out, he was finally able to breathe properly. At least there was one good thing about Finn’s oafishness he thought muzzily to himself. Ms. Holliday’s voice reached him through the waves of agony flowing along his nerves. He slit his eyes open, and gave her the most impressive bitch face he could muster (admittedly not up to his normal standards, but he had to try).
“Kurt could you try to get up?” Ms. Holliday turned to face the rioting choir room. “Everybody back off!” Her harsh tone brought them to a halt momentarily and she turned back to Kurt who shook his head minutely at her. She modulated her voice back to a soothing register. “Can you please give it one more try?”
He tensed, trying to push off the ground with his right hand, biting down harshly on his lip as what felt like his entire arm spasmed, unable to take the weight. He fell back, exhaling a short yelp as pricks of fire flared again, “Good, that was good.” Ms. Holliday soothed him. She pointed at Finn, mouthing watch him as she stood up and pulled out a cell from her briefcase. She walked off, eying the desperate crowd as she dialled the emergency line.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the professional voice on the other line answered.
“I’ve got a kid who fell on his back and is unable to move without extreme pain. He lost his breath for a moment, but screamed when someone touched him. Could I get an ambulance to William McKinley High school?”
The carefully soothing tone never wavered. “Alright. Where in the building are you?”
“The choir room. It’s fastest to go through the front entrance.” She glanced out the open door. Even with Kurt’s scream, the hallways had cleared out rapidly. Most high schoolers wouldn’t be caught dead in school after it was finished for the day, sports practises notwithstanding. The EMS workers might find it difficult to locate them. As she absentmindedly thanked the woman (they will arrive within the next ten minutes) and hung up she was already marshalling her will.
“Puckerman.” She barked. The boy looked up, startled. “Get to the front entrance and wait.”
“For what?” Even scared out of his mind he was sarcastic.
“You’ll figure it out. Lead them back here ok?”
His eyes widened and he took off, narrowly missing the slippery floor.
The next ten minutes went by in a flash - Holly trying, without success - to bring some semblance of order to the room. She should not have bothered, for when Puckerman came back with two uniformed men wheeling a gurney the uproar started anew. They ignored the racket emanating from the students, carefully wrapping a brace on Kurt’s neck, and speaking to him in low voices. They lowered the stretcher and on Kurt’s slight nod, transferred him to the bed. Kurt yelled out from behind clenched teeth at the movement and groaned as he hit the surface.
Finn trailed behind the men worriedly, the rest of the students grabbing their discarded bags and following. As they loaded Kurt into the ambulance Finn jumped inside. Holly grabbed the driver’s arm. “Where are you taking him?”
He looked carefully at her, then at the gaggle of students crowding around them, “St. Rita’s.”
Holly nodded her thanks than snapped her fingers in front of their eyes. “You heard the man. St. Rita’s. Carpool with whoever is least likely to crash. And somebody call his father!”
She walked off to her car, pulling her keys out of her briefcase. It wasn’t that far, and she felt kind of responsible for the kid.
---
Time passed oddly for Kurt, each moment, each heartbeat echoing oddly in his ears as the pain slowly began to subside. He roused himself as two strange men settled something around his neck and told him they were going to move him. He nodded, not ready for the fresh burst of pain. It wasn’t quite a scream, he held back as much as he could supressing the noises he wanted to make. As he stared at the ceiling tiles flashing over his head he silently freaked out.
The bruising had never been so extensive to cause him this amount of pain. He knew he didn’t have the highest tolerance for pain, but hitting the ground should not have caused this amount of agony. Not to mention, his dad was going to be called and everybody would find out about the level of punishment he was being subjected to. God, he thought to himself, what if he had another heart attack? It would be entirely his fault.
He blinked again, the pain finally down to manageable levels and tried to sit up - but was stuck. His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings. Finn was cowering in the corner of the ambulance and there was a strange man leaning over him
“Why-” he rasped, “Why can’t I move?”
“It’s just a precaution son.” The medic began prodding him gently. “Can you feel this?”
At his repeated and growing steadily more annoying repetition of ‘yes’, Kurt tried again. “Really, I’m fine! I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
Finn let out an indignant sound. “Dude you screamed bloody murder when I touched you. That is NOT normal.”
The stranger stared down at him, “Regardless of what you feel, you are a minor and the only way you’re getting out AMA is with your parent’s signature on the form.”
“You don’t understand, my father’s sick - he just had a heart attack! You can’t call him!” Somewhere in the back of his mind Kurt knew freaking out over a parent’s involvement was suspect, but he couldn’t help it. The ER was a bit of a blur, Doctors palpitating his chest and back reigniting the fire. It was a couple of hours later, after X-rays and photos that the entire Glee club was able to sneak into his room. Everyone was smothering, constantly asking what happened. Kurt shrugged, refusing to give a straight answer. He winced as both movements tightened the wrappings around his chest, holding in place his two cracked ribs, before asking about his father.
---
Eyes dropped across the room; nobody wanted to be the first to speak. Kurt’s eyes darted from person to person, getting increasingly nervous. “Where is he? As much as I didn’t want you guys to call him, I know the hospital would’ve.”
Finn cleared his throat, looking around hopefully for someone to step in for him. “Ah - dude. I mean, we know it -”
He was cut off as the hospital door swung open, narrowly missing Rachel, who had been pushed to the back of the group. A severe looking middle aged woman, dressed neatly in a black suit and carrying a briefcase and folders full of papers entered, closely followed by a slightly harried looking younger doctor. Kurt glanced dismissively at the woman - her hair was coming out of her chignon and the suit didn’t match her shirt, shoes or her briefcase, before looking pleadingly at the doctor.
“Can I go now?”
The doctor pushed up his glasses nervously. “We need to discuss some things with you.” He looked around, before continuing. “Alone.”
Kurt glared at the man, furious he would be waiting even longer, but not willing to air his laundry in front of all his friends. Ignoring the complaints, both strangers shuffled them through the open door, shutting it firmly in front of their protesting faces.
“Kurt Hummel. I’m Colleen Warner, this is Dr. Avery. I’m with Child Protective Services.”
Kurt stared at her, uncomprehending. Finally he laughed a little, nervously. “I’m sorry; I think they’ve got me on some good drugs. I could have sworn you told me you were with CPS.”
She did not smile. “We are called for every case of suspicious activity in which minors are involved. Now, where do you go to school?”
Kurt frowned. “McKinley High. I’m a junior. What does this have to do with you being from CPS?”
She shuffled through her papers. “Ah, yes. I see that here now.” She gave him a quick, tight smile. “It’s nothing to worry about really. Do you have a lot of friends? I mean, other than that crowd outside.”
“Not really, no.” He decided to play along for the time being.
“Oh? Why are they here with you?”
He rolled his eyes. “One of them thought it would be funny to mess with the substitute Glee instructor and buttered the floor. I was the one to slip and fall though. I guess they feel guilty.”
“Glee - what is that?” She seemed curious, ready to write it into that folder she was carrying.
“It’s show choir. We’re all in it.”
“That sounds interesting. Is that the only group you belong to in school?”
“Yes.” Kurt was not giving an inch, and the tightness around her eyes reflected her growing frustration with him.
“So that’s why you were there after school. Ok.” She paused, scribbled some things down. Rather abruptly - or so it seemed to Kurt - she asked, “Do you mind telling me where you got your injuries?”
“I - what?” he looked at the silent doctor. This seriously sounded like they were asking him... “Where’s my Dad?” This had to be a dream. Stupid Puck and his stupid buttered floor. Stupid Karofsky and his inability to suppress his baser instincts. Stupid Ohio hospitals and their stupid rules. Hopefully this was just a nightmare and Puck or one of the other meathead jocks had put him in a coma.
The doctor looked down at the chart, trying to avoid answering. Ms. Warner looked down her nose at him. “I realize this may be difficult to hear, but we do truly want what’s best for you. We noticed you have a lot of healing bruises, and we just want to know where they came from.”
Kurt resolutely ignored her, glowering past her to stare at the door. The door had been cracked open at some point during their brief encounter and the eyes peering around the corner told him exactly how much of the conversation had been actually private.
“Kurt. Please. All we want to know is where your injuries came from.” Ms. Warner softened her expression, enticing him to respond.
Kurt knew what she was asking. Wasn’t it the denouement of at least one episode in those medical dramas, where the child flung himself into the willing arms of the doctors and caseworkers to point the finger at his ‘loving’ parents? He crossed his arms, gingerly. As much as he wanted to be more forceful Kurt had no intention of hurting himself again. “It’s not my Dad. It could never be my Dad.”
The Doctor glanced at the social worker, and cleared his throat, “The amount of bruising, the varying ages and the easy to hide placement suggests no other alternative. Without a statement from you, we are going to have to continue this investigation.”
“He didn’t do anything to me! He doesn’t even know about them!” Kurt yelled at them. His Dad was one of the only good things about his life. He couldn’t be accused of such a disgusting thing.
Ms. Warner didn’t rise to the bait, merely stating. “If you don’t tell us who did this to you, we will have to investigate your father.”
“It wasn’t him!”
“Then who was it!”
“I don’t know!” Kurt bellowed out; anger and fear overriding the instinct that had kept him quiet. He froze. He couldn’t believe he had even alluded to his bullying.
Ms. Warner - for all her unfortunate wardrobe apparently had no trouble manipulating him - continued, “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
Kurt’s eyes darted around the room, not accepting that it was over. He was terrified that once he told, nothing would change. It had happened before - his first slushie had him storming into Figgins’ office only to be told that it had been an accident. The dumpster dives had been instituted the next day.
He sighed, almost collapsing. “I - I’m gay.” He might as well start with that. He glanced up quickly, trying to determine both professionals’ opinion. Neither Warner nor Avery had changed their expression. They were both stone-cold and blank, without even a hint of disgust. Emboldened, Kurt continued.
“It’s always been rather obvious that I was - different. While I was always the odd one out, once we hit middle school - they got worse. Most everyone was rather - vocal - about their feelings towards me. A few of them started displaying that hatred physically. Most of the bruises are from being slammed into lockers. I was thrown into the dumpsters most days last year, but I’ve apparently grown too tall for them.” He paused, shrugging delicately as the movement triggered the deep ache in his chest again.
“I don’t know who is giving me the bruises because I rarely see them coming. I do know that they’re on one of McKinley’s sports teams; their letterman jacket is pretty distinctive. I just - my Dad loves me. He would never hurt me, and to suggest otherwise is just really...I don’t know.”
Kurt stopped, abruptly. He really hadn’t meant to ramble like that. He peered suspiciously at the IV, before chancing another look at the two adults looming over him. He opened his mouth, unsure of what he was going to say, when the door burst open, and the entire Glee club came storming in.
Both ‘adults’ were completely discombobulated, unable to retain any control as eleven angry teenagers tumbled into through the open door, strident voices overlapping into a clamour of sound. Most appeared to be berating Kurt, while Santana went straight over to the doctor and social worker, pushing them firmly out of the room.
Kurt simply stared at them as they yelled with arms akimbo, shouting things like how he could have kept it to himself? They grew more and more upset with him. Finally he could take no more. “You do realize most of you are just as guilty as those Neanderthals right? Hell, Puckerman was still throwing me into dumpsters until midway through last year. I’ve been slushied by most of you, and you have all seen it happen other times. I didn’t think there was anything to tell!”
It was to this standoff that Burt and Carole entered the room. The jocks and Cheerios had frozen, shame highlighting their features. The original members of New Directions were also silent; ashamed for different reasons.
“What the hell is going on in here?” Burt asked. He was having a terrible day. His kid was in the hospital and he had been waylaid by CPS and a police officer before he was able to make sure Kurt was alright. It wasn’t until a few minutes ago, when a shell-shocked official left the room Kurt was sequestered in and cleared him that he was able to gain access to his boy’s room.
Kurt sagged back into the bed. “I - Dad?” He was so tired. “Are you ok? Your heart - ”
Burt forced a chuckle. “You need to start worrying about yourself more kiddo. Way I heard it, you hurt yourself by slipping?” He had no idea what was going on, and the amount of people crammed into the room was not making things better. He glanced towards Carole, who nodded, and immediately tried to herd the other students out of the room. Most left without protest, but Mercedes and Finn tried to stop her. Carole raised an eyebrow at Finn. “I’ll be talking with you later Finn. You can stay outside for right now.”
Finn paled. That was the not-so-secret Mom code for ‘you are in big trouble mister, just wait until I get a hold of you’.
Mercedes remained defiant. “Kurt?” She asked, voice rising as she tried to stay with him.
Kurt closed his eyes, summoning the strength to talk. “Cedes. We’ll talk later ok?”
And for the first time in - she couldn’t remember how long it had been - she looked closer. Bags under his eyes, a fine tremor in his hands and the world-weary gaze that greeted her cut her to the quick. She couldn’t understand how it had gotten so bad between the two of them. She bit her lip and nodded. “I’ll send you a text.”
As she walked slowly out of the hospital room where her best friend was lying in serious amounts of pain because none of them had noticed anything wrong with him, she could hear his exhausted voice begin to explain to his father. Tears began to slowly drip down her face as she past the other members of the New Directions and ignored their strident claims to ‘make things better’ and ‘put the beat down on the jocks’.
It was too late to make things better.