Work Text:
Dinner's almost done. Kurt's been holding hands with Blaine under the table since Blaine asked him to pass the salt, carrying on a spirited discussion with Carole about whether or not denim counts as an acceptable fabric, and counting down the seconds. He and Blaine have plans.
He's so nervous, and excited, and ready.
Kurt had honestly forgotten Finn stole his phone to play b'loons before dinner started. He's laughing at the look on Dad's face and he'll never be able to remember what Carole said that was so funny, and Finn asks, "Hey, dude, who's Trevor? He a Warbler or somethin'? You called him, like, a million times."
He can play it off. Pretend Trevor's someone at Dalton, or a partner for a project. He has a five second window when he could do it.
But he freezes, all his quips drying up in his throat.
Blaine catches on first, full-on turning to demand, "The Trevor Project?"
Dad knows what that is. Carole knows what that is.
Finn doesn't.
"I... I just had some questions," Kurt says. "Nothing major."
Blaine's still holding his hand. Dad's staring at him. Carole reaches across the table to grip his wrist, and Finn says, "So… not a Warbler, then."
"A million calls for nothing major," Dad says.
"It was major," Kurt admits, fingers squeezing Blaine's so hard they're both wincing. "Until about a month into Dalton."
"Honey," Carole says. "Then what—"
"I called last night to ask a question," Kurt says. "That's all. To clarify something. I'm not—I'm better."
Oh, and Dad flinches at that. Blaine sucks in a sharp breath.
"Better?" Carole echoes faintly. "As in, you were worse at some point."
A kiss in a locker room. Bruises for days, words flung like daggers so often they don't even hurt anymore. I'll kill you only if I don't kill myself first.
Finn sets the phone on the table. "Oh," he says quietly. "That Trevor."
Rachel, of course. Something finally sticks in his head and he doesn't remember until it's too late.
Dinner's done and he's not going anywhere. Blaine's pulling him close, Carole's scrambling for words, and Dad's just looking at him, like he's something precious, something fragile.
He's not precious. He hasn't been fragile for months, not since he hardened himself up again in a hall while a crown waited.
"Dad," he says, at a loss.
"Kurt," Dad says. "Tell me you never…"
And he could lie. Maybe he could still save this, play it off. Maybe he and Blaine could still get out of here, because…
Dad's face crumples, and he brings a hand up to cover himself.
"Dad," he says again. "I'm sorry." He's about to start bawling, ugly tears like in that hall, with only Blaine to hold him together.
He'd made plans upon plans, intricate and elegant. He never found himself desperate enough to follow any of them, and then he had a Warbler and courage and Carole and Finn, Finn hurrying around the table to pull Kurt and Blaine both into his arms.
"I never tried," Kurt says into Finn's shoulder. "I swear. I never will."
Dad says, "Shit, Kurt," and comes up the other side, gently taking him away from Finn and Blaine. "I don't know… I can't…"
One of the plans was created in an empty waiting room, arms wrapped around himself, hearing useless songs about God's will and God's light on repeat in his head. He never wrote that one down.
"I love you, Kurt," Dad whispers. "I love you so fuckin' much, kid. Don't you ever—"
Kurt clutches Dad's shirt, whispers back, "I love you," and closes his eyes.