Now that he was certain about his feelings for Kurt, Carson was pretty much living in a constant state of worry. Was he being too obvious? Could other people tell? Most importantly, could Kurt tell? Carson wasn’t sure what he’d do if Kurt ever found out. Kurt would surely be weirded out and uncomfortable, and probably disgusted, and Carson didn’t know if he could handle it if that happened. He didn’t ever want to see Kurt’s beautiful ocean eyes clouded over with distrust or disappointment when they looked at him. He’d rather die first.

So he just tried his best to act normal around Kurt (as normal as a person could act when they were secretly in love with their own twin brother, anyway).  If he just acted the way he’d always acted around him, nobody would ever have to know. Everybody wins.

Everybody except him, that is. He’d be slowly dying inside, actually, because the one thing he wanted most in the world, even more than getting into Northwestern and achieving all of his career goals, was something that he could never have. He sometimes wondered what horrible thing he may have done in a previous life to be doomed to suffer so much in this one. Maybe he had been a recreational puppy kicker or something. At least if he was suffering, it meant that Kurt didn’t have to.

In any case, there was nothing to do but just go on as he always had, which meant throwing himself into his schoolwork and dealing with the flaming pile of stupidity that was the glee club. Currently, they were supposed to be preparing for a repeat of the boys vs. girls mashup competition from the previous year. It was still just as much of a waste of time as it was before, except now Mr. Schuester had hit upon the oh-so-brilliant idea to have the boys sing girls’ songs and the girls sing boys’ songs. Carson had no idea how things were going on the girls’ front (they were probably being terrified into submission by Rachel), but nobody on the boys’ team was enjoying this except for Kurt. Kurt was in his element the day they met up in an empty classroom to discuss costumes for their performance, having come prepared with visual aids and a pointer stick. It was adorable, and a relief for Carson to see, since Kurt had actually been extremely quiet and moody lately for some reason.

“Now,” he said, tapping his pointer stick against a poster board he had decorated with a photo of himself surrounded by various options he was considering for their costumes, “Obviously, for this medley to work, I’m gonna have to sing lead. And, of course, when you’re singing Diana Ross, Bob Mackie-esque marabou feather boas are a must.”

“Isn’t this lesson about opposites?” Artie asked from his seat. “You in a sequined gown and a feather boa is exactly what you’d expect.” Carson shot him a glare. God, Artie, shut the fuck up. Who said anything about a gown, anyway?

“Ok, who said anything about a gown?” Kurt asked. Carson smiled.

“Uh, dude, why don’t you make yourself useful and go put some rat poison in them old folks’ Jell-o, or visit the Garglers,” said Puck, getting the name of their upcoming sectionals competition wrong.

“The Warblers,” Kurt corrected him.

“Whatever,” said Puck. “See what they’re up to. You can wear all the feathers you want. You’ll blend right in!”

“Hey, fuck you, Puckerman,” Carson snapped. “Why don’t you let him talk?  I don’t see you coming up with any brilliant ideas for costumes or anything else.”

 “No, you know what? Fine,” Kurt said exasperatedly, gathering up his posterboard and stalking out of the room in a huff. Carson got up from his seat and shot an icy glare Puck’s way.

“Happy?” he said angrily before following Kurt out into the hall.

“All I needed them to do was listen to my suggestions,” Kurt complained when Carson caught up with him. “That was it. Nobody ever just lets me finish my thought before they start tearing it apart.” He crumpled the posterboard up and shoved it in a nearby trash can, which made Carson wince. Kurt had worked hard on that board.

“Aaaw, Kurt, I was listening,” said Carson. He placed one hand on Kurt’s shoulder and Kurt stiffened slightly. “Puck’s just an idiot. He just got out of juvie, what does he even know about putting on a good performance?”

“I guess,” Kurt mumbled. “Can we just go home?”

“Yeah,” agreed Carson. “Sure.”

***************

Carson woke up slowly and blinked, unsure at first what had woken him up. He yawned and reached across the bed for Kurt, his hand coming into contact with nothing but sheets and blankets. So that was what had woken him up. Kurt was gone.

“Shit,” Carson mumbled, hopping out of bed and turning on the light. “Not again, Kurt.” Kurt must have been sleepwalking again. That would make the third time this week, and after he had gone so very long without an episode, too.

“Kurt?” he whispered quietly, looking around the room. No Kurt. He must have wandered upstairs. Carson crept up the stairs as quietly as he could, finding the door to the basement already open. Yep, Kurt had definitely been there. He tiptoed into the hallway and then to the kitchen. Kurt was still nowhere to be found.

“Where are you, Kurtsie?” Carson thought to himself, making his way into the living room.  A small thud directed his attention to the corner next to the television, where Kurt was slumped against the wall, one hand lazily brushing his shoulder as he glared at something Carson couldn’t see.

“What is your problem?” Kurt said loudly to the invisible something (someone?) as Carson crossed over to him and gently helped him up.

“Shhh, Kurt, come on,” he whispered as he guided Kurt back toward the basement stairs. “Let’s get back to bed before we wake up Dad, hmm?” He managed to get Kurt down the stairs without much effort, although Kurt didn’t seem to want to have his shoulders touched and squirmed away every time Carson tried to guide him that way. He settled for leading him by the hands instead.

“Come on, Kurt, get in bed,” he said softly, leading Kurt to his side of the bed and gently nudging him until Kurt got the hint and climbed in. “There you go.” He went around to his own side and climbed in beside him, wrapping one arm around Kurt’s waist and placing a soft kiss to his jawline.

“Go to sleep, Kurtsie,” he whispered. “I love you.”

As he waited for Kurt to relax into a full state of sleep, Carson wondered, for what seemed like the thousandth time in recent memory, just what exactly was going on with his twin. Today hadn’t been the first time that Kurt had been in a mysterious funk. In the weeks since Rocky Horror, Kurt had become more and more moody and withdrawn. He wasn’t talkative anymore and couldn’t seem to work up any enthusiasm for anything. He didn’t even take Carson up on his recent offer to watch all the Disney movies Kurt wanted, even The Little Mermaid, which Carson had thought for sure would cheer him up just a little. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to argue with Rachel several days earlier when she had volunteered herself for the latest solo Mr. Schuester was considering for sectionals. Sometimes he seemed like he would rather be literally anywhere else than at school. And now, he’d taken to sleepwalking on a nightly basis, sometimes accompanied by shaking and whimpering, which Carson knew meant he was having a nightmare.

There was definitely something going on with him. Something had to be triggering those nightmares, and even though Kurt flat-out denied it, Carson strongly suspected that someone might have been bothering him at school. Someone on the football team, most likely, as they had the most homophobic jackasses out of any other team at McKinley. It was just so hard to know for sure. Carson and Kurt didn’t have any classes together this semester, so they routinely went whole school days without seeing each other except for lunch period and glee club rehearsals, with Kurt occasionally dropping by the journalism classroom to hang out when he knew Carson would be there. If someone was bothering Kurt in class, Carson wouldn’t have any way of knowing unless Kurt told him. And Kurt wasn’t talking. Carson had asked him on more than one occasion if anything was wrong and Kurt repeatedly insisted that he was fine.

“Nothing more than the usual,” was his stock answer. “You know that jerks will be jerks. Nothing I can’t handle.” But it had to be more than that. Carson knew Kurt well enough to know when he wasn’t being quite honest. And he usually only ever had sleepwalking episodes or nightmares when he was stressed, worried, or sick.

“Kurtsie, what’s going on?” Carson thought, stroking his fingers softly down Kurt’s arm through the silky fabric of his pajama top. “I wish you’d tell me so I could help you. If someone is bothering you, I swear to god I will kick their ass and make them regret ever even looking at you the wrong way, but you have to talk to me. I can’t do anything for you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

He kissed Kurt one more time on the tip of his ear and closed his eyes, though he had a hard time falling back asleep.

*******************

Kurt waited until after homeroom the next day before he dared leave school grounds. He and Carson were together all morning before the first bell rang and they shared the same homeroom. If Kurt wasn’t there, Carson would want to know why, and Kurt had a feeling that Carson would greatly disapprove of his plan to spend the day spying on the Dalton Academy Warblers. He had seen Kurt Googling them the night before and had already declared them to be creepy.

“They’re like something out of Village of the Damned,” he had said, frowning at the photos on the school’s website that showed various smiling teenage boys all dressed in identical navy blazers and grey pants. “No, seriously, I wouldn’t be surprised if they had, like, telekinetic powers or something and they murdered people with those powers on the weekends just for fun.”

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” Kurt had asked him.

“I have a very vivid imagination, I guess,” Carson had answered as Kurt had gone into the bathroom to change into his pajamas. He’d started doing that a lot lately. He had to, otherwise Carson would be sure to see the impressive collection of bruises that Kurt kept accumulating on his back and shoulders from being constantly slammed into lockers by Karofsky. It was pretty much a daily occurrence by now, and sometimes it happened up to three or four times a day. Kurt had basically come to expect it, and he wasn’t even relieved if a day went by where it didn’t happen, because he knew Karofsky would just make up for lost time the next day. Kurt’s shoulders were almost constantly sore, so much so that he sometimes had trouble even carrying his bag around. It was a struggle not to flinch in pain whenever Carson unwittingly touched his shoulder after a fresh bruise had sprung up, but he somehow managed. He didn’t need Carson finding out about the bullying.

Karofsky never did anything when Carson was around to see, strangely enough, and Kurt was at least grateful for that much. He knew perfectly well how Carson would react if he knew what was happening. He had punched Finn in the face for just saying something offensive. If he knew that Kurt was being physically hurt, he would want to kill Karofsky, or at least try to kick his ass, and he would have absolutely no fear despite the fact that Karofsky was twice his size. The last thing Kurt wanted was for Carson to end up getting hurt trying to defend him.

Today Kurt had decided he would follow Puck’s advice and go spy on the Warblers. If nothing else, it would be a day where he wouldn’t have to worry about getting slammed into a wall of lockers and his shoulders and back would get a much-needed rest. And if he happened to find out anything about what the Warblers planned to do for sectionals, then that would be a bonus. He just didn’t want Carson to know what he was up to, because his twin wouldn’t want him to go alone, and two of them together would be much more conspicuous than just Kurt by himself. So, after homeroom ended and he and Carson had split up to go to their respective first period classes, Kurt had taken a detour once Carson was out of sight and exited the building, heading toward their car in the student parking lot. With any luck, he could make it back before Carson even discovered he was gone.

He entered the school’s address into the car’s navigation system and carefully followed the directions until he came to an overwhelmingly huge building that looked like it may once have been a castle or something. He actually whistled in awe when he saw it.

“Fancy school,” he whispered to himself, looking down and checking his outfit. He had chosen it specifically because it looked close enough to the uniforms that Dalton students wore and he hoped he wouldn’t be noticed too much. Now he wasn’t so sure, but oh well. There was nothing he could do about it now. He stepped out of the car and found the school’s main entrance, which was at the top of a huge flight of stone steps outside. He wondered if there was a second entrance that the students used on a daily basis, because surely they didn’t have to climb all those stairs every day.

At least I’m getting exercise, he thought to himself as he gingerly opened the heavy door and stepped inside. He found himself in an entryway with a long hallway to either side of him and a fancy, ornate staircase in front of him that led down to…somewhere. A crowd of students were filing out of both hallways, all of them hurrying down the staircase, and none of them seeming to notice Kurt. Kurt decided that he should probably follow the crowd to wherever they were going. Wherever it was, they were certainly excited about it, and Kurt’s curiosity was piqued. He headed down the staircase, taking off his sunglasses and pocketing them.

“Excuse me,” he said to a short, dark-haired boy on the stairs in front of him. The boy turned to look at him and Kurt was taken by surprise for a moment at how cute he was. Not even cute, actually. He was gorgeous.

“Um, hi,” he continued, suddenly very self-conscious. “Can I ask you a question? I…I’m new here.” He wasn’t sure if the gorgeous boy would believe that story, but it was the best he could come up with at the moment.

Gorgeous Boy considered him for a second before sticking his hand out in an invitation for Kurt to shake it. “My name’s Blaine,” he said. Even his voice was gorgeous.

“Kurt,” Kurt replied, shaking Gorgeous Boy-Blaine’s- hand and mentally cheering that he was able to even remember his own name with Blaine’s honey-colored eyes fixed on his own. “So, what exactly is going on?” he asked, gazing around at the crowd of students who were still spilling down the stairs.

“The Warblers,” Blaine replied, flashing Kurt a bright smile that showed off a row of perfectly white teeth. “Every now and then, they throw an impromptu performance in the senior commons. It tends to shut the school down for a while.”

Kurt let Blaine’s words sink in for a second. All those excited students were headed for a glee club performance? And none of them were carrying slushies? That was, needless to say, a foreign concept to him.

“So, wait, the glee club here is kind of cool?” he asked.

“The Warblers are like rock stars!” Blaine answered him, his smile never wavering even once. Kurt wasn’t sure how to reply to that, but he didn’t really have the time to come up with a reply anyway, because all of a sudden Blaine was grabbing his hand and Kurt was having a hard time concentrating on words.

“Come on,” said Blaine. “I know a shortcut.”

**************

Carson was worried. He hadn’t seen Kurt since homeroom that morning, and even though it wasn’t unusual for them to not see each other all day due to their different class schedules, they still met up with each other for their shared lunch period every day. Kurt hadn’t shown up for lunch today, though, and he hadn’t responded to any of Carson’s texts or picked up his phone when Carson tried to call. That wasn’t like him.

Maybe he’s just busy, he thought, trying to push the worry from his mind. It could be anything. He could have stayed behind after his last class, or been held up talking to somebody. I’m sure he’s fine. You worry too much, Carson. That’s what Kurt would say….that you worry too much. That’s what he would say if he were here. Which he isn’t. I wish he’d at least text me back and let me know he’s alright.

He worried about Kurt the entire rest of the afternoon as he sat through his classes, texting Kurt periodically when nobody was looking.

Kurt, where are you? –C

Seriously, Kurt, I haven’t heard from you all day. You know how I worry. –C

Kurt, please at least let me know you’re alive? –C

Text me something. Anything. Even if it’s to yell at me to stop blowing up your phone with so many texts. Please. –C

Still Kurt didn’t respond, and Carson grew even more worried. He thought about Kurt’s recent slew of nightmares as he sat in the journalism classroom during his study period, trying to push away the nagging thought that maybe they (or rather, the cause of them) had something to do with Kurt’s mysterious disappearance.

No, Carson, come on. You’re being stupid. You’re worrying for nothing. He’s just had a busy day today, that’s all. Happens to all of us. He’ll show up for that travesty of a glee club later and all will be right with the world.

“Is this the room for the Writers’ Club?” a sudden voice asked, causing Carson to yelp and almost jump out of his chair. He had been so wrapped up in worrying about Kurt, he hadn’t even realized that a girl had entered the classroom and was staring at him thoughtfully, her head cocked to one side.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me!” exclaimed Carson.

“Sorry about that,” said the girl. “Sometimes I have that effect on people. I’m too quiet. I’m trying to work on that.”

Carson peered at her over the rim of his glasses. She looked extremely familiar, and Carson realized that he’d seen her around school sometimes, constantly holding the handheld video camera she was holding now and silently filming the most random things.

“Yeah,” he answered her slowly. “Yeah, this is the room, but there’s….I mean, this isn’t a meeting. Actually, there’s hardly ever any meetings, because I’m sort of the only member right now. Did…were you interested in joining?” he asked her. This was noteworthy indeed. Usually nobody seemed to give a shit about writing at this school. Carson had all but given up holding regular meetings since the other members had graduated and he was often the only person in the room anyway.

She nodded enthusiastically, making the tight blonde ponytail perched atop her head bounce. “Yes. Yes, I would. See, I write sometimes.”

“Really?” Carson sat up straighter in his chair and looked at her with interest. “That’s great. What do you write?”

“Short stories?” she said, as if it were a question. “I can show you one of them at the next meeting, if you want.”

“That’d be great..um…sorry, what’s your name?” Carson asked.

“Malerie,” the girl replied, shifting her video camera to her other hand as she spoke.

“Ok, that’d be great, Malerie,” said Carson, eyeing the camera warily. “Is that thing on?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she said, aiming it at his face and offering no further explanation.

“Um…ok,” he said. Weird, but whatever. He took out his phone to see if Kurt had texted him back yet. He hadn’t. “So, I guess if you want to join, the meetings are twice a week after school,” he informed Malerie. “I’ll post the times on the door.”

“Okay,” she agreed, holding out one hand in a wave. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” he replied, dialing Kurt’s number and pressing the phone to his ear as Malerie sauntered out of the room. Damn it, Kurt, pick up. I’m really starting to wonder what’s happened to you.

There was still no answer. Carson sighed and glanced at the clock. School was almost over and Kurt had been gone all day. Kurt, WHERE ARE YOU? This isn’t funny. You can’t do this to me. You KNOW that I worry.

When the last bell of the day finally rang, Carson practically raced to the choir room, the first time in his entire life he had ever been in a hurry for a glee meeting. He poked his head inside the room and glanced around. Everybody seemed to be there already, talking about whatever stupid shit they always talked about. There were only two people who seemed to be missing. Mr. Schue was no shock, since he was always late for glee, but Carson also noticed, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that Kurt wasn’t there either.

Ok, something was definitely up. It wasn’t like Kurt at all to skip a glee meeting unless he had a very good reason. Combined with the fact that he hadn’t answered his phone all day, Carson’s worry quickly started rising into full-blown panic as he turned around and started aimlessly wandering the school hallways, not sure what to do. Where WAS he? What if something had happened to him? Fuck, WHY wasn’t I more worried when he didn’t show up for lunch? What’s wrong with me? I’m the worst fucking brother ever. What if he’s been kidnapped? Or murdered? What if he’s lying in a ditch somewhere, and I’ve just been going about my stupid school day thinking he’d show up for glee and be fine? Oh god…what if he really HAS been being bullied by someone and they cornered him somewhere this morning when he was alone, and-

The ringing of his phone startled him out of his thoughts of all the horrible things that could have happened to Kurt, and he fumbled with the lock screen in his hurry to answer it when he saw the caller ID screen, almost dropping it in the process.

“Kurt?” he said breathlessly.

“Hi, Carson,” came Kurt’s voice from the other end of the line, and Carson was so very relieved to hear it that he almost forgot how to speak for a minute. Then he remembered that he’d spent his entire day worrying for Kurt’s safety and quickly regained his tongue.

“Where the fuck were you all day?” he exclaimed. “I’ve been texting and calling you since lunch! You never showed up, and you don’t even want to know how many horrible things I imagined might have happened to you! I thought you were lying beaten in a field somewhere. Or dead and dismembered in someone’s basement dungeon! I was about to call the police and organize a search party, Kurt!”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said. “I, um…I actually spent the day at Dalton Academy. You know…gathering information on the competition and…and stuff. I stayed a little longer than I meant to. And I had my phone on silent and I guess I forgot to turn it back on. Otherwise I would have answered your texts. All seventeen thousand of them. I actually was nervous to call you back because I knew you had to be worried. At least I know you care,” he said teasingly.

“You went WHERE?” asked Carson, ignoring the tease. “By yourself? But Kurt, that place is creepy! And they’re competition! You’re damn right I was worried! What if they’d done something to you for spying? Did anyone notice you?”

“Oh, um…well…yeah, kind of, but it’s cool. He…they didn’t care,” replied Kurt. “I’m still alive. Actually, we had a rather pleasant chat in their cafeteria. They’re really nice people, you know.”

“Well, as lovely as that sounds, that still doesn’t change the fact that I had no idea where you were and was worried that you were dead,” grumbled Carson. “It scared me, that’s all.”

“Aaaaw, Carsey, I’m sorry,” said Kurt. “I’m on my way home now, ok?”

“I’m walking home now,” Carson replied. “And I’m going to be a very worried mess of a person until I see you walk through the door. Just so you know.”

Kurt laughed. “Noted. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Carson got home and promptly planted himself on the living room couch, absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the couch’s arm and keeping his eyes trained on the front door. Even though he now knew that Kurt was fine, he wasn’t going to actually feel better until he saw his face. Not after all the things that had run through his mind earlier.

When the front door finally opened and Kurt stepped inside, Carson was up immediately, crossing over to him and throwing his arms around his neck as Kurt slowly brought his hands around Carson’s waist, hugging him back. They stood there like that for a minute; with Carson just reassuring himself that Kurt was, indeed, still in one piece.

“Missed me, did you?” Kurt said.

“Just making sure you’re real and you’re alive,” said Carson, finally parting from the hug and looking him in the eye. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. At least text me where you are so I don’t spend the day worrying.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry,” said Kurt, patting Carson gently on the cheek and carrying his bag over to the kitchen table, where he took a seat.

“So, did you find out anything about the Twizzlers, or whatever the team is called?” Carson asked, sitting down at the table next to him.

“The Warblers, and yeah, I did,” replied Kurt. “I saw them perform. They sang “Teenage Dream,” and they were actually pretty good for an acapella group. I still think we could probably beat them, though.”

“Uh-huh. And you said they knew you were a spy and they didn’t care?” Carson pressed.

“Oh..yeah. I happened to run into the lead singer of the Warblers. Blaine. Blaine Anderson,” Kurt said, his voice lilting ever so slightly and his back straightening at the mention of the other boy’s name. “He’s really nice. We talked for a while…almost all day, actually. And I didn’t even realize that my phone was still silent.”

“Oh?” said Carson, having picked up on the subtle change in Kurt’s demeanor when he mentioned the other guy. “Talked about what?”

“Oh, you know…school and…and stuff,” said Kurt, getting up and grabbing his bag. “He’s gay too, so we had a lot of experiences and things to talk about. Hey, I’m gonna go drop this off downstairs,” he said, indicating the bag in his hand.

“Kay,” Carson replied, not sure whether or not he liked what he had just heard.

He was positive that he didn’t like it when he caught a glimpse of the inside of Kurt’s locker the next afternoon. Carson had stopped to let Kurt know he was planning to skip glee that day in order to hold a meeting of the Writers’ Club instead, but he was stopped dead in his tracks at Kurt’s newest decorative addition.

“What. The fuck. Is that?” he asked, nodding at the framed photograph of a dark haired boy wearing what Carson recognized to be the uniform for Dalton Academy. Kurt had hung it right in the center of his locker door, right above a collage of cut-out magazine letters spelling out the word “Courage.”

Kurt looked sheepish, looking quickly from Carson to the photo and back again. “Oh, that. Um…remember that guy I told you about? Blaine. The one I talked to yesterday at Dalton?”

“I remember,” said Carson, arms crossed. “Is that him? Please, do tell me how you came to have a framed photograph of him in your locker.”

“Well, he, uh…” Kurt stammered, blushing. “He kind of gave it to me before I left yesterday.”

“I see,” said Carson, glaring at the photo. “So, you just met this guy yesterday, and after such a fun afternoon of talking and whatnot, he just handed you a framed photograph of himself just like that? To hang in your locker?”

“Basically,” said Kurt, shoving a book into his locker. “I mean, it didn’t come framed, and I guess it wasn’t specifically for my locker, but…”

“He just happened to be carrying it around, right? I mean, I’m trying to picture how this even happens, and I am drawing a complete blank,” said Carson. “Does he just carry around stacks of photos of himself like some kind of celebrity and hand them out to his adoring fans, or…what’s the deal there?”

“Well…not exactly,” said Kurt, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Not exactly? What do you mean, not exactly?” asked Carson.

“Well, he sort of invited me up to his room, and-“

“His room? He invited you into his room? And you went?” Carson exclaimed. Kurt clapped one hand over Carson’s mouth to shush him and looked around, embarrassed.

“Shhh, Carson, for god’s sake, keep your voice down,” Kurt hissed. “It wasn’t like that. It was fine.”

“I’m sorry, Kurt, I just tend to get very worried when I find out my precious baby brother was alone with some strange guy in said guy’s room yesterday, and my overprotective instincts just kind of kick in,” said Carson in a lower voice. “It might NOT have been fine! He did keep his hands to himself, right?”

“God, Carson, YES,” said Kurt in an exasperated tone. “It was completely innocent. We went to his room and talked a little bit more, and then he handed me the photo. Then we exchanged numbers and I left. End of story.”

“You exchanged numbers, too,” mumbled Carson. “Great.” He glanced again at the photo of the guy- Billy, or whatever his name was- and narrowed his eyes at it. Everything about the guy in the photo now irritated the everloving fuck out of him, from his immaculately gelled hair to his caterpillar-like eyebrows to the douchy little smirk on his face. He didn’t even have to ask to know that Kurt had a crush on this guy. The picture in the locker kind of gave that away, not to mention the bashful blush spreading across Kurt’s face as he talked about him.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuck, thought Carson. It was bad enough dealing with Finn. Finn wasn’t even gay. At least this one doesn’t live in town, but STILL.

Kurt closed the locker carefully (Wouldn’t want to break precious Bobby’s picture, would we? Oh heavens no) and offered his arm to Carson. “Shall we head to the choir room?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject. “The girls are performing their mashup today.”

Carson gave him his best attempt at a smile. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m actually going to be in the journalism room instead today. I think I might have a potential new member for the Writers’ Club.”

“Oh, ok,” said Kurt, sounding slightly disappointed. “I’ll meet you in there afterwards, then.”

“Ok,” agreed Carson. Kurt patted him on the cheek and headed down the hall toward the choir room, and Carson headed in the direction of the journalism classroom, determined not to worry about Billy Sanderson (that was his name, right?). He didn’t even go to the same school. Kurt’s crush would likely stay just that. A crush from afar. Way, way afar.

*****************

It’s probably a good thing Carson skipped this, thought Kurt as he watched the girls perform their mashup of “Start Me Up” and “Livin’ On A Prayer.” He’d probably throw up right in his seat if he could see the pants Rachel is wearing. Maybe I’ll take a picture and show him. Nah, that’d be cruel of me. He felt a buzzing in his pocket and retrieved his phone, reading the one-word text message that popped up on the screen underneath Blaine’s name.

Courage

Kurt smiled as he looked at the word, remembering his long conversation with Blaine yesterday in the Dalton cafeteria. He wasn’t sure what had made him pour his heart out to some guy he’d just met, but Blaine had seemed like he understood what Kurt was going through with the bullying. Not to mention that he was really gorgeous, and Kurt would be lying if he said he wasn’t quickly developing a crush on him (which relieved him greatly, because it meant that he wasn’t focusing on his feelings for Carson).

And it had felt good to talk to someone about what he was going through and get it off his chest. He couldn’t talk to Carson about it, for obvious reasons. Carson would want to protect him and he would end up confronting Karofsky with violence and getting himself hurt. Kurt couldn’t let him do that. He couldn’t let Carson put himself in danger that way. Blaine was at least someone who had no personal stake in the situation and could give him some advice, which he had. His advice had been to confront Karofsky with words, which Kurt wasn’t entirely sure would work. Honestly, he was a little terrified to even try. But Blaine had seemed to think it would work, and Kurt kind of really wanted to trust him, since he had nowhere else to turn for advice at the moment.

That’s where the courage comes in, I guess. The worst that can happen is that he’ll slam me into some more lockers and I’ll just get an extra bruise or two to add to my collection, he thought, pocketing his phone for the rest of the girls’ performance. He pulled it out again when glee club let out, gazing down at the one simple word, a smile forming across his face. Courage. He could do that. He could. He was just as courageous as anyone, damn it. He could solve his own problems. He could-

His thoughts were cut short as a hand came out of nowhere and yanked his phone out his hands before sending Kurt himself flying across the hall, landing hard against a row of lockers. The lock on one of them dug into his back, right under his neck, causing a sharp jolt of pain where there was already a bruise from the last time this had happened. He took a minute to catch his breath and collect his thoughts as Karofsky smirked at him and started down the hallway. As though shoving him was just a normal part of his afternoon routine (which, Kurt thought, it kind of was, by now).

Prejudice is just ignorance, Kurt….

Confront him….

Courage…

With Blaine’s words echoing in his head, Kurt took a deep breath, steeled himself up, and mustered all the strength and courage he could find within himself.

“HEY!” he shouted, running down the hall after Karofsky.

                                                      ****************

Carson sat at a desk in the journalism classroom across from Malerie, wondering how exactly to proceed with a Writers’ Club meeting when there were only two members. He’d never actually encountered anyone in the school who was relatively enthusiastic about writing before, besides himself and Jacob Ben Israel, who didn’t count because all he wrote was tabloid fodder. Malerie at least looked like she wanted to be there, unlike most of the people whom Carson had ever seen enter the classroom.

“So, Malerie,” he said, folding his hands in front of him and looking at her curiously. She still had her video camera with her, which was sitting in front of her at her desk, the red light indicating it was filming. He kind of wondered what the deal was with that camera, but he thought maybe it was better not to ask for now. “You write short stories?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling out a small, yellow notebook from her book bag and smiling proudly as she opened it to a page full of neat handwriting. “I wrote this one last night. Would you like to hear it?”

“Please,” Carson replied, sitting up with interest as Malerie cleared her throat and began to read from the notebook.

“Marley was dead to begin with,” she read, pronouncing each word slowly and carefully. “There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it…”

“Malerie,” Carson interrupted her. She stopped reading and looked at him over the rim of her thick glasses.

“Yes?” she asked.

“You…um…you didn’t write that,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration and trying not to let his irritation show.

“Yeah, but look, though,” she said, turning the notebook so that Carson could see the page. “I did write it.”

“Well, yeah, you wrote it, but you didn’t write it,” said Carson as patiently as he could, wondering if she wasn’t just screwing with him. “I mean, that…that’s not your story, that’s Charles Dickens’ story. You just copied it.”

Malerie hung her head and closed the notebook. “You got me,” she said sadly. “I just wanted to write a good story, but I guess I’m not there yet.”

Carson was about to answer her when he felt a weird, sudden jolt of something in his stomach out of nowhere. Almost like an intense fear, actually, though he couldn’t imagine where the fuck it had come from. It felt like he was trapped somewhere and couldn’t get away. And he knew, somehow, that it had something to do with Kurt. That Kurt was in some kind of trouble and needed him.

“I have to go,” he said quietly, gathering up his bag and practically running out of the classroom.

Kurt, where are you? I’m here, I’m coming, just hang on.

****************

Kurt sat slumped against the wall of lockers in the empty locker room for what seemed like hours, even though it was probably more like three minutes. He was still trying to process everything that had just happened in a span of a few seconds.

Karofsky was gay. He was gay and he had just kissed Kurt. That had happened. Kurt had just had his first kiss from the very same person who had made his life a living hell for so long. Or, more precisely, he had just had his first kiss stolen from him. He hadn’t wanted to be kissed by the other boy. He’d had no control over it. He’d been ambushed before he was ready to react. One minute he was confronting him, daring him to hit him and get it over with (and thinking oh god, what will Carson do when he sees the black eye, he’ll want to kill him….he might ACTUALLY kill him), and the next minute there were rough, chapped lips attacking his, and it was so terrifying, and Kurt just wanted to get away, but he couldn’t. And all he wanted right then was Carson. For Carson to come in and pull Karofsky off of him and hold Kurt like always, and stroke his hair and tell him everything was going to be ok.

And then it was over and Karofsky was gone, and Kurt was left alone to slump to the floor in a shaky heap, brushing his lip softly with one finger. He’d never felt more alone in his entire life. He wanted to go find his phone where it had clattered to the ground when Karofsky had slammed him into the lockers. He wanted to find it and call Carson and beg him to stay on the line with him until they could meet up somewhere. The journalism classroom. The choir room. Outside. Anywhere.

No, though. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let Carson see him like this, shaking and crying and scared. Carson would want to know what had happened, and if he found out what Karofsky had just done…..Kurt didn’t even want to think about what he would do. He would probably track Karofsky down and punch him, with no regard for the fact that Karofsky could easily kill him if he wanted to. No, Kurt couldn’t let that happen. He’d never be able to live with himself if something happened to Carson because of him.

But he needed to talk to someone. He would never be able to face Carson like this. He needed someone to reassure him, and if it couldn’t be Carson, then…

Kurt pulled himself up off the floor and dusted off his clothes, taking a long, shuddering breath. He peeked out of the locker room door and into the hall, which was mostly empty by now. He quickly scurried over to where his phone had landed, picked it up, and shut himself back in the locker room. He scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he was looking for and pressed it, holding the phone to his ear with a shaking hand. His call was answered on the second ring.

“Blaine? It…it’s Kurt.”

******************

Carson raced through the almost empty halls, desperately searching for Kurt. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew that Kurt needed him, and he had to find him as soon as possible. He hadn’t liked the way he felt in the journalism classroom. He’d felt trapped and scared, and it had to be that twin telepathy thing that happened between him and Kurt sometimes. Like when they were little and Carson was the one who cried the loudest when Kurt got his shots, because he could feel his twin’s pain, even though the needle wasn’t touching him personally.

“Kurt?” he called out, hoping Kurt would answer him. That he could answer him. “Kurt?”

He checked the choir room, just in case, and found it empty. Everyone had left. Carson sighed and wandered back down the hallway he’d just come from.

“Kurt?” he called out again, digging his phone out of his pocket to call him.

“Carson?”

Carson turned around to find Kurt standing behind him, looking at him curiously. Carson rushed over and threw his arms around him, hugging him tight.

“Kurt, are you alright? I couldn’t find you, and I was worried about you,” he said as Kurt patted him on the back briefly and slowly pried himself away from the hug with a slight wince.

“You..you were crushing me,” he explained, giving Carson a small smile. “I’m fine. I was just on my way to meet you in the journalism classroom. You should have seen Rachel’s pants today, oh my god, you would have barfed-“

“Kurt,” Carson interrupted him. “Wait. You…you’re ok? You’re sure?”

“Fine,” Kurt insisted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Why?”

“I…” Carson looked at him and frowned. “I thought….I mean, I felt like you….like you needed me. Like you were scared. You’re sure you’re alright?”

He thought he saw something unreadable flit across Kurt’s face, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, and Kurt was nodding. “I guarantee you I’m alive and in one piece, Carson. You worry way too much,” he said, a little too brightly. “I’m one hundred percent fine. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Carson wanted to believe him, he really did, but he knew deep down that this wasn’t true at all.

**************

“Ok, Carson, Blaine will be outside in like five minutes, so I’m leaving,” said Kurt as he made final adjustments to his outfit in the mirror. “The play lasts two and a half hours, and I’m sure there’ll be traffic, so if I’m not home by midnight, please don’t panic and assume that I’ve been kidnapped by the crazy family from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, ok?”

“Not funny,” Carson replied, crossing his arms and frowning. “The last time you hung out with him, I swear, I had a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach all night. I just couldn’t stop picturing him luring you to some abandoned house and offering you up as some kind of human sacrifice to the Dalton gods, or whatever. Or trying to put his oh-so-dapper schoolboy hands where they don’t belong.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, I swear, I don’t know where you come up with half of this stuff,” he said. “First of all, Blaine and I are just friends right now. Nobody’s hands were going anywhere. And I’ll point out that, just like always, I got home perfectly intact.”

What does he mean they’re only friends “right now?” I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.

“Well what if that was just a trial run and this time he’s planning on doing something sinister?” Carson asked. “You barely know him. I don’t know him at all. He’s a complete stranger, in fact. And I don’t feel comfortable with you getting into cars with strangers, heading to who-knows-where…”

“Carson, we’re going to see a play one town over. We’ll be in the middle of a crowded theater all night. If he was some insane psycho killer, he’d take us somewhere much more isolated,” Kurt replied, giving his hair one final pat. He turned around to face Carson and gave him a sympathetic smile. “Would it make you feel better if you came with us the next time we hung out? That way you could meet him and get to know him a little bit and hopefully not be so quick to assume he’s a violent rapist.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” said Carson.

Kurt laughed and walked over to Carson cupping his face in his hands and planting a big kiss on Carson’s forehead. “Breadstix on Wednesday night, ok? For me?”

“I don’t wanna,” Carson protested.

“Pleeeeeeease, Carsey?” Kurt asked, his bottom lip slowly protruding out on its way to making his signature pout. “Don’t make me use the pout. I’ll do it, I swear I will.”

Carson sighed. “Fine, Kurt. If it’s so important to you that I spend time with you and this Billy-“

“Blaine,” Kurt corrected him.

“Whatever….then I’ll go. I won’t like it, but I’ll do it. For you.”

Kurt smiled and kissed Carson’s forehead one last time, patting him on the cheek. “Thanks, Carsey. I’m leaving now. Don’t wait up.”

“You know I will, why do you even say that?” Carson replied. “I won’t be able to rest until I see that you made it home alive with all your body parts intact.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you later, Carson,” he said, giving him a little wave before heading up the stairs. Carson sighed when he heard the front door open and close. He gathered up his laptop and his notepad and headed up to the living room, determined to watch the front door like a hawk all night until Kurt got home safe and sound. He had no reason to trust this Dalton guy, especially since he had invited Kurt up to his fucking room the first day they met.

You’d better hope that Kurtsie gets home alright prep boy, he thought as he settled himself on the couch. If he doesn’t, I will break everything you love.

Carson must have been much more tired than he realized, because the next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake by gentle hands on his shoulder.

“Carson…Carsey….wake up,” Kurt’s voice whispered. Carson opened his eyes and looked into Kurt’s face, which was smiling down at him.

“W’time is it?” he asked, yawning.

“A little past midnight. I wouldn’t have woken you up, but I knew if I didn’t you would say you were worried that I was swimming in a pool of my own blood or something,” replied Kurt, sitting down on the part of the couch Carson wasn’t curled up on. He patted his lap in invitation, and Carson maneuvered so that he could rest his head on it. “And I really do hate making you worry,” he said, stroking his fingers through Carson’s hair. Carson snuggled into the soft touch of Kurt’s fingers on his scalp and sighed.

“Did you have a good time at the play?” he asked.

“A blast,” Kurt replied. “Missed you, though,” he said with a tap of his finger against the tip of Carson’s nose. “You’ll still come with me and Blaine to Breadstix, won’t you? I really want you to meet him.”

“I said I would,” said Carson. He blinked up at Kurt . “It’s important to you, isn’t it?”

Kurt nodded. Carson buried his face against Kurt’s stomach and sighed, trying to ignore the heavy, leaden feeling in his own stomach.

*****************

“I don’t care what anyone says,” said Carson as he sat up in bed with his laptop open, his fingers flying over the keys. “I like Ms. Holiday. I like her much better than Mr. Schue. I mean, yeah, sure, we’re still not even close to being prepared for sectionals, but at least she’s fun and we don’t have to spend every meeting singing that boring ‘80s pop.”

“I think the only person who would argue with you is Rachel,” Kurt pointed out as he rubbed various skin creams onto his face in front of his vanity mirror. “And I don’t know why she’s so uptight, either.”

“I loved how Trollberry was suddenly all about wanting to crack down on sectionals prep,” said Carson, rolling his eyes at the memory. “When Schuester is spending week after week handing out bullshit assignments, Rachel is all for it, but as soon as a new teacher does the same thing, she bitches. I think she’s just scared that Ms. Holiday isn’t going to go for her attention whoring crap like Mr. Schue does.”

“Probably,” Kurt said absentmindedly, capping his skin creams and getting up from his seat. “You can go ahead and thank me, because, if you recall, it was MY idea to bring Ms. Holiday in to sub the glee club.”

“Yes, yes, you’re brilliant,” said Carson, closing his laptop as Kurt climbed carefully into bed, settling on his usual side facing away from Carson and letting out a slow breath. Carson turned the light out and wrapped his arms around Kurt like he always did, one hand gently gripping his shoulder as he leaned his face down to give him a kiss.

“OW!” Kurt whimpered, jolting away from Carson’s hand on his shoulder. Carson sat up, alarmed.

“Are you ok? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” he asked, rubbing his hand gently in circles on Kurt’s back.

“Yes…I mean, no….yeah, I’m…I’m fine. I’m just sore from…from carrying so many books in my bag today,” Kurt said. “Did a real number on my shoulder. Just….just don’t touch there right now, ok?”

“Ok,” said Carson, “But are you sure you’re ok? Do you want me to look at it?”

“NO!” Kurt said quickly. “I mean…just….no, thanks, it’ll be fine. You don’t have to look. I’m fine. Really.” He settled down against his pillows and patted Carson on the hand. “Let’s go to sleep, ok? Please?”

Carson’s suspicions were immediately raised, but he nodded, settling himself gently back against Kurt and being careful not to touch his sore shoulder. “Yeah…ok. Goodnight, Kurtsie,” he said, carefully leaning down and kissing the tip of Kurt’s ear. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” said Kurt. Carson waited patiently for him to drift off to sleep, thinking about what had just happened. This wasn’t the first time Kurt had obviously been feeling pain in his shoulders. Kurt may not have realized it, but he almost constantly looked like he was in pain now, and had taken to changing into his pajamas in the bathroom for the past month or so, something which he’d never went out of his way to do before. Clearly, there was something he was trying to hide, and Carson grew more and more sure each day that someone was hurting him when Carson wasn’t around to see. He was so sure, but he couldn’t prove it. Kurt acted like nothing was wrong, and Carson never actually saw anyone do anything, but he was almost positive it was happening. It was the only thing that made sense. Hearing Kurt cry out in pain tonight was the last straw. Carson had to know.

He waited for almost an hour, until he could hear Kurt’s breathing become deep and even, indicating he was fast asleep. He slowly scooted himself back away from Kurt and turned on his bedside lamp to its lowest setting before gently brushing his hand across Kurt’s back. He briefly wondered if he was ready to see what he thought he might see, and then he remembered Kurt’s whimper of pain.

Yes. He was ready to know.

Carefully, gently so as not to wake Kurt, Carson hooked his fingers into the hem of Kurt’s pajama top and slowly began lifting it up, exposing more and more of Kurt’s bare skin until almost his entire back was exposed. What Carson saw nearly made him scream out loud in horror, because his worst fear had just been confirmed before his very eyes.

Kurt’s back was covered in bruises. They were everywhere, marring the perfect pale skin with spots of ugly, painful-looking black and purple marks. Some of them were clearly old and fading, but others, especially the ones on his shoulders, looked fresh, as though Kurt had just received them within the past day. Carson was amazed Kurt had even been able to hide the excruciating pain the angriest bruises must be causing him.

Someone had hurt him. Someone had hurt and was still hurting Kurt, his sweet baby brother, his twin, his other half, the love of his life, whom he loved more than anything in the world and had promised to always take care of. And Carson had been unable to stop it from happening. He felt like crying as he ghosted his fingers over the constellation of bruises, not daring to actually touch them. He didn’t want to cause Kurt any more pain if he could help it. He felt a nagging guilt in his stomach as he thought about all the times he had put his arm around Kurt’s shoulder or nonchalantly touched his back, not realizing that he was probably making the pain worse for him. He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt the tears streaming down his face, and he was grateful that Kurt wasn’t awake to see it. He made it a point never to cry in front of him.

Oh, fuck, Kurt….why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me someone was hurting you? It’s my job to protect you. I’m supposed to make the world safe for you. Who did this to you, Kurtsie? I need to know. I need to know exactly who thought they could put their filthy fucking hands on you, and then I need to make them regret the day they ever decided to even look your way. They won’t get away with this, Kurtsie. They won’t get away with hurting you. I won’t let them. I promise you that.

He gently fixed Kurt’s shirt and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck, just underneath his ear. Kurt sighed in his sleep and Carson wondered how much of a monster someone had to be to want to hurt such a beautiful, perfect, innocent creature.

Fucking asshole, he thought as he drifted into a restless sleep.

******************

He tried the next morning to ask Kurt who the fuck was daring to do that to him, but Kurt absolutely refused to talk.

“It’s fine, Carson,” he had insisted. “I’m fine. It’s really not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? Kurt, your back looks like you got hit by a truck. This is such a huge fucking deal. I can’t believe you weren’t even going to tell me what was happening! They can’t get away with doing this to you. You have to tell me who it is,” Carson had replied.

Kurt had closed his eyes and sighed. He looked tired. “Carson, I can’t tell you.”

“Yes, you can! You have to! They have to pay! They have to suffer just as much as you have. They have to suffer MORE! Kurt, I love you so much, and it kills me that some fucking asshole is hurting you and getting away with it. Just…just, please, tell me who it is and I’ll tell Ms. Sylvester and she can deal with it, ok? She’s the principal now, she can expel them. We’ll take a picture of your back so that we have evidence. Just PLEASE, Kurt. Tell me!” Carson was practically begging.

Kurt had just shook his head and Carson knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Kurt yet. His twin could be as stubborn as a mule when he wanted to be, but Carson was going to find out who the perpetrator was if it was the last thing he did. For now, he settled for never letting Kurt out of his sight at school that day unless it was absolutely necessary. He stuck by him every minute in the halls. He walked him to every class, and he told Malerie the Writers’ Club meeting that day was cancelled so that he could be with Kurt before, during, and after glee. But nothing happened, and Carson had a feeling that the unknown asshole was around somewhere, watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. And that scared the fuck out of Carson. He couldn’t be with Kurt every minute, no matter how much he tried.

Kurt, you eventually HAVE to tell me. We can’t do this forever. Eventually I’m not going to be there, and they’ll hurt you again.

Carson’s mood was not improved by the fact that this was the night he had told Kurt he would go with him and Blaine to Breadstix. He and Kurt arrived together and were escorted by the hostess to their booth, where the other boy was already waiting.

“Hi,” he said, standing up and flashing a wide, toothy smile as he stuck his hand out for Carson to shake. “I’m Blaine Anderson. You must be Carson. Kurt’s told me so much about you.”

“Pleasure,” Carson said in a monotone, shaking his hand for the briefest of seconds before dropping it like a hot potato and looking the boy up and down. His height was what Carson noticed right away. He was short, several inches shorter than Carson and Kurt, and Carson decided that “Hobbit” would be an accurate description if he were ever forced to give one. He was dressed in his Dalton uniform (WHY? Doesn’t he own regular clothes? He looks like a giant douche sitting here in a restaurant with his fancy little uniform on, fuck). His dark hair was perfectly gelled down with not a stray hair out of place, and his eyebrows were even weirder looking in person than they were in Kurt’s locker photo. They were triangular and so thick that Carson was seriously trying to decide if it was possible for a family of birds to be living in them. Combined with the uniform, he looked like he might have just stepped out of the pages of some vintage 1950s catalog.

“Shall we sit?” Blaine asked, sliding into one side of the booth, followed by Kurt, who eagerly slid in beside him. Carson successfully managed to repress the urge to roll his eyes as he slid by himself into the other side of the booth. Now he got to spend the night sitting across from Kurt and Prep Boy and watching Kurt be all flirty and giggly with him. Great. Just wonderful.

Kill me, he thought. Tonight is going to be LONG.

He barely paid any attention to what Kurt and Blaine were talking about for most of the meal, because he was too busy wishing that Blaine would just disappear. Preferably into a black hole, never to be seen again. Everything about him just pissed Carson off, especially the way he cut and ate his food like he was at some fancy dinner party at the White House instead of a moderately priced Italian restaurant in the middle of Lima.

Table manners are something Kurt would find appealing about him, though, said a little voice in the back of Carson’s mind. He wished it would kindly shut the fuck up.

“I’m just saying that drunk people who get married to someone they met an hour ago by an Elvis impersonator- I mean, that’s a bigger insult to marriage than two gay guys getting hitched,” Kurt was saying when Carson finally checked back into the conversation.

Aaaaand he’s talking about marriage. Awesome. Can I die now?

“Totally,” Blaine agreed. “It’s like, if marriage is so sacred, they should just outlaw divorce.”

“Right, right” Kurt said with a big grin in Blaine’s direction. Carson felt a strong surge of jealousy sweep through him.

“What do you think, Carson?” Blaine asked, looking across the table at him.

I think they should outlaw your face.  “I think people should marry whoever the hell they want, and I also think that none of us at this table are old enough to be discussing marriage,” Carson replied, his eyes fixed on Kurt for that last part. “I don’t think people should get married at all until they’re at least thirty-five. And they also shouldn’t touch each other. At all. Ever. Or be alone in the same room together, unless they’ve known each other for at least a decade and a half.”

“Um…oh,” Blaine replied, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown, obviously not quite sure how to answer that. Kurt, knowing Carson and probably sensing that this would probably get ugly soon if he didn’t do something, swiftly changed the subject.

“Let’s play a game,” he said, clasping his hands together in excitement. “Ok, on the count of three, name your favorite 2010 Vogue cover.”

Seriously, Kurt? Seriously?

“You ready?” Kurt said, smiling widely in Blaine’s direction. “Ok, one….two…three…”

“Marion Cotillard!” he and Blaine exclaimed at the same time, dissolving into a chorus of giggles and “Oh my gods” at their excitement over having the same answer. Carson seriously wished someone would come and put him out of his own misery.

Great. He likes fashion, too. Let’s just keep adding to the list of things that Kurt probably finds oh-so-endearing about this hobbit. He sings, he likes fashion, he eats like he’s the fucking Queen of England or something, he uses product in his hair, and god knows what else. I’m so fucked.

Carson knew for absolute certain that he didn’t like Blaine Anderson. At all. He didn’t like him, he didn’t trust him, and he didn’t like the flirty, blushing change that came over Kurt when he was with him. Especially not when he would give anything in the world for Kurt to look at him like that.

***************

Carson continued his new plan of sticking by Kurt as much as possible the next day. He figured if Kurt still refused to tell him who was responsible for the bruises, he could at least make sure that the opportunities for the asshole to strike would be severely limited. He knew it wouldn’t be enough. He would eventually have to find out who it was. Kurt shouldn’t have to go to school every day with that threat hanging over his head. It wasn’t right or fair, not to mention it pissed Carson off severely.

I have to do more to protect him. I have to. I….I love him.

There was his second problem, as if Kurt being bullied weren’t enough. Carson still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that he was a teenage boy in love with his own twin, and that said twin was now slipping through his fingers as he struck up a friendship with Dapper McGelmet from Fifties Sitcom Land. It positively killed Carson inside to watch Kurt getting so close with this new guy. It was worse even than when Kurt had a crush on Finn. Carson may not have liked that either, but at least he always had the safety net of knowing that Finn was straight and that Kurt’s crush would never end up going any further.

Blaine was different. Blaine was gay, and that made him a much bigger threat to Carson than Finn ever was. If he should ever decide he liked Kurt back, then Carson was well and truly fucked. He knew Kurt well enough to know that Kurt would leap at the chance to be his boyfriend.

And then he mentally slapped himself because he was Kurt’s brother and he shouldn’t be feeling like this toward him at all.

Fuck my life. This is totally going to end up killing me, keeping all this shit bottled up inside.

He was still stewing over this as he sat across from Grandma that afternoon, going over his history notes as she sat knitting something. He had asked her what it was earlier, but she hadn’t had an answer.

“You look sad,” she said, putting her knitting needles down and breaking the silence in the room.

“I do?” he asked, lowering his notebook.

She nodded. “What’s on your mind?”

Carson considered the question. What wasn’t on his mind? He couldn’t very well pour his heart out to Grandma about what he was feeling.

Or could he?

He mulled over the possibility in his brain, weighing the pros and cons. On one hand, it would feel extremely weird to talk to his grandmother about being in love with his brother. On the other hand, he didn’t have to say it was Kurt. And she likely wouldn’t remember the conversation tomorrow. He could at least get some of this off his chest by talking to someone.

“I…I’minlove,” he said in a rush, looking down at his shoes.

“What’s that?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m in love,” he tried again. “With…with someone I’ve known for a long time. Someone from…from glee club at school.” God, this is the weirdest fucking conversation I will probably ever have in my entire life.

A smile formed across Grandma’s face. “Oh? That’s wonderful!”

He smiled back. “Yeah, but the thing is that this person doesn’t know, and I have no way of telling them without destroying our…our friendship. So I can’t tell them, and now they’ve met someone else. And they aren’t dating them, or anything. They’re just friends. But still, the possibility is there, and I just can’t deal with it. And that’s why I look so sad.”

Grandma looked at him carefully for a moment before speaking up. “You are in glee club with this person?”

Carson nodded. “Yes.”

“Why don’t you sing them a song?” she asked with a triumphant smile.

Carson let the words sink in. Singing? Him? He’d never actually sung in glee club before, unless it was in the background of competition numbers, and even then he tried to keep his voice as quiet as possible. He wasn’t sure he could even sing a whole song without severely fucking it up.

Then again, they had Ms. Holiday leading them now. And she was always encouraging them to try new things. Maybe she had a point. Maybe he could try it. It never hurt to try things, right? And sure, Kurt couldn’t know that the song was for him, but if Carson could at least sing it, maybe he would feel a little bit better.

“You know, that’s not such a bad idea,” he said, closing his notebook and shoving it in his messenger bag. “Thank you!”

Grandma looked confused. “For what, now?” she asked, returning to her knitting.

“Never mind,” said Carson, shaking his head. “I…I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

He left the room and hightailed it out to the parking lot, eager to get home and choose a song. He was going to sing his feelings for Kurt if it killed him.

*****************

Kurt wasn’t sure what he was expecting when Carson suddenly got up from his seat in the middle of glee club and stood in front of the room. He was sure it was probably going to be something along the lines of airing all his grievances about the club, or he was going to tell everyone that they sucked or something. The last thing he expected was for his twin to announce that he was about to sing. But that was exactly what was happening.

“Um…ok, so apparently, this is the week where we branch out and try new shit,” Carson began, looking out of his element standing up there in front of the piano. “And since I’ve never actually sung in here before, I thought maybe I’d try doing that.” He handed Brad the sheet music that Kurt was only now noticing he was holding, and turned back around to face the club. “So, here goes.”

Kurt was extremely confused as Brad began to play and Carson looked down at his shoes, looking nervous.

When did he decide to do this? Kurt thought as slightly familiar opening notes filled the room from the piano. Why didn’t he tell me? I could have helped him pick a song. Or we could have sung one together. He watched as Carson took a deep breath and began to sing.

“And I’d give up forever to touch you
‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be
And I don’t want to go home right now…”

It occurred to Kurt that he had never actually heard Carson sing properly before. His voice was actually really nice. It reminded Kurt of his own (obviously), but with a slightly lower tone to it that made it sound a little deeper than Kurt’s. It was pretty sexy. He heard Rachel whispering “He’s good” fearfully to Finn in the row below, and he smirked. So Carson was good and Rachel was worried. Oh that was just delicious. He couldn’t wait to tell Carson when he was done.

Then he actually thought about what Carson was singing, and….ok, wait a minute. Kurt was definitely not expecting this. “Iris” was such an odd song choice. Why was Carson singing it? He had a sudden flashback to every time he had ever woken up to hear Carson moaning and writhing in his sleep, saying things like “I love you” and “You’re beautiful.” Was it possible that Carson had been dreaming about someone at school? That he was pining away for someone, and he’d never even told Kurt about it?

“And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
And sooner or later it’s over
I just don’t wanna miss you tonight…”

Kurt couldn’t take his eyes off Carson as he sang. His face was displaying the oddest expression, like he was trying not to cry. Carson never cried. Ever. Kurt couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen Carson cry. And now here he was, standing in front of the entire glee club, on the verge of tears (which he was doing a very good job of hiding, but still), and Kurt had a weird feeling in his stomach.

Who the hell was Carson singing about?

“And I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am…”

Kurt looked around the room, trying to figure out if maybe it was someone in the club. It had to be, right? Otherwise, why would Carson bother singing? Carson never did anything without a clear purpose. Of that, Kurt was certain.

Let’s see…god, I don’t even know if it would be a guy or a girl. Well, obviously it isn’t Rachel. So she’s out. Quinn? Naw, he doesn’t like her. It can’t be Tina, I’m not even sure he knows she exists. It’s not Brittany, he thinks she’s an idiot. Well, she IS an idiot, but…Santana? Well…actually, maybe? I mean, I’ve seen them talking to each other before, and she’s basically a female version of him. She’s sarcastic and bitchy and…oh god, it makes sense. Whyyy? No, Carson, you CAN’T be in love with Santana. You just can’t!

The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He could see how Carson would be attracted to Santana. He wouldn’t find her nearly as annoying as anyone else in the club, and they’d have their mutual hatred of Rachel in common.

God, PLEASE don’t let it be Santana.

Carson was nearing the end of his song now, his eyes focused on Kurt (for moral support, Kurt assumed). Kurt gave him an encouraging smile, even though he felt like crying himself.

Or pulling Santana’s hair. He felt like doing that, too.

“When everything’s made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am.”

Carson finished singing and looked shocked, as if he couldn’t believe he’d made it through the whole song. Everyone tentatively clapped, and Carson and Kurt locked eyes before Carson suddenly turned around and walked quickly out of the room.

“That…that was good,” spoke up Rachel. “Of course it lacked the emotional depth I would have brought to it, but-“

“Oh, Rachel, shut the hell up,” Kurt mumbled as he took his bag and ran out of the room after Carson. Everything about this was just weird. The out of the blue singing, the weirdly emotional song (God, PLEASE DON’T LET IT BE ABOUT SANTANA), everything. This definitely wasn’t like Carson.

He found his twin around the corner, sitting slumped against a row of lockers. Kurt set his bag down and sat beside him, gently bumping their arms together.

“Um…that was unusual,” he said. “And..really emotional. Are you ok? And when did you even find time to rehearse that?”

Carson looked at him and raised his eyebrows. “What? Everyone was trying new shit this week because Ms. Holiday was an actual good glee club leader, unlike Mr. Schue, and I thought I'd give it a try, too. You just didn’t know I was rehearsing it because you were hanging out with Bobby all week, or whatever his name is. I'm fine. It’s just a song.”

Kurt didn’t believe that for one second. There was something behind that song that Carson wasn’t telling. He decided not to push the issue, though.

“You know,” he said after a minute, “Your voice is actually pretty good. Very sexy.”

He could swear he saw Carson’s cheeks flush for a second. “Really?” Carson asked.

“Oh yeah, definitely. You and I should campaign for all the duets in glee from now on. We’d be unstoppable at sectionals.”

Carson snorted. “As much as I'd love to sing every song with you, and as much as I'd love to see the look on Trollberry's face when she has her spotlight ripped out from underneath her, I don't think I want to make singing my regular thing."

Kurt nodded. “Understandable, actually. After all, there’s only room for one gorgeous, talented Hummel in that glee club.”

Carson narrowed his eyes at him. “Oh really? Is that a challenge?”

“Me? Challenge you, big brother? Never!” Kurt said, feigning shock and horror.

“Good, because I really don’t want to sing any more. I’ve tried it and now I never want to do it again,” Carson mumbled, picking at a stray thread poking out of the knee of his jeans. “I just….it was just something I wanted to try. You know. Once.” He looked like he was on the verge of tears again, which kind of scared Kurt.

“You know,” he said, hoping to cheer Carson up just a little, “Rachel sounded awfully worried in there that you and I were going to steal her spotlight. She doesn’t technically have to know that you don’t ever plan on singing again.”

Carson laughed, bringing his hand up to stifle it, and Kurt smiled. He held his arms out to Carson, and his twin accepted the invitation, letting Kurt wrap him in a tight hug as his head rested against Kurt’s chest. Kurt pressed a soft kiss to his hair, just like Carson always did to him.

“You really did sing that well, though,” he said. Carson smiled.

“Thanks.”

The bell rang then, indicating that it was time to get moving to their classes. Carson got up off the ground first and held his hand out to Kurt, helping him up and escorting him toward his next period geometry class.

“Crap,” said Kurt halfway down the hall. “I don’t have my book. I have to go to my locker.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Carson.

“No, you won’t, or you’ll be late for class. I assure you, nothing is going to happen to me in the three minutes it will take to grab my Geometry book and walk back here,” said Kurt. “So, go.”

Carson looked skeptical.

“Go!” Kurt ordered. “Don’t make me use the pout.”

Carson rolled his eyes and patted the pocket where he kept his phone. “Call me if you need me.”

“Oh my god, Carson, I’m going to get a book out of a locker, not crossing the Atlantic in a canoe,” said Kurt. “I’ll see you after class.”

“Ok,” Carson smiled, disappearing into his history classroom. Kurt shook his head and headed back down the hall toward his locker. He quickly grabbed his book and was just about to shut the locker door when there was a sharp grip on his sore shoulder.

“Question for you,” came Karofsky’s voice. Kurt froze. “You tell anyone else what happened? How you kissed me?”

Kurt turned around and glared at him. “You kissed me, Karofsky. And I understand how hard this is for you, so no. I haven’t told anyone.”

“Good,” answered Karofsky, getting up in Kurt’s face and making him have unpleasant flashbacks to the last time they’d had this close an encounter. “You keep it that way. ‘Cause if you do, I’m gonna kill you.”

He walked away, leaving Kurt alone holding his book with shaking hands.

Kill me. He just said he would kill me.

Kill.

He said he’d kill me.

His text ringer went off then. He fumbled for his phone and looked at the incoming text.

You make it to class alive? –C

Kurt closed his eyes and took several shaky breaths before he opened the text and started a reply.

You worry too much. -Kurtsie