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New Beginnings

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'Somebody please help me. Somebody see me.'

That's all that Kurt could think as he was, once again, thrown into a locker. 

It was only the second week of his sophomore year, and he had already been assaulted more times than he count. 

'See me. Help me. Say something.'

As the neanderthals laugh at him, Kurt looks around. He saw peers that completely ignored the situation. Peers watching from the corner of their eye, but otherwise doing nothing. Some peers looked at him with slight sadness. Some laughed with those that had hurt him. While it all made him ache, it was the teachers that hurt worse. Teachers that walked by as if nothing happened. Teachers that had seen him being covered in Cherry red slushies. Teachers that had watched him be thrown into dumpsters, and simply laughed as if they were watching kids simply fooling around.

No one would help him. No one would speak up.

'No one cares.' Kurt's mind supplied for him. 

'No one cares about you. And no one ever will.' 

As the jocks walked away, Kurt stayed slumped against the lockers, willing the tears away. He watched as his fellow students walked past him, not even willing to help him up. As the bell rang and everyone rushed to class, Kurt slowly stood up. His body ached, but not nearly as much as his heart. His soul

Holding his bag close to his chest, Kurt slowly made his way to the bathroom. He knew he would be about to cover the bruises fairly easily. After all-

He's been doing it for a long time. 

...


Kurt stayed in the bathroom through the rest of the period, not caring if he missed AP French. He was practically fluent in the language anyways. He sat in one of the stalls, thoughts running through his mind as an idea came to his head. An idea that he's been on and off about for months, but seemed more pleasing to him as time went on.

When the bell finally rang, it took all of Kurt's will power to leave the restroom and carry on with his day. He wish he could say his day got better, but that never happens. By the end of the day, he was in new clothes, his others stained slushy red and stuffed in his locker. He had had to pull himself from the dumpster during lunch once again. But that was normal anymore. 

Maybe that's why he stopped to look at the pamphlet outside of Ms. Pillsbury's office. Maybe not. 

'Ending it all: Pros & Cons'.

He didn't really see many Cons. Only one really. 

He didn't want to leave his Dad alone. But would he really care?

Kurt loved his dad. He really did. He was the best dad anyone could have. Burt Hummel has done nothing but try to give his son the best life possible ever since Elizabeth Hummel died. His dad was amazing. And Kurt didn't deserve him. He wasn't good enough for his dad. Burt Hummel deserved a good son. An athlete with a team of friends. A football player, basketball player, swimmer, something. He deserved a son that would bring home a pretty girl one day, and he could give him 'The Talk' and embarrass him in front of said pretty girl. A son that he could have fond memories of teaching how to play catch. But Burt didn't get any of that.

No, instead he had a son that loved Broadway and hated sports. A son that wanted to have tea parties instead of learn how to throw a ball. A son that cared more about the fashion girls were wearing than the girls themselves. A son that could only bring home a boy. 

Burt Hummel got a disappointment. And while he would never say this to Kurt, Kurt knew. It was in the way his dad pushed him to join a team. It was in the way he tried to talk sports with him. The way he tried to introduce him to his friend's sons. It wasn't his dad's fault that he didn't know that those same boys were usually the ones throwing him around. 

It wasn't his dad's fault that Kurt was a disappointment. 

But Kurt could fix that. 

He could take the disappointment away. 

...
*Trigger Warning Ahead*


He had to wait to do it. He had to wait until the weekend, because his dad was usually off work when he got home. On Saturday, it was the one day in the week where Kurt would be left home alone while his dad went to work. It took forever for Saturday to come. 

Despite his usual theatrics, Kurt didn't want this to be dramatic. He didn't want to force his dad to clean up puddles of blood. He didn't want him to have to cut him down from the ceiling, hanging from a rope. He didn't want him to deal with his body being crushed against the sidewalk or being lost to the river. No, he wanted it to be simple. 

A bottle of pills was pretty simple.

He had bought a full bottle of pills Thursday, just to be sure he would have them come Saturday. He waited until his dad was out the door, his truck gone on it's way to the shop. He laid out the note he had written Friday night, placing it on the kitchen table so his dad didn't have to go searching for it. He dressed in his best clothes so Burt wouldn't have to worry about his funeral clothes. And, finally, he went down to his bedroom. He didn't bother to lock the door. He was alone, and he didn't want his dad to waste money on fixing a door he had had to bust open. 

He wanted it to be simple. Downing pills and lying on his bed. 

It wasn't simple. 

Despite the desire to just.... be gone, he was still scared. He had hesitated, staring at the bottle in his hands. Finally, with shaking hands that caused the pills inside to rattle, Kurt opened the bottle. He dumped a ton into his open palm and threw them into his mouth before he could stop himself, swallowing thickly with a bottle of water. 

He hadn't heard his dad come back in a little bit after that, having forgotten his lunch. He wasn't aware of his dad finding the note and reading through it. And, as the drugs began their work on his body, he was barely aware of his door banging open and pounding footsteps coming down the stairs, his father yelling for him. 

He was aware, though, of his father grabbing his barely conscious body and dragging him into his bathroom nearby, holding him to the toilet.

"Spit them out! Kurt, Buddy, please. I need you to spit. Them. Out." 

With his mind fogged, Kurt couldn't hear as his father sobbed as he held his dying son against the toilet. Kurt barely felt his dad shove his fingers down his throat, too busy fading. But he wasn't out of it enough to not feel himself gag.

"That's it. Come on, come on." He still couldn't register the pleading in his father's voice. With one more push of his father's fingers down his throat, Kurt was lurching over the toilet, bile and the pills that were still intact coming up. He gagged and coughed as more continued to come up, his own sounds covering the sound of his dad calling 911. After only a bit longer, Kurt slumped against the toilet, head hanging in the bowl as he breathed heavily. He still was fading in and out of consciousness, he wasn't safe yet. But Kurt knew he had failed. He was a failure, just like always. He gagged a few more times as he attempted to control his breathing. But it wasn't long until felt strong hands grab him by the sides and pull him away from the toilet, and into his father's chest. 

Together they sat on the tiled floor of Kurt's bathroom, Kurt curled into his father's chest. He felt the soothing motion of his father rocking them side to side. He heard the un-soothing sound of his father breaking apart, sobbing into his son's hair, holding him close after coming so close to losing him, and still not being in the clear.

As sirens echoed outside the house and his father carried him bridal style up the stairs to the EMTs, Kurt felt a few tears finally escape before he shut his eyes, his last memories before everything going black being that of his father's choked sobs and tear soaked face.