New Directions

Things had not been...good...for Kurt since the Karofsky smack-down. Not good at all. The jock hadn't exactly gotten more violent, but there was an unspoken menace there now that seemed to grow by the day. A knowing look here, a passing touch there. It was like walking in a mine field, never knowing when one would explode, and Kurt felt like he was losing his mind. He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, hell, he couldn't breathe most of the time. He was teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown and he knew it. But he still couldn't figure out what to do about it all.

At the moment, he was trying to get his locker open, but between his hands shaking and his brain's current refusal to work, he just couldn't get the combination out. Making a frustrated sound in his throat, he rested his forehead against the locker door. It was all he could do not to burst into tears.

Nothing much had changed.

Doctors came in, and doctors came out, looking grave.

The acupuncturist came and went.

But nothing changed.

Burt didn't move, and didn't respond.

He had visits, and sometimes people prayed.



But nothing changed.

Burt was still at work but there was one thing he wanted to do before he left. He and Carole had both been so busy with work and the kids going back to school that they'd hardly had much time together lately. He was going to make sure that they saw each other this week, at least.

He dialed Carole's number and hoped she hadn't left for work yet.

Burt was in his element.

True, there were only the two of them in the family (at least at the moment), but Burt had always loved to grill. It was the one sort of cooking he did best. And he had an immense grill, he'd had it since he'd gotten married (it was a gift from his mother), and it still looked and worked great.

And it was a beautiful day for a cookout, sunny, breezy and not-too-hot. He couldn't have ordered a better day.

As Kurt predicted his Dad was reading his entry, and for a few moments, he hesitated, wondering if it would be better if he just replied to the entry, but then decided it would be better to have a talk with his son.

So he headed down to the basement, knocking on Kurt's door softly. "Hey, Kurt. Can I come in?"

Kurt had gotten Tanner out of the house for his birthday and then Quinn and her family had gotten to work arranging the birthday party. The backyard had been strung up with party lights (yellow and blue, natch) and they'd gotten everything X-Men themed, as Tanner had told Quinn he'd never had a fun kid-party.

In Mrs. Fabray's opinion, it was never too late to be a child, so they'd bought plates, cups, and napkins, all x-men themed and there was even a pinata. "We have to hang it higher than that," Quinn said, holding baby Sarah (dressed like Storm, because Storm was cool). Kurt's Dad was also there to help out, and he was on the ladder. Mr. Fabray was out getting ice cream at the last minute, and picking up the cake.

Quinn herself was making sure everyone was doing something and waiting for Kurt's call, letting her know they were on their way.

She wanted this to be his best party ever.

There had been had been so much going on in the last week, that Father's Day had slipped his mind completely. Of course, once it dawned on him, he felt terrible about it, because he totally needed something else to feel terrible about.

He wracked his brain for just the right gift, and really, honestly didn't know what to do. But finally, he settled on something. So, he paid for it and printed out the receipt and padded upstairs to find his dad.

( No Day, But Today )

Kurt sat sprawled on the couch in the dim light of the living room, fingers wrapped loosely around the beer can that rested on one denim-clad thigh. He'd done his best to dress the part; a plaid flannel shirt worn unbuttoned over a t-shirt that read "I'm all about trucks and bucks" with the obligatory...truck and buck on it. A ballcap with the American flag on it perched on his head.

Deadliest Catch was on the TV and he watched it with a faintly bewildered expression on his face. That was what his father considered entertaining? It was madness...but he had to give it a chance. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it all the way.

Kurt holed himself in his room Saturday night and didn't come up through Sunday.

He'd offered his tux up for anyone who needed it. He obviously didn't need it. He wasn't going to prom. What did he need a tux for? He'd fucked that up just like he fucked everything up in his life and that was that. He didn't deserve prom and he didn't deserve Tanner. Tanner had made that perfectly clear.

That taken care of, he sat down at his workspace, the skirts of a hot pink princess dress in hand and began methodically setting the crystals, face almost blank. Work was good. Work was distracting. Work made the dull ache in his chest a little less noticeable.

Burt hadn't talked about...this stuff in years, not since his Dad died and his Mom couldn't even bear to look at a picture of him without crying. But it was always in his head, and even though he hadn't told Kurt, he was always thinking about it.

But he hadn't spoken about it since the funeral, twenty-three years ago. And he certainly wasn't ready to have it analyzed by his counselor yet.

He didn't really want to talk about it now, either, but he really sort of...needed to.

Which was why he was on Carole's doorstep at a time during the week that he normally wouldn't be there, knocking on the door.

Kurt had walked into the house and hadn't even stopped to let Burt know he was home before rushing downstairs. Well, maybe he just had a lot of work to do on the dress, or whatever he was working on now...

But after a few minutes, he began to feel differently. Was he all blotchy? Usually, when he was upset, he got all blotchy, like Ellie used to... And so Burt began to worry. And eventually he decided that he needed to know.

Making his way down to Kurt's basement room, he knocked on the door. "Kurt? Kurt, are you all right?"

[ooc: hey, any of your characters have a car that needs an oil job? might be the perfect time to bring it on down!]

Saturdays were always the busiest day of the week. Burt worked one or two of them a month, and it was his week on duty. He had quite a bit on his mind.

He was unsure of how this production of RENT would go over in town...this was a conservative area, and a musical about AIDS might not go over so well. And he had to admit that he worried for the kids, for Kurt and Tanner especially. But he thought that they should be allowed to do it. They weren't doing it for shock value. They were doing it because they wanted to do it, and it meant something to them. And going about it at least a little responsibly. What more could you ask from kids, after all?

And then, of course, there was the fact that the musical was about AIDS. He was going to have to find a seat to watch it where no one would be able to see him completely lose it.

And then there was Carole, though thinking about her made his day just a little brighter. He really enjoyed her company. He just wished that Kurt was more comfortable with the situation. At least Finn seemed to be okay with it. Thank God for small favors.

At the moment, he was behind the counter, doing a little paperwork catch up during a small lull in his day in the late afternoon.

The Glee picnic was at noon that day, the old football field cleared for the day as the large grill that had been ordered was pushed into the enter of the white lines, picnic tables set up and a some coolers put out as Tanner made sure things were all in order. He'd gotten all the meat just an hour before, the cooler stinking of it as he turned the grill on and waited for someone, anyone who actually knew what they were doing to show up.

Kurt's mood had been all over the place lately. He was up one minute, ready to kill everyone ever the next minute. At the moment, however, he was pretty well on the 'ready to kill everyone ever' side of the scale. He was tired of Finn sulking. He was tired of math being maddening. He was tired of Brooke...existing...

And so he needed something to occupy his brain and Tanner seemed quite suited the fit the bill. Texting "omg com ovr b4 i die," he then perched on the edge of his bed and waited. That should do it.

Burt was definitely not a fashion plate, in any way, shape or form, but there were a few things he was picky about when it came to going on a date with Carole.

Number one, the truck must be spotless. His truck wasn't nearly as fancy as Kurt's was, but it was cleaner than it was during his regular daily life. He'd detail cleaned it after work.

Number two, even though he was still dressed in his normal sort of clothes, all of the clothes he wore were his newer and less worn ones, even to the ball cap he wore.

Number three, shower and shave after work, which was pretty normal...but even more so on date night.

And, finally, when he pulled up to her house, he stopped the car, turned off the ignition, and went up and knocked on the door. Honking the horn was for teenagers. And Burt would be a gentleman.

So Burt knocked on the door, looking up towards the rain gutters absently as he waited for Carole to answer. He wondered if he should come over sometime to clean them out for her...

Rehearsal had nearly killed him, he was sure of it. He'd pushed through, of course, but it had been rough and he was exhausted by the time he got home. He'd mumbled a not-even-halfhearted greeting to his dad, went down to his room and changed, and curled up in the nest of blankets and pillows on his bed. It wasn't long before he was asleep, homework be damned.

And then it hit; that nightmare that always seemed to show up when he was sick or stressed. The blood. The sound of crushing metal and screaming.

He woke up with a start, breathless and drenched in sweat, tears fresh on pale cheeks. For a moment, he didn't know where he was and he just curled up, shaking. Then, when it finally dawned on him that he was in his room, he rolled from his bed and stumbled blearily up the stairs.

He found his dad in the living room, bathed in the glow of the TV. Clutching at the edge of the couch to keep his knees from buckling, shivering, he murmured one single word: "...Daddy..."

( But tell me you love me, come back and haunt me )