Carson sat stiffly on the couch, waiting for Kurt to walk in the door and wishing (not for the first time) that he had just killed the Warbler guy the night he met him at Breadstix. The past several weeks that Kurt and Blaine had been an official couple had not been fun for him. He still wasn’t used to the idea that Kurt was dating, and dating such a douche on top of it. Because Blaine didn’t make it easy to even pretend to like him. Hell, he didn’t make it easy for Carson to even tolerate him most of the time. And it wasn’t even just because he always looked like he just stepped off the set of one of the 1950s musicals Kurt loved, with his stupid blazer and his stupid hair gel and his stupid habit of sitting up as straight as a fucking stick when he was seated, even when he was on the couch. It wasn’t even just that he was essentially stealing Kurt away from Carson by monopolizing most of Kurt’s time on the weekends, whether by taking him out or hanging around the Hummel/Hudson house like he fucking lived there. No, everything about the guy rubbed Carson the wrong way now that he was seeing him so much more often.

His favorite topic of conversation seemed to be himself, for starters. No matter what was being talked about, Blaine somehow found a way to redirect the conversation back to either himself or the Warblers. Even a casual mention of the warmer weather by Burt ended up turning into a list of reasons why Blaine preferred colder weather (apparently, the fact that warm weather wreaked havoc with the billions of pounds of gel he used in his hair was right there at the top).

And worst of all, Carson genuinely didn’t like the way he treated Kurt. It wasn’t like he overtly treated him badly by yelling at him or physically hurting him or anything (not that Carson saw, anyway, and you’d better believe if he ever witnessed such a thing, Blaine wouldn’t have any teeth or testicles left), but it was just the little, subtle things that irritated the fuck out of Carson.

Like the fact that he had the annoying habit of interrupting as Kurt was about to talk in order to speak for him. And the fact that he sometimes made subtle, disparaging comments about Kurt’s clothing (“Are you sure you want to wear that scarf?”) And the fact that it was apparently always him who picked what he and Kurt did when they went out. And the fact that he just in general didn’t seem to really appreciate what a precious gift he had been given when Kurt had chosen him. Carson didn’t understand why Kurt couldn’t realize that he deserved so much better. But Kurt claimed that he was happy with Blaine, and it was for his sake that Carson really tried to keep his negative opinions about Blaine to himself. Even if it was slowly killing him inside to see the love of his life with someone else.

Well…he tried. Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes he just couldn’t help himself. For instance, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from taking the opportunity one Saturday afternoon while Kurt had momentarily left the living room to lay down the law with Mr. Disney Prince.

“Ok, listen, Hair Gel, here’s the deal,” he had said, turning to Blaine and using his firmest sounding voice. “I know you have everybody wrapped around your finger with your whole dapper, charming schoolboy act, but I’m not so easily won over. Especially not now that, despite my vehement objections, you’ve somehow managed to start dating Kurt, and especially that you started dating Kurt only after you made sure that our father gave him a talk about sex. Kurt and I are extremely close. When he suffers, I suffer. So I just want you to know that if at any point you hurt him, break his heart, or try to pressure him into things he isn’t ready for, there will be consequences. I know you’ve been to my father’s garage. You’ve seen all the things there that could be used as potential weapons. And I’ll have you know that I’m quite skilled with a tire iron. I doubt you’d be missed all that much.”

Blaine had listened to this whole speech with wide eyes, but he didn’t have time to reply before Kurt came back into the room. He’d developed a slightly terrified facial expression around Carson ever since, though, which amused Carson greatly.

And the fact that Kurt was at Dalton all week long with the guy worried the hell out of Carson. He couldn’t get the thought of Blaine sneaking into Kurt’s room and trying all kinds of unsavory things with him out of his mind, and the very thought made him want to throw up. He took to calling Kurt several times a night just to make sure that he was ok.

“Carson, what the hell?” Kurt had grumbled tiredly into the phone after the fourth night of this. “It’s almost 11:00.”

“I’m sorry, Kurtsie. Were you sleeping?”

Kurt’s exasperated sigh on the other end of the line almost blew out Carson’s eardrum. “No, Carson. Actually, Blaine snuck in here and we were making mad, passionate love right when you called, and we will continue after you hang up.”

“What?” Carson exclaimed.

“Mmm, yeah. He’s leaving a hickey on me right now, and you don’t even wanna know where,” Kurt continued.

“Kurt!”

Kurt snorted. “I’m kidding, Carson. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Carson breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”

“Yeah, you totally don’t have to worry about Blaine sneaking in here after bed check when there’s close to zero chance of getting caught-“

“Kurt!”

Kurt giggled. “Carsey, once again, I’m kidding. But seriously, enough with the random nighttime calls, ok? You’re wreaking havoc on my sleep, and if I don’t get at least eight hours of beauty rest, it’s bad for my skin.”

Carson sighed. “Ok. I’m sorry. I just worry.”

“I know you do, baby. But I’m fine, ok? Blaine is all the way down the hall in his own room, nowhere near me. And that’s how it is every night. I promise,” said Kurt.

“OK. Good night,” said Carson. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

So Carson had stopped, but he still worried. He didn’t trust Blaine not to be a sneaky bastard and try something one day.

Tonight, Blaine had taken Kurt to the movies, and Carson had made sure to give his usual speech as the two of them left the house.

“Brad, I trust you’re going to obey all the speed limits and drive carefully?” he had said to Blaine, with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed to look as menacing as possible.

“Of course,” said Blaine as Kurt slipped on his coat.

“Because,” Carson continued. “Kurt is my precious baby brother and means the world to me. I don’t think I need to tell you that if something happened to him, I would not react kindly.”

Blaine nodded as Kurt blushed furiously, fussing with the buttons of his coat. “Of course, Carson,” he said, obviously accustomed to this little exchange by now. “I know how close you and Kurt are, and I promise to get him home to you safe and sound after the movie.”

“Good,” said Carson. “Because if he’s not in exactly the same condition when he comes home as he’s in right now, well…” he trailed off, plastering an evil smile on his face. “Just remember. Tire iron.”

Burt, who was sitting in his favorite chair and pretending not to watch the scene unfolding by the door, gave a small chuckle. “I think you’ve made your point, Carson. No need to terrify the boy.”

“Thank you, Dad,” said Kurt, finishing with his coat and smiling at Carson as he gave him a tight hug. “I’ll be fine, Carsey,” he said. “I’ll see you when I get back, ok? Don’t worry.” He tentatively gave Carson a kiss on the cheek, and Carson willed his face not to flush.

“The movie is exactly two hours long, and allowing for traffic, it should take you no more than twenty minutes to get him home,” Carson added in Blaine’s direction. “I fully expect him home by 10:35.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “You worry too much, Carson,” he said, grabbing Blaine’s arm and leading him out the door.

“Make sure you come to a complete stop at red lights, Blake!” Carson called as the door closed behind them. He peeked through the curtains on the living room window and watched as the two boys got into Blaine’s car and Blaine started the engine, backing down the driveway entirely too fast, Carson thought.

“He’ll be ok, kid,” said Burt. “No need to be such a worrywart.”

“I have to be,” Carson mumbled, flopping onto the couch with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “Kurt doesn’t worry enough about himself.”

And there he had stayed for the entire evening, leaving only to go get his laptop from his and Kurt’s bedroom. He kept it open on his lap, but he wasn’t actually using it. He had his eyes firmly planted on the front door, waiting for Kurt to come home so that he could stop worrying. He checked his watch. 10:30.

You have five minutes, hobbit, he thought, absentmindedly tapping his foot. Five minutes to get my baby home or I swear I will destroy every container of hair gel in the entire state of Ohio.

Thankfully, the front door opened right at 10:35 and Kurt walked in, waving exaggeratedly at Carson and giving him a big smile. Carson was relieved to see that Blaine wasn’t with him, although he was a little irritated that the other boy had apparently not walked Kurt to the door. Not as much of a gentleman as you’d like people to think, are you Braxton?

“I’m home!” said Kurt, crossing over to Carson without even taking his jacket and scarf off first and plopping himself right into his lap. “Miss me?” he asked, giving Carson a big kiss on the cheek.

“All night,” answered Carson, closing his eyes and allowing himself to enjoy the kiss for a second. “Did you have fun?”

“Oh…yeah,” said Kurt. “The movie was weird, though. Not really my cup of tea.”

“That’s because Brock only cares about what he wants to do,” said Carson. “Heaven forbid he let you pick the movie once in a while.” He made to wrap his arms around Kurt’s waist and stopped cold when he noticed something on the skin on Kurt’s neck, peering out from underneath his scarf, right below his ear. Something slightly purple. Something that looked an awful lot like a hickey.

“What is that?” he asked, unable to keep his voice casual as he pointed at it. Kurt’s eyes grew wide and he started to stammer.

“Oh! It’s…um…well…” he babbled, his fingers brushing up against the mark.

“It’s a hickey,” Carson said, reaching up to brush away the fabric of Kurt’s scarf. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed, sucking in a breath when he saw the whole thing. “The damn thing is huge! Are you dating a fucking vampire?”

Kurt sighed as he got up off of Carson and removed his coat. “Maybe Blaine got a little carried away,” he murmured, hanging the coat up in the small closet by the front door.

“A little? It looks like he was trying to eat you,” said Carson, crossing his arms and not even caring how much he was sulking. “Clearly, I should have had a talk with him about trying to drain you of all your blood. I’ll be sure to do that next time he takes you out, if I don’t kill him first before he gets the chance.”

“Oh, Carsey,” said Kurt, sticking out his bottom lip and giving Carson his pout as he crossed back over to him. “Come on, you know I still love you the most.” He gently closed Carson’s laptop and took his hands, pulling him up off the couch and wrapping him in a hug.

“The most?” repeated Carson, his head cradled in the crook of Kurt’s shoulder.

“Always,” said Kurt. “Come on, let’s go upstairs. I’m tired.”

********

The next day was quite awkward for Kurt, as all days tended to be whenever Blaine and Carson were around each other for extended periods of time, and doubly so, since it was Saturday. Since he’d started dating Blaine, Kurt had tried to always keep Saturday free for Carson, so that the two of them could spend time together. He knew that Carson was unhappy about Blaine, and he felt awful about it. He didn’t even have the heart to get all that angry with him when he came home one weekend to find that Carson had attached Blaine’s school photo to a dartboard and hung the board on the back of their bedroom door.

“Carson, what’s this?” he’d asked when he first saw it. The photo was full of holes, especially around Blaine’s face. Carson had clearly been throwing his fair share of darts at it.

“It’s very therapeutic,” Carson had replied with a shrug. “Sometimes I just need to throw sharp objects at something, and that something may as well be Bostwick’s face. Especially since he’s horning in on the only days I ever really get to see you.”

Kurt had just sighed. He knew that Carson missed their uninterrupted weekends. Kurt missed them too. Having a boyfriend was nice and all, but the “relationship” status between him and Blaine was still so new that Kurt usually felt like he was walking on eggshells to impress him more often than not. Setting aside Saturday at least guaranteed him one day where he could just be with Carson and relax without having to worry about impressing anyone. Carson loved him just the way he was.

This Saturday was the day that the McKinley glee club was performing its “Night of Neglect,” though, and since Blaine had been with Kurt when Rachel told him about it, Kurt had felt like he should invite him along to see it. He hadn’t expected Blaine to show up at his house a whole six hours before the benefit even began, but expected or not, there he was. And it had been one of the longest days of Kurt’s entire life. Carson was clearly less than thrilled with their houseguest, and his displeasure with the situation was evident.

“Oh. Ben. You’re here. Extremely, irresponsibly early. How lucky for us,” Carson had muttered when Blaine arrived. Kurt shot him a look that he hoped said “I know you’re disappointed, Carsey, but PLEASE try to be polite?”

Apparently it hadn’t been effective, because the next words out of Carson’s mouth had been “So, Bernie, what was the deal with the bruise the size of Texas that you left on my brother’s neck last night? Clearly, I need to amend my pre-date speech to include a rule about leaving marks. He is not a piece of meat.”

Oh god, Carson, please? Kurt pleaded in his head, knowing that his face was probably as red as a tomato at the moment . You’re embarrassing me.

Blaine, whose face wasn’t exactly its normal color either, just cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “I, uh…”

“When I say to bring him back in the same condition as when he left, that includes the skin on his neck, and all other parts of his body, remaining blemish-free,” Carson continued. “See that you remember this next time.”

Blaine looked to Kurt for help. Kurt clasped his hands together and looked from Carson to Blaine, plastering a smile on his face. He would make this as pleasant as possible if it killed him.

“Ok, well, Carson and I were just about to have a little movie marathon,” Kurt said to Blaine. “Since you’re here, why don’t you join us?”

Blaine looked relieved. “Sounds good,” he said, following Kurt over to the couch. Carson wasted no time wedging himself between them before Blaine had the chance to sit down.

“You don’t mind if I sit here, do you Brian?” Carson asked sweetly, slinging one arm over Kurt’s shoulder possessively, which was definitely making Kurt’s stomach do weird things. “The middle of the couch is just my favorite, you know.”

Blaine just looked at him curiously and shook his head. “Uh, no. No, that’s….that’s fine, Carson,” he said, sitting stiffly in his seat.

Kurt thanked his lucky stars that movie watching was a fairly passive activity and didn’t require much interaction between the three of them, because it was awkward enough sitting with Carson and Blaine without having to add any more stress. Nobody said much. Carson kept his arm around Kurt the entire time, pressing him close to his side, and Kurt eventually ended up with his head resting on his shoulder, just like he usually did when they sat next to each other. It was just natural to him, sitting that way. He caught Blaine looking at them curiously once or twice, but made sure to give him a reassuring smile each time. He couldn’t blame the poor guy for being uncomfortable. Kurt had no idea what it felt like to be on Carson’s bad side, having never been on it before, but it had to suck.

Kurt was glad when the time finally came to leave for McKinley for the benefit, because the awkward silence was getting to be too much. They got there early enough for him to give Blaine a tour of his old school, with Carson watching them like a hawk and occasionally interrupting with a snarky comment or two.

“And that was the Spanish classroom,” Kurt said, pointing to the door of Mr. Schuester’s class as Blaine nodded politely. “And, of course, you know the choir room.”

“The room where intelligence goes to die,” Carson muttered.

“Hey, you guys! You’d better get to the auditorium. The show’s about to start!” said Brittany, wheeling Artie down the hall toward them.

“It’s gonna be a full house. Gotta get there early to get a good seat,” added Artie.

“We’ll be there in a minute,” said Kurt. “I’m just showing Blaine around.”

“Thanks for coming and supporting us, guys. It’s really cool,” said Artie as he and Brittany disappeared down the hall toward the auditorium.

“I think Artie’s delusional,” said Carson, once the other boy was out of earshot. “With Trollbery as one of the performers, they’ll be lucky to have ten people in that audience, tops.”

Blaine looked confused. “Trollberry?”

“Oh,” said Kurt. “That’s just what he calls Rachel.”

“You should hear what I call you,” said Carson cheerfully to Blaine.

“What the hell are you guys doing here?” said a familiar voice behind them. Kurt stiffened as he recognized it, and he felt Carson reach for his hand and grab it, holding it tight.

“We’re here for the benefit,” he said, turning to face Karofsky. “Don’t tell me you’re going.”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead,” replied Karofsky. “I was pumping iron in the gym, and someone told me you two were here, spreading your fairy dust all over the place,” he said, indicating Kurt and Blaine, ignoring Carson altogether other than a slightly uncomfortable glance in his direction.

“One more word, Karofsky, and I will make you regret it,” said Carson through clenched teeth, his grip on Kurt’s hand tightening.

“Will you just give it up?” said Blaine, looking Karofsky in the eye, which Kurt thought was pretty brave of him, considering how small he was. “Live whatever lie you want, but don’t pretend that the four of us don’t know what’s really going on here.”

“You don’t know squat, butt boy,” Karofsky retorted. This seemed to set Blaine off, because the next thing Kurt knew, his boyfriend was pushing at Karofsky angrily, not that it had much effect on him, and Karofsky was pushing right back. It was obvious that a fight was about to go down, and it was also obvious who would come out the winner.

“Carson,” Kurt pleaded. “Blaine will get hurt.”

Carson sighed and let go of his hand, going over to where Karofsky and Blaine were still swinging at each other. “Ok, Hulk, Frodo, break it up,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to wedge himself between the two boys.

“I said break it up!” he repeated, rolling his eyes and reaching for the back of Blaine’s jacket, trying to drag him away from the larger boy. He grabbed him around the waist when that didn’t work, looking extremely disgusted as he did so, and actually lifted Blaine up off the ground as Blaine continued swinging his fists at Karofsky. The sight would have been comical if Kurt wasn’t so worried for both his brother and his boyfriend.

“Stop!” said a familiar girl’s voice, and suddenly Santana was walking right over to the fight in progress and taking charge, placing herself between Karofsky and the squirming mass that was Blaine and Carson. Karofsky stopped swinging. So did Blaine. Carson dropped Blaine like he was a hot potato and wiped his hands on his jeans, as though he had been holding something filthy.

“Yeah, real brave with your fists, but you’re a coward when it comes to the truth,” said Kurt angrily, checking Carson over for scrapes or bruising before doing the same to Blaine.

“Truth about what?” asked Santana. Oops. Shouldn’t have said that in front of her. What is she even doing here? Carson’s not interested in you, Santana, ok? Back off.

“It’s none of your business, J.Lo,” retorted Karofsky.

“First of all,” said Santana hotly, “Anything you do became my business when you decided to toss that Slushie up in my grill.”

“I think I can take a couple of queers and a girl,” said Karofsky, looking between Kurt and Blaine and back to Santana.

“Hey!” yelled Carson, wrapping an arm around Kurt’s waist protectively. “If you lay one finger on Kurt, or, for that matter, Santana or Barry, I will put you in the hospital. I beat you up once. I’ll do it again, I promise you.

Santana chuckled and patted Carson lightly on the shoulder, which didn’t escape Kurt’s attention as he put his arm around Carson’s shoulder and pressed himself as close to him as he could get.

“Ok, see, here’s what’s gonna go down,” said Santana, getting up in Karofsky’s face. “Two choices. You stay here and I crack one of your nuts. Right or left, that’s your choice. Or, you walk away and live to be a douchebag another day.”

“Ok, that was brilliant,” said Carson under his breath. Kurt pressed himself even closer to Carson’s side.

“And also, I have razor blades hidden in my hair,” Santana added. “Mm-hmm. Tons. Just all up in there.”

Karofsky grunted and headed back the hallway in the direction he had come from. Kurt heard Carson breathe a small sigh of relief.

“I really hate that asshole,” he muttered, letting go of Kurt’s waist, much to Kurt’s regret, and taking his hand again instead.

“We could have handled that,” Blaine said to Santana.

“Yeah, your completely ineffective pushes at Karofsky were totally showing him,” said Carson with an eye roll. “I think he might have swayed a little from that first push that he wasn’t expecting. Or it could have been a trick of the light.”

“Carson,” said Kurt in a warning whisper, stroking his thumb along Carson’s knuckles. “Come on.”

“It was more fun doing it together,” said Santana in response to Blaine before rushing off down the hallway at the apparently bad news that had just come through on her phone. The three boys looked around awkwardly. Kurt was still clinging to Carson’s hand, and Blaine’s hands were in his pockets as he looked down at the ground.

“Ahem,” said Blaine, clearing his throat and turning to Carson. “I, uh…thank you.”

“For what?” asked Carson, clearly confused.

“For trying to break up the fight, and for…you know…defending us in front of Karofsky,” said Blaine. “All of us.”

Carson shrugged. “Yeah, well. If you’d been crushed to hobbit dust, Kurt would have been upset. I don’t like it when Kurt is upset. Make no mistake, this doesn’t mean that we’re friends or that I suddenly like you or approve of you trying to suck out Kurt’s soul through his neck.” Kurt blushed, and Blaine seemed to accept that this was as close to a “You’re welcome” as he was going to get from Carson and gave him a small, uncomfortable smile.

“Why don’t we go to the auditorium?” asked Kurt, desperate to just get out of the damn hallway before things became any more uncomfortable between the three of them.

“Good idea,” said Blaine, taking Kurt’s other hand with his mega-watt grin firmly in place.

“Yeah, let’s go watch Trollberry ruin another classic,” said Carson, raising his eyebrows a little at the sight of Blaine and Kurt’s hands entwined together, but thankfully not commenting on it.

********

The next week was a long and stressful one for Carson. First of all, he seemed to have a fucking mountain of assignments to get through that were all due at the same time. Geometry in particular was kicking his ass, and he wished he knew who the jackass was who had invented math so that he could go back in time and kick them in the dick. Or the ovaries. Whichever.

Secondly, he’d all but given up on the Writer’s Club. He liked Malerie, he really did (as well as he was capable of liking someone who wasn’t Kurt, anyway), but he just didn’t have the energy to deal with her idea of short story writing. In the past couple of weeks, she had tried to pass off the plots of Matilda, Dracula, The Phantom of the Opera, Little Women, and The Shining as her own work, and he’d really just been too exhausted (and depressed, considering everything going on in his life at the moment) to even care.  He didn’t put nearly as much effort into publishing new material for the paper as he usually did, although he did run a story about some anti-bullying thing that Santana had started with Karofsky, which both intrigued and irritated him. Where the fuck did Karofsky, of all people, get off starting an anti-bullying program when he had been the one to drive Kurt out of McKinley and straight into that douchebag Warbler’s arms, effectively ruining Carson’s life? Carson didn’t trust him. And Santana’s claim that she was helping him in order to “rehabilitate” him was just weird. Carson was just glad that Kurt wasn’t around. He had no idea what Karofsky was really up to, but whatever it was, it was not going to affect Kurt.

Carson also had a feeling that there was something going on that his father wasn’t telling him. Burt had been acting really secretive lately, and Carson thought he had seen him at school one morning, but he hadn’t been sure. And on top of everything else, Kurt didn’t seem to have much time to talk this week, and when he did talk to Carson, he sounded stressed out and distracted. Probably too busy spending time with Prince Charming of Hair Gel Kingdom to want to talk to me, thought Carson sadly.

The only good thing that happened that week was that Finn had apparently broken Rachel’s nose by accident during a glee rehearsal. Carson had cackled with laughter when he’d heard Finn talking to Carole about it at home the day it happened.

“Oh my God,” he had said gleefully. “Oh man, I wish I was still in glee club just so I could have seen that.”

“It wasn’t my fault, though,” Finn whined. “I was dancing and I just, like, knocked right into her. “

Carson snorted. “Well, Finn, I never thought this day would come, but your lame dancing has finally been useful for something. Congratulations.” Finn had just given him an unamused glare.

Other than that small ray of sunshine, Carson’s week was sucking pretty hard. By Thursday, he was so ready for the weekend to come so that he could see Kurt and forget about school and everything else. Sure, he would have to share Kurt with fucking Blaine, but oh well. He’d still have Saturday with him. He always had Saturday. Kurt always made sure of that. Blaine showing up last Saturday unexpectedly had been a one-time thing, and Carson hoped it stayed that way.

He held a half-hearted Writers’ Club meeting with Malerie at lunch, and somehow managed not to bash his face against the desk when she said she had a new short story to share with him.

“Let’s hear it, Malerie,” he said with a sigh. She smiled and produced a yellow notebook from her bag, opening it and clearing her throat before beginning to read.

“Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife. Their house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon many miles….”

“Malerie,” Carson interrupted her, his face buried in his arms to keep himself from screaming. “You didn’t write that. L. Frank Baum wrote that. Because that’s The Wizard of Oz.”

“Oh,” said Malerie quietly. “Ok. You got me. I’ll try again another day, then.”

“Can’t wait,” said Carson, saying a silent prayer of thanks as he looked at the clock, which indicated there was only ten minutes left of lunch period. “Why don’t we wrap it up for the day, ok? I’ll see you at the next meeting.”

“Ok,” she agreed, packing her notebook carefully back into her bag and grabbing her video camera. “Bye!” she called cheerily, heading out the door of the journalism classroom. Carson heaved a huge sigh and gathered his own bag, heading out of the classroom and down the hall toward his locker. He had civics class next, which he didn’t particularly enjoy, but at least it wasn’t math.

He reached his locker and opened it, shoving his English book inside and taking out his Civics book, as well as the dreaded Geometry textbook, which he grimaced at with great dislike. Fuck you, Geometry, he thought bitterly as he placed it in his bag.

Suddenly, his vision was cut off as a pair of hands placed themselves over his eyes. He was about to yell and ask what the fuck someone’s problem was, when he realized that those hands felt awfully familiar. And were really soft. And smelled vaguely of lilac scented lotion.

And there was only one person he knew who had pretty smelling, soft hands like that.

“Guess who,” he heard Kurt say softly into his ear. Carson smiled so wide he knew that all his teeth were probably showing.

“Kurtsie!” he exclaimed happily, turning around and looking right into Kurt’s sweet, perfect, smiling face. He tossed his bag down on the ground and threw his arms around his twin, holding him tightly and actually laughing right there in the middle of the hallway, he was so happy to see him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be at Dalton right now? God, why do I even care? You’re here, and I’m so happy to see you, you have no idea!”

“Actually, I transferred back here,” said Kurt calmly. Carson lifted his face away from Kurt’s shoulder and looked at him in shock.

“You what?” he asked. “But…Dalton…and what about Karofsky, and…” A million thoughts raced through Carson’s mind. He thought about Karofsky and Santana and their weird Red Beret thing they’d started, and about everything Karofsky had done to Kurt before. Carson couldn’t have that happen again. He just couldn’t. But…having Kurt back again would just be wonderful, and he wouldn’t have to just settle for Saturdays anymore. And he could sleep with him again every night.

“Don’t worry,” said Kurt quietly, looking around the hall to make sure he wasn’t being overheard. “Karofsky and I had a talk the other day and we came to…an understanding, I guess you could call it. He’s not going to be bothering me from now on. Or anyone.”

“An understanding?” asked Carson. “I don’t know, Kurt. I still don’t trust him. And how come you didn’t tell me you were thinking of transferring back?”

“I trust him,” answered Kurt. “You should just trust me. And I didn’t tell you because, well…I guess I didn’t want to get your hopes up until I’d actually decided for sure to transfer back. I asked Dad not to tell you.”

“Dalton is safer,” Carson said slowly.

“Yeah, maybe. It’s also boring and I have to wear the same outfit every day,” Kurt pointed out. “Plus, it doesn’t have you.”

Carson smiled. “And the best part is that you’re not around Broderick all the time.”

“See? There you go,” said Kurt, humoring him. “God, I’ve missed you so much,” he added, wrapping Carson in a hug again. Carson hugged him back and sighed happily.

“I’ve missed you too, Kurtsie. So much.”

“Aaaw, how sweet,” said Santana’s voice behind Carson. “Katie Couric and his lover Porcelain are back together again. I’d be touched if I had a heart.”

Carson broke from Kurt’s embrace and turned to face her. “Shut up, Santana.”

“Calm your balls, Hummel, ok? You should be thanking me. It was mine and Karofsky’s idea to start the Red Berets and make the school safe again so that your twin prince could roam the halls without fear once more,” she replied, examining her nails.

The bell rang then, indicating that Carson was about to be very late indeed to his Civics class, not that he really cared. Because now he had Kurt back, and he was suddenly full of a renewed energy that just made him feel alive. He felt like he could do anything. It felt great.

“Hey,” said Kurt, taking Carson’s hand and squeezing it gently. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you in glee club after school, ok?”

Carson had almost forgotten that glee club existed these past few months, but he nodded and smiled. “Glee club,” he agreed, squeezing Kurt’s hand back before Kurt patted him on the cheek and disappeared down the hall, giving Santana a slight glare as he passed her.

Well, what do you know?  Carson thought with a grin, not even caring that Santana was staring at him weirdly. This week didn’t suck after all.

********

Their first assignment as part of the glee club again turned out to be performing Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” while wearing custom T-shirts that they were supposed to decorate with words that describe what they perceived as their biggest flaws.

“Well obviously, your T-shirt should be blank,” Carson said to Kurt as they took the T-shirts Ms. Pillsbury gave them to the choir room to use the letter press she had set up in there. “You don’t have any flaws.”

“Funny, Carsey,” Kurt replied, looking at his shirt thoughtfully. “I don’t know, I think I have a few ideas for this thing.”

“Kurt, I’m serious,” Carson said. “You don’t have any flaws at all.”

“Oh really?” asked Kurt. “Tell me, what do you plan to put on yours?”

Carson thought about it for a minute. “Know what? Nothing. I’m not putting anything on mine. Not because I think I have no flaws, even though I don’t. No. I’m not doing it because I just don’t feel like it. Plus, I’m not even planning to perform the number with you guys.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow and looked like he wasn’t sure whether or not to laugh. “Really? You can’t think of one flaw you might have?”

“Nope. The only person more perfect than me is, well…you,” said Carson, patting Kurt on the arm. “I’m serious, though, we should both just wear blank T-shirts. I wonder what Trollberry is putting on hers. She has a list a mile long to choose from,” he mused, looking over the clothesline strung across the choir room where everybody else’s shirts had been hung to dry.

“Dunno,” said Kurt. “But I think I’ve decided on mine.” He set up his shirt at the press and got to work, humming a song under his breath.

“Are you gonna tell me what it is?” asked Carson curiously.

“You’ll see,” said Kurt cheerfully.

“I like having you back,” said Carson quietly, leaning against the wall of the choir room and looking fondly at his twin, watching him as he worked.

Kurt smiled. “I like being back. Dalton was great, and I…made friends,” he said awkwardly, obviously trying to avoid mentioning Blaine, “but I really missed it here. I missed glee, and most of all, I missed you.” He finished his shirt and held it up carefully for Carson to see. He had written “LIKES BOYS” on it. Carson frowned.

“Kurt, that’s not a flaw,” he said. “That’s not even close to being a flaw.”

Kurt nodded. “I know. But I think it fits the spirit of the song. It’s something I was born with that I can’t change, and wouldn’t want to.”

Carson kept his gaze on the shirt. “It’s not too late to make a shirt with an actual flaw. You could put “Likes Bradley.” That’s a pretty big flaw. Or, actually…you know what? No. Keep the shirt the way it is. “LIKES BOYS” actually does count as a flaw, because you shouldn’t like anyone, because then I wouldn’t have to worry about you so much.”

“Oh, Carsey. I thought you said I was flawless,” said Kurt cheekily. “You’ve already said it. Can’t take it back now.”

“I was wrong. Your one flaw is that you have a weird fetish for men who don’t deserve you.”

Kurt rolled his eyes and hung his shirt on the clothesline right beside one that said “LUCY CABOOSEY.” He grabbed Carson’s hand and pressed it to his lips, placing a kiss on his knuckles and making Carson’s stomach do a flip.

“To be fair,” he said, “you don’t think anyone deserves me.”

“Only because it’s the truth,” said Carson. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Despite the fact that he didn’t approve of Kurt “liking” anyone, Carson had to admit that his twin looked damn sexy in that shirt. The performance of “Born This Way” the next afternoon was hot thanks to him, and Carson was seriously glad he had opted to just sit in the audience wearing his completely blank shirt, because he probably wouldn’t have been able to concentrate anyway if he had joined the club onstage. As it was, he knew his dick was in trouble when Kurt started the song off, looking very un-Kurt like with his hair all messed up. It looked for all the world like he had just finished a really hot makeout session.

Not with Billy, though, Carson thought to himself. I…I can pretend it was with me, can’t I? It’s my mind, I can do what I want…Ok, Tina, Mercedes, you’ve touched him enough, let’s back off now, ok?....Oh, you were just going to open his coat…god, that’s sexy…Fuck, Kurt, you’ve got to stop dancing like that, baby, I…I can’t…FUCK, every time. An extremely hormonal dick is the fucking WORST part of being a teenager, I swear…whatever, it’s dark. No one can see. Oh god, he’s stripping off the coat. He’s…hahaha, I caught it. I caught your coat, Kurtsie. Those arms, fuck. And that ass, I can’t even…fuck, ok, I need to get my dick down before this performance is over…FUCK, he’s trailing his hands down to his crotch…ok, Carson, just…um…just concentrate on Rachel for a second. I see she went with “NOSE” for her shirt. Personally, I would have gone with “FUCKING ANNOYING,” but that’s just my opinion. I kind of wish Finn had broken her whole face…ok, I think I’m good now.

The song ended and Carson stood up to clap enthusiastically, waving at Kurt, who waved back with a big grin. Carson heard a sigh behind him and turned around, noticing for the first time that Santana was sitting there instead of dancing with the rest of the club. Next to her, watching the stage with an odd expression on his face, was Karofsky. Carson bristled. What the fuck was Karofsky doing there?

I don’t know what you’re up to, asshole, thought Carson, but you’d better fucking leave Kurt alone. I’m still not sure why the fuck Santana is pretending to be your girlfriend, but you and I both know you’re gay, and if you’re planning to try something with Kurt, you will fucking regret it.

“Carson!” exclaimed Kurt running offstage and into the audience toward him. “What did you think? God, it felt so good to be back performing with them again. You should have joined us, honey,” he added, trailing his hand across Carson’s chest where there was nothing written on his shirt. “And you should have made a shirt.”

“Yeah,” said Carson, “well, you know, I tried to find a flaw, but it just couldn’t be done.”

Kurt raised his eyebrows at him and took his arm, leading him out of the auditorium by the arm. “Where are we going?” asked Carson, not really caring. Wherever Kurt wanted to take him was fine. And at least they were away from Karofsky now.

“The choir room,” Kurt answered, taking his coat out of Carson’s hand and slipping it back on. “I need to get my bag, and also I have a present for you.”

“Really?” asked Carson, intrigued.

“Yep.” They reached the choir room door and Kurt led them inside. He walked over to the clothesline, which had yet to be taken down, and Carson saw that there was one shirt still hanging on it. Kurt carefully unhooked it and brought it over to Carson, turning it around so that he could see the front. It was a shirt just like everyone else had made, only this one said “WORRIES TOO MUCH.”

“I made you one,” said Kurt, “because it’s true. You do worry too much.”

Carson smiled. “That’s not a flaw, though, Kurtsie. I have to worry about you because you don’t worry enough about yourself. Kissing sex crazed hobbits and shit all the time.”

Kurt nodded. “You want to know a secret?”

Carson raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“I like that you worry,” replied Kurt. “I like it, because it means that you love me and that you care about me,” he said, carefully folding the shirt and handing it to Carson. “And so, you’re right. It’s not a flaw at all.”

Carson took the shirt from him and smiled, locking his eyes on Kurt’s. “Then I’ll worry about you forever.”

Kurt smiled back. “Good.”

********

“Blaine, come on,” Kurt encouraged his boyfriend, who had been following him all the way up the stairs, but had since stopped in the doorway of Kurt and Carson’s room looking uncertain. “You can come in, you know.”

“Are you sure?” asked Blaine. “Your brother isn’t going to, like, pop out of nowhere and shoot me with a stun gun or something, is he?”

Kurt sighed. “Blaine, you’re just here to help me gather up some old clothes to give to Sam. I really don’t think he’ll mind…much. It’s not like we’ll be doing anything but just looking through the closet.” Kurt knew this wasn’t true at all. Carson would definitely not like it if he knew Blaine was in their room, no matter the reason, but Carson wasn’t home. And besides, Kurt would probably be done picking out clothes and have Blaine back downstairs by the time he got home, anyway.

“Blaine, seriously, it’s fine,” he said, grabbing the other boy’s hands and dragging him into the room. “Come on, let’s find some clothes for Sam, ok?” Blaine nodded and followed Kurt over to the closet.

“Ok, so,” said Kurt, focusing on the far left side of the closet, where he kept all his out-of-season things. “When I hand you an article of clothing, I want you to lay it out on the bed, but do it in organized piles. So, all the jackets go together, all the shirts, and all the pants. Ok?”

“Ok,” agreed Blaine. Kurt smiled and began taking things off their hangers, handing them one at a time to Blaine, who did what he was told and made three neat piles.

“Can I ask you something?” asked Blaine after several minutes of working in silence.

“Hmm?” replied Kurt distractedly as he debated whether or not Sam would want his hemp jacket he’d work on Earth Day last year.

“How come you and your brother don’t have your own beds?” asked Blaine. “I mean, don’t you ever want your own space, even if you have to share a room?”

“We don’t have to share a room,” replied Kurt. “We share because we sleep better together than alone. It’s the same thing with the bed. Besides, there isn’t enough room in here for two beds plus everything else.”

“Oh,” said Blaine. “This is really nice of you,” he said after several more minutes, folding a shirt and placing it on top of the pile of other shirts. “You know, giving your old clothes to your friend.”

“It’s not much,” said Kurt. “I just want to help out however I can.” He moved his old Cheerio uniform over to the side to see if he had anything behind it he could add to the piles.

“What’s that?” asked Blaine, sounding interested. Kurt followed his gaze over to the uniform he had just moved.

“Oh…that. I was a cheerleader for a while last year,” he answered. “I don’t know why I kept the uniform.”

“Does, um…does it still fit?” asked Blaine casually, walking up behind him. Kurt smiled.

“Probably,” he said. “Do you have any particular reason for asking?”

“Maybe,” Blaine replied, placing his hands on Kurt’s shoulders. “I may have been wondering what you looked like in it.” He leaned his head down and kissed Kurt’s neck, causing Kurt to panic just a little. If his dad came home, or worse, Carson, Blaine was so dead.

“Blaine,” he said, trying to shrug off the other boy’s lips from his neck. “Blaine, stop. We can’t do this here. Carson-“

“Isn’t home,” Blaine finished for him, gently turning him around and cupping Kurt’s face in his hands. “Surely we can spare five minutes to make out a little,” he said, pressing his lips to Kurt’s.

“Mmph,” Kurt murmured. “But…” He managed to free his lips from Blaine’s long enough to say “But the door…”

Blaine sighed and stopped kissing him. He crossed over to the door and went to shut it, but stopped cold when he saw what was behind it.

Oh my GOD, Carson, I thought you had gotten rid of that damn dartboard, thought Kurt, flushing with embarrassment. There were even more holes in it now than when Kurt had first discovered it.

“Um, Kurt?” asked Blaine. “What, um….what’s that?”

“That?” said Kurt, trying to figure out some way to explain it that didn’t make Carson out to be some kind of psycho. “Um…well…”

“That,” came a voice from behind the half-shut door, “is what I use to pass the time when you’re off hogging my brother and I have nothing else to do. You should try it. Throwing darts at your face is so relaxing.” Kurt groaned inwardly. Crap.

Carson swung the door back open all the way and leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and his bag still slung over one shoulder. “Why, hello Bennigan,” he said to Blaine, plastering a fake smile on his face that more closely resembled a disgusted grimace than an actual smile. “How lovely to see you. Again. In the bedroom. Alone. With my sweet baby brother, whom I love more than life itself, and the very same sweet boy you were just trying to assault with your mouth. No means no, Brody.”

Kurt felt his face heat up and he looked down at his shoes, trying to ignore the fluttery feeling he always got in his stomach when Carson got possessive like that. Blaine looked terrified for his life as he started stammering out an explanation.

“I, uh…we….you know, maybe I should head back to Dalton,” he finally got out. Carson grinned bigger and nodded.

“That would be best,” he replied. “Shall I show you to the door?”

“No,” said Blaine. “I, um…I know where it is.” He turned to Kurt and gave him a little wave. “See you later, Kurt.”

“Bye,” replied Kurt, waving back as Blaine made his way down the stairs. Carson rolled his eyes and shut the door behind him.

“Before you say anything, he was just helping me gather up those clothes,” Kurt said, pointing to the bed.

“Right, that was why I heard him not giving a fuck that you were trying to say no to a makeout session,” said Carson, sinking onto the sofa. “You realize he’s lucky that I’ve had an extremely exhausting week and don’t have the energy to kill him, right?”

“Aaaw,” said Kurt, crossing over and settling on Carson’s lap, his arms wrapped around his neck as he gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Poor Carsey. Is it the Muckraker again?”

Carson sighed. “Yeah,” he said, hugging Kurt around the waist and resting his head on his chest. “It’s turned into such a fucking tabloid ever since Coach Sylvester took it over. That paper was as good as mine. And now she’s making me run all these completely bullshit gossip stories that hurt my soul, and it’s no better than the Enquirer, or any of those other trashy magazines that idiots read.”

“Poor baby,” said Kurt, using one hand to comb through Carson’s hair. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t, of course, add that at least one good thing about so many gossip pieces being published in the paper was that he was now pretty certain Santana wasn’t interested in Carson at all. But he was thinking it.

“That paper may not have been perfect before, and I may have had to write most of it myself, but at least it had integrity,” Carson whined. “What is it now? Sue put Brittany in charge of conducting interviews for it, for fuck’s sake. Brittany. I’m not sure she even knows what a newspaper is!”

“Don’t worry, Carsey,” said Kurt. “This is just one of Ms. Sylvester’s whacky schemes. She’ll get bored in a week or so, and you’ll have your paper back.”

“You think?” Carson asked, looking at him with wounded eyes that made Kurt just want to hug him forever until he smiled.

“I’m sure of it,” he replied. “Next week she’ll have moved on to something else. You’ll see.”

Carson smiled then and Kurt grinned and tapped him lightly on the nose. “There’s that smiling face I love to see,” said Kurt.  Carson kissed the top of his chest through his clothes and hugged him tighter.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Any time, baby,” replied Kurt. Carson turned his attention to the piles of clothes on the bed.

“Are those for Sam?” he asked. Kurt nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I thought maybe we could go over to the motel and give them to him tonight. You bagged up all the stuff you said you’d give him, right?”

Carson nodded. “Yeah. It’s not much, just some jeans and T-shirts, but he’ll probably want the option to wear them since your clothes tend to have a lot of…um…embellishments.”

Kurt laughed. “Hey, I refrained from adding anything to the pile that had rhinestones on it.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love your embellishments,” said Carson. “I really do.”

“I know,” said Kurt. “So come on, help me bag all this stuff up.”

********

Carson decided that Kurt was absolutely right. This whole kick that Coach Sylvester was on about publishing gossip in the Muckraker would blow over in no time. After all, all her other stupid schemes had. This would be no different, and then he could have his paper back. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t a particularly good paper, but damn it, it was his paper. He took to skipping glee meetings in order to keep an eye on just what the fuck was going on in that journalism classroom. There were a lot of things he was willing to put up with as a result of the newly formed McKinley rumor mill if it meant he wouldn’t have to do it for long.

However, what he wasn’t willing to put up with were people thinking things about Kurt that weren’t true, especially something horrible, like that he had cheated on Blaine with Sam. He almost couldn’t believe his ears when he came home one day and Kurt had told him about Rachel coming up to him by his locker and admonishing him for the perceived crime.

“Bitch said what?” Carson had asked incredulously. “I’ll kill her. Is she fucking high? Why would she think you were cheating on Balto, anyway?”

“She saw me, and…well…you…coming out of the motel room the other night, and Sam was wearing my recycled hemp jacket today,” said Kurt. “Did, um…did I mention that everyone also thinks that you were involved in this illicit rendezvous? As in, a participant?”

“WHAT?” Carson exclaimed. He tried to ignore the nagging thought in the back of his mind that he wouldn’t actually mind doing all kinds of things with Kurt in a motel room, just without Sam. “What the fuck goes on in that choir room when I skip glee meetings? How do things like this even come up?”

“Who knows?” said Kurt. “I’m pretty sure they think Quinn is involved, too. Like there’s one huge orgy going on over at that motel. All I know is that when I got to glee yesterday, everybody got really quiet all of a sudden, and then Santana asked me if you were gay.”

Carson lost his train of thought. “What did you say?”

“I said it was none of her business,” Kurt replied. “Because it’s not. They were all just probably trying to decide if you were there for Sam or Quinn.”

“Ugh,” groaned Carson. “As if my life wasn’t fucked enough. Can’t we just tell them they’re idiots?”

“We’re not telling them anything,” said Kurt determinedly. “It’s none of their business, and besides, Sam doesn’t want anyone to know about his family situation, and we promised him we wouldn’t tell.”

“But people think you’re a cheater,” Carson protested. “I can’t let them think those things about you.”

Kurt gave him a small smile and patted him on the arm. “Hey, everyone who counts knows the truth, ok? That’s all that matters. Let them think what they want. I’m not going to break a promise to a friend just because of some stupid gossip.”

“You’re right,” Carson sighed. “I guess I owe Sam that much. He did take a punch in the face from Karofsky for you that one time.”

“Of course I’m right,” said Kurt.

Carson decided not to skip glee the next day, even though he was dying to know how Coach Sylvester was ruining his paper this time. Maybe he couldn’t say anything, but he could sure as fuck stare daggers at anyone who even dared to insinuate that Kurt would ever even think of doing something as horrible as cheating.

He almost regretted this decision when he was first treated to the suspicious glares of half the club, who were looking back and forth between him and Kurt and then over at Sam.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Carson snapped at Santana, who was looking at him the most suspiciously out of everyone. Surprisingly, she didn’t give him a bitchy retort, just shrugged and turned away from him.

Then he was forced to sit through a Rachel Berry rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s “Go Your Own Way,” a song he hated with a fiery passion and which he now hated even more. I picked the wrong day to come to glee, clearly. Does anything ever go on in this glee club that doesn’t revolve around Rachel and Finn’s relationship drama? Fuck, there’s like two thousand more students at this school. Both of you find someone else to date and spare the rest of us your bullshit. I beg of you.

“Don’t you think it’s maybe a little inappropriate that you chose to sing a love song to my guy?” asked Quinn icily from her seat after Rachel finished singing. Oh boy, more relationship drama. Just what I’m always in the mood for. Wait, no.

“You’re such a hypocrite, Little Miss Perfect Prom Queen,” snapped Rachel. “You’re a cheater who cheats in cheap motels with Sam!”

Oh, she wouldn’t…if she so much as dares…

“Nothing is going on between Sam and I!” exclaimed Quinn, exasperated.

“Enough, guys,” interjected Mr. Schue, sounding as though he didn’t really give a fuck whether the fighting stopped or not.

“You know, I blame Sam for all this,” said Santana calmly. “And Rachel, too. I blame her.”

“What did I do?” protested Rachel.

“I’m sure you did something,” said Santana.

“See, I’m with Santana,” spoke up a girl Carson wasn’t familiar with, since she’d joined the club after he’d left it when Kurt transferred. He was pretty sure her name was Laura, or Laurel, or something. “Why doesn’t Sam have anything to say about this?”

“Seriously, dude, what you’re doing is not cool,” said Puck to Sam. “Two of them have boyfriends, and I don’t know about Kurt’s brother, but still. Not cool.”

Oh, FUCK no. Carson was not going to let Puckerman stand there and encourage the mentality that Kurt was a cheater. Enough was fucking enough. He opened his mouth, trying to think of a way to tell Puck to fuck off without revealing Sam’s secret, when Sam himself spoke up.

“Shut up!” Sam exclaimed. “I’m not messing around with Quinn or Kurt, or Carson, or anyone. They’re just helping me.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” asked Mercedes snottily.

“Shut the fuck up, Mercedes. You don’t know shit,” Carson snapped at her.

“Hold on,” said Mr. Schue. “How are they helping you out?” he asked Sam.

“Kurt and Carson were bringing me some clothes, and Quinn was helping me babysit my brother and sister,” said Sam quietly.

“Then why were you in that motel?” asked Finn accusingly. I swear to god, Finn, just SHUT UP.

“Because that’s where I live now!” Sam blurted out. “My dad lost his job a few months ago, and then we lost our house, so now we all live in the motel in one room. Are you all happy? The truth’s finally out.” He got up and stormed out of the choir room.  Carson and Kurt exchanged a look, and Carson knew that Kurt was thinking they should go after him. They got up to do so, but before Carson left the room he turned back around to face everyone. He had a few things to say to the club.

"And I can't believe you all would actually think Kurt would cheat on his hobbit boyfriend. I mean, I don't like the guy, but Kurt would NEVER do that to him and hurt him,” he said, his hands resting angrily on his hips. “He’s not an asshole, unlike the rest of you.” He turned and stalked out of the room to join Kurt, who had waited for him just outside the door.

“I hate the glee club,” Carson muttered, taking Kurt’s hand and trying to figure out where Sam might have gone. “I really do.”

********

“So, you think it’s cool if I jam with you guys at prom?” Blaine asked as Finn took a seat on the living room couch between him and Carson. They were waiting for Kurt to come downstairs to model the prom outfit he’d been working on in secret for the past week. Not even Carson had been allowed to see the work in progress, and in fact he had been kicked out of their bedroom on more than one occasion so that Kurt could have privacy to work. Carson didn’t mind, of course. He knew how Kurt got when he had a new fashion project to obsess over, especially now because it would be his first prom and he was excited. It was really adorable.

What Carson did mind was Blaine being over at the house again, as had become something of a habit lately. Carson didn’t understand why he couldn’t simply stay the hell at Dalton on weekdays. Honestly, didn’t he have anything better to do than to drive three hours every day just to be an annoyance? Carson understood Kurt was irresistible, but still.

“Yeah, totally,” Finn answered.

“I thought you didn’t even want to go to prom,” Carson said, peeking around Finn to stare at Blaine. “Didn’t Kurt have to practically beg you to go?”

“Well, yeah…I was hesitant, I guess, but-“

“But performing there isn’t an issue?” Carson pressed. Blaine gave him a hard look.

“Good news, boys!” said Burt, walking into the house just as Blaine was about to say something. “My buddy Enzo from the tux rental shop is giving you half off.”

“Sweet,” said Finn.

“Yeah, Dad, that’s awesome,” said Carson. He’d have to remember to go there later in the week. He was fully intending on dancing with Kurt at that prom, and he wanted to at least look nice when he did it. Kurt deserved to dance with someone who looked nice.

“So, what are you gonna go with?” asked Burt.

“I’m going simple,” said Blaine, directing his words to Finn, as if Finn cared. “Black, thin-lapel collar, very discreet.”

“Good for you,” Carson muttered.

“You know what I wore to my prom? I wore a powder blue tux with a ruffled shirt and big velour bow tie,” said Burt, smiling at the memory. “Looked like Tony Orlando.”

“Was that a designer?” asked Blaine, looking confused. Carson rolled his eyes. Kurt, baby, I love you, but your taste in guys leaves a LOT to be desired.

“No,” said Burt, sitting down in his chair with the newspaper.

“No need for half off my outfit,” came Kurt’s cheerful voice from the stairs as he practically bounced down them and struck a pose in front of his audience of four. Carson grinned. It was definitely a Kurt prom outfit, complete with a plaid kilt, and Carson thought it looked terrific on him. Then again, he was probably just a little bit biased.

“Because half of it is already off?” asked Burt with a chuckle. Carson frowned.

“My ensemble is an homage to the recent royal wedding,” Kurt answered ignoring the slight. “And the late Alexander McQueen. I had to make it myself. There’s simply nothing off the rack that is suitable for the young, fashionable man in Ohio.”

“I love it, Kurt,” said Carson. “It’s one of a kind, just like you.”

“Yeah, dude, that rocks!” said Finn. “It’s like gay Braveheart.”

“Thank you guys,” said Kurt with a proud smile, twirling around so that the kilt fanned out.

“I don’t like it,” said Burt. Dad, what the hell? thought Carson, irritated.

“Well, of course you don’t like it,” said Kurt. “It’s not finished yet. I think it still needs, like, a sash. Or maybe some beads.”

“I think it’s perfect now, but yeah, anything you add could only make it more awesome,” said Carson, praying that his dad wouldn’t say anything else.

“I’m not gonna stop you from wearing it,” said Burt, putting down his paper, “but I’ve got to be honest, I think you’re just trying to stir the pot a little bit. I think you’re trying to get some attention.”

“Exactly!” Kurt said, and Carson could tell from his tone that he was trying not to lose it. “What’s the point of dressing up? I mean, that’s why some guys wear the tails with the top hat, and the girls wear the hoopskirts. Blaine, help me out here!” he said, throwing a pleading look at his boyfriend.

Yeah, Bernard, help him out here, Carson thought threateningly. You of all people should be supporting him, so fucking support him.

“I think your dad has a point,” said Blaine. Oh my GOD I will fucking murder you, Bonham.

“I think what he’s trying to say,” Blaine continued, “is that we just don’t want to give anyone a reason to cause any trouble.”

“There’s a lot of bad people out there, Kurt, and they’re a lot worse than this Karofsky kid,” added Burt. “And all they’re looking for is a match to light under the fire of their hate. Now, of course, I want…I want you to be yourself, but I also want you to be practical.”

“Ok, everybody stop talking and listen!” Carson said standing up and going over to put an arm around Kurt. “There’s nothing wrong with his outfit. It’s no different than any of the other outfits he always wears to school. In fact, he’s worn skirts to school before. Being afraid of what other people will do or say is no reason for him to not wear what he wants, and do you really think I would let anyone say or do anything to him?”

Nobody said anything. Kurt sighed and reached his hand up to hold the one Carson had slung over his shoulder. “Ok, I have done everything right. Now, Blaine,” he said, turning to his boyfriend, “I understand that, after what you’ve been through you’re worried. But prom is about joy, not about fear, ok? So, I’m wearing this suit. I worked hard on it, and I think it’s fantastic. And if you don’t want to join me, I completely understand.”

Carson nodded in agreement, throwing a glare Blaine’s way for good measure. Kurt gently extracted himself from Carson’s grasp and patted him on the arm before heading back up the stairs, a stony expression on his face. Carson watched him go and then turned to everyone else.

“Are you happy?” he asked, his irritation evident in his voice, not that he gave a shit. “Dad, you’re his father. You should at least have said something encouraging. And you,” he said, turning to Blaine with a scowl. “You, despite my intense disapproval, are his boyfriend. Out of everyone else here, I think he was probably looking for your approval the most, because you made it more than clear to him that you didn’t even want to go to prom in the first place. So congratulations on crushing his self-esteem. Again. Just like you’ve done countless times before. Really. Way to go.”

He scoffed and headed up the stairs after Kurt, not even bothering to wait for his dad or Blaine to react to his words. He didn’t care what they had to say at the moment. Kurt was all that mattered.

“Kurt?” he said softly, entering their bedroom to find Kurt standing in front of his full length mirror, holding up various pieces of fabric to his kilt. Carson assumed he was looking for something to make a sash with.

“I don’t care what they say,” Kurt said. “I’m wearing this to prom.”

“Good,” said Carson, coming up behind him and putting one hand on Kurt’s shoulder, catching his eye in the mirror. “I’m glad. It looks really great on you.”

“Ok, I feel like I ask you this every time we stand in front of a mirror together, but are you sure you’re not just saying this because you feel like you have to?” asked Kurt. Carson laughed.

“No. No, I really do like the outfit,” he said. “I love it. It’s very you.”

“And you don’t think the kilt is too much?” asked Kurt. “I mean, I’m wearing it anyway, but you would tell me if you thought-“

“Kurt,” Carson interrupted. “You will be the best dressed guy there, I promise. And I’m really looking forward to dancing with you. I’ll be wearing a boring tux, and you will be wearing that masterpiece you’ve got on, and we’ll make everyone jealous of how hot we look together.”

Kurt smiled in the mirror. “We will look pretty hot, won’t we?”

“Yeah,” said Carson. “Yeah, we will.”

Kurt sighed. “I just really wanted Blaine to like it.”

“He’ll come around,” said Carson, trying to be as comforting as possible. He sensed now wasn’t the time for a tirade about how much Blaine sucked. “He just doesn’t understand how lucky he is.”

And he probably never will, because he’s an ungrateful moron who doesn’t realize he’s the luckiest son of a bitch in the whole world.

Carson spent most of the afternoon of the Saturday of prom watching Kurt go through an elaborate routine to get ready for the dance. It was fascinating. His skin care regiment alone took nearly three hours as he applied nearly every cream he owned to his face, let it sit, and then patiently washed it off. Carson’s favorite part was the fact that his twin wore a tight white T-shirt that he usually reserved for sleeping in while he was doing this, so Carson got to subtly admire Kurt’s arms and back. Not to mention that chest. He really hoped he was convincing at pretending to be absorbed in an article he was writing for the Muckraker (now that Ms. Sylvester had, in fact, gotten bored with running it, the paper was back in his control).

“You should get dressed,” Kurt said to him as he finished the last of his skin care routine. “I really want to do something with your hair, but you need to be dressed first.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Carson asked. “It’s not like anyone is going to notice it.”

“I’ll notice it,” replied Kurt. “And don’t you want it to look nice for pictures?”

“What pictures?” murmured Carson, but he went and put on his rented tux anyway. When he was done, he found that Kurt had already changed into his outfit and was working on his own hair at his vanity mirror, happily humming a tune as he worked.

“Oh, good, you’re ready,” he chirped, patting the spot next to him on his bench. “Come, sit.”

Carson did as he was told, taking the seat Kurt indicated and watching as Kurt applied various products to his hair to make it shiny and nice. “You’re not going to use that stuff on me, are you?” he asked nervously.

“Oh, honey…of course I am,” said Kurt, taking a spray bottle full of something Carson couldn’t identify and aiming it at his head. “Close your eyes,” he said, waiting for Carson to obey before spritzing his hair with it. Carson kept his eyes closed as Kurt’s fingers worked through his hair. It felt really good, just like it did when they cuddled together and Kurt stroked his hair.

“Ok, I’m done,” announced Kurt. Carson opened his eyes and looked in the mirror.

“That was it?” he asked. His hair didn’t really look much different than it had before, except now it was shinier and maybe arranged a little neater.

“Yep. See? You should learn to trust me,” said Kurt, starting to put his things away.

“Kurt? Blaine’s here!” came their father’s voice from downstairs.

“Ok, I’ll be down in a minute!” Kurt called. He grinned at Carson and squealed. “He’s here! How do I look?” he asked, turning to check himself in the mirror one more time.

“You…you look beautiful,” said Carson, trying to ignore the lump that was rapidly forming in his throat at the sight of his beautiful, perfect Kurt getting ready to attend his first prom with another guy. Carson felt a sharp pang of sadness, but he brushed it aside. After all, he might not be Kurt’s date, but he would still be close by all evening. He would still get to dance with him and have a good time with him.

But I wish things were different. I wish we could go as each other’s dates, and that nobody would judge us or look at us funny. I wish I could slow dance with him and say “I love you” and know that he knows that I mean it in more than just a brotherly way. That I mean it in all ways.

“Come on,” said Kurt, cutting into Carson’s thoughts as he took his hand. “Let’s go!”

They came down the stairs side by side, and Carson did his best to suppress the intense wave of jealousy he felt as he watched Blaine smile that big, toothy smile of his at Kurt. He didn’t want to ruin Kurt’s prom night by being negative about his boyfriend. He’d save it for another day, although it was extremely difficult when he noticed Blaine’s face contorting into an almost-frown when he saw that Kurt had not changed his mind about his outfit.

“You look great,” Blaine said, not really sounding like he meant it, and holding out a single pink flower on a pin, which Kurt took with a smile and attached to his own lapel.

“Yes, he does, doesn’t he?” Carson said pointedly. “He looks beautiful, and his outfit is great.”

What a gentleman, offering to put the flower on for you and complimenting your outfit, Carson thought sarcastically. Really, WHAT a knight in shining armor.

“Ooooh, you boys all look so handsome,” squealed Carole, who was apparently getting out all her prom night mom feelings by doting on Kurt, since Finn had hightailed it out of the house early to go pick up Quinn. “Kurt, Blaine, why don’t you stand in front of the mantle, ok? I want to take a picture.”

“Thank you,” Blaine said, taking Kurt’s hand and leading him over to the mantle, where they struck a formal looking pose as Carole snapped photo after photo.

I think I’m going to be sick.

“Ok, hon, I think a hundred photos is plenty,” said Burt with a laugh. “You’re gonna exhaust the poor boys before they even get to the dance.”

“Carson?” Carole asked. “Go stand next to Kurt, honey. You two look so sweet, I simply need a picture of you together.”

Carson wasn’t sure whether he wanted to smile or throw up as he crossed over to take Blaine’s place beside Kurt in front of the mantle. He loved the idea of having a prom photo with Kurt, but he knew that seeing the developed photo would probably depress him even more.

He put his arm around Kurt, who wrapped one arm around Carson’s waist in turn, and the two of them flashed Carole big smiles as she snapped the picture, although Carson knew his didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Let’s take one more,” she said. “Pose however you want this time, ok?”

“Ok,” said Kurt. “Carsey, here, stand behind me…ok, now wrap your arms around my chest…”

Carson did as he was told, resting his chin on Kurt’s shoulder as Kurt reached his hands up to hold onto Carson’s arms.

“Ready,” Kurt said to Carole, who snapped the picture and sighed.

“Oh, my boys,” Carole sighed. “You’re all just so adorable. Ok, now have fun, be careful…”

“And no drinking, and no shenanigans,” added Burt. “That goes for all three of you.”

“Dad,” said Kurt.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, Dad,” said Carson. “Fear not.”

“Right. Well, you boys have fun,” said Burt with a smile.

“We will, Dad,” said Kurt, practically dragging Blaine out the door before their dad could say anything else.

Not too much fun, Kurtsie. Not too much fun.

********

Prom itself was pretty lame, in Carson’s opinion. He had no idea why people went so nuts over it. At least he ended up dancing with Kurt for a fair number of songs, since Blaine didn’t seem to be all that interested in dancing with him. Normally, Carson would have made a snide comment about that, but he remembered his silent vow not to be negative and ruin Kurt’s night, so he said nothing about how Blaine was the worst boyfriend ever. He just enjoyed the opportunity to dance with Kurt, and even managed to pretend that he was actually Kurt’s date and that Blaine wasn’t even there, until Blaine got up on stage to sing and his presence couldn’t be ignored.

Seriously? He doesn’t want to dance with Kurt because he’s afraid of bullies, but he’s more than happy to go up there and sing a song that includes the lyric “Ever since I was a little girl?” Ugh, whatever. If he doesn’t want to dance with Kurtsie, that’s his loss. His loss and my gain.

“Attention students,” said Figgins, who had taken the stage at some point. “Will the candidates for king and queen gather on the stage? The votes are in.”

Ugh, this is going to be boring. I’ll be sort of amused if Finn and Quinn win, though, since Finn got thrown out. Quinn’s gonna be so pissed. It’ll be great. Carson himself hadn’t voted for anyone. He didn’t think anyone deserved his vote, and prom royalty was such a stupid concept, anyway.

Figgins waited for everyone to assemble behind him on the stage before continuing. “This is the moment you’ve all been waiting for, when we announce our junior prom king and also prom queen” he said, sounding bored. “Roll the drum, please.”

What is it with this school and fucking drumrolls, I swear.

“And this year’s junior prom king is….David Karofsky!” Figgins announced.

Really? Who the fuck voted for him? He’s an asshole, I don’t care how many times he apologized to Kurt. He looked over at Kurt, who looked just as shocked as Carson was. Guess he didn’t think Karofsky would get a whole lot of votes, either.

“Yeah!” Karofsky exclaimed as he jammed his king’s crown on his head amidst the applause (none of which was coming from Carson, thank you very much).

“And now, your 2011 McKinley High prom queen, with an overwhelming number of write-in votes, is…” Figgins’ face fell and he hesitated, as though he wasn’t sure whether to read the results or not.

“…Kurt Hummel,” he finished. Absolute silence reigned in the gym. Carson felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

What the fuck just happened? he thought frantically. I don’t understand, why…oh fuck everyone at this fucking school. FUCK THEM. Fucking bastards. He glanced over at Kurt, who was frozen on the spot, his eyes wide and disbelieving, which quickly turned into the look he always got when he was about to cry as one lone person started clapping. Carson didn’t know who it was, but he wanted to murder them. And everyone who had done this to Kurt.

“Kurtsie,” he whispered, reaching for Kurt’s hand, but Kurt pulled away and looked around the gym, his eyes welling up as he started walking as fast as he could toward the exit doors.

Carson wanted to scream at everyone who was just standing there staring, but he said nothing. He just ran after Kurt, pushing past people on his way and probably knocking down several, but he didn’t give a shit. They’d done this to his brother, they deserved what they got.

“Kurt? Stop! Kurt!” he heard Blaine calling as he followed behind Carson. They both caught up with Kurt out in the hallway, where Kurt had started crying, one hand over his mouth as he continued running.

“I’ve never been so humiliated,” he sobbed.

“Kurt, please stop! Come on,” said Blaine.

“Kurtsie, please,” Carson pleaded. Kurt finally stopped running and just stood there in the middle of the hallway, tears streaming down his face.

“Don’t you get how stupid we were?” he asked Blaine through his sobs. “We thought that because no one was teasing us or beating us up, that no one cared, like some kind of progress had been made. But it’s still the same.”

“It’s just a stupid joke,” said Blaine.

“No, it’s not,” Kurt argued. “All that hate…they were just afraid to say it out loud, so they did it by secret ballot. I’m one big, anonymous practical joke.”

“Kurt,” said Carson, holding his arms out. Kurt fell into them, sobbing and holding on to him so tightly that Carson very nearly lost the ability to breathe.

“I know Kurtsie,” he whispered soothingly, rubbing small circles into Kurt’s back with his hand as Blaine looked on, looking bored and slightly uncomfortable. “Shhh, I know. It’s ok. I’ve got you, ok? I’ve got you.” He felt Kurt’s fingers grasping handfuls of his tux jacket as he cried harder.

They stood there like that for a long time, until Kurt’s sobs gradually diminished into hiccups and gasps. Blaine had slumped down to sit up against a row of lockers, looking bored out of his mind. Carson wanted to fucking kill him.

Hey, asshole, your boyfriend has just been humiliated in front of the whole school and is sobbing over here. Not that I want you touching him, but for fuck’s sake, at least pretend to care.

“I’m not going back in there,” said Kurt, pulling away from Carson to wipe at his eyes with his hand as he started pacing the hall. “No way.”

“Would you at least sit down?” asked Blaine. Carson shot him a glare. Kurt didn’t answer him, much to Carson’s amusement.

“Do you want to go?” Blaine tried again. “We don’t have to go back in there.”

“Wasn’t this prom supposed to be about redemption?” asked Kurt. “About taking away that lump you had in your throat from running away? If we leave, all it’s gonna do is give me a lump, too.”

“So what do you want to do?” asked Blaine, not sounding like he cared very much one way or the other.

Kurt thought about it for a minute, and then a determined look crossed his face.

“I’m gonna go back in there and get coronated,” he said. “I’m gonna show them that it doesn’t matter if they’re yelling at me, or whispering behind my back, that they can’t touch me. That they can’t touch us,” he added, kneeling down to Blaine’s level. “Or what we have.”

Carson felt his own throat lump growing bigger as he listened to Kurt refer to himself and Blaine as “us.”

Blaine handed Kurt a tissue and stood up, holding out his hand to help Kurt up.

Fucking finally, you start acting like a gentleman, thought Carson bitterly. A little too late, I might add.

“Are you ready for this?” asked Blaine.

Kurt took his hand and stood up, holding out his other hand for Carson to take. “Yeah, I’m ready,” he said, sniffling one final time. “Let’s do this.”

The three of them walked back into the gym and Carson stood at the front of the crowd, watching as Kurt ascended the stairs to the stage and stood beside Figgins.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Figgins said, “Your 2011 prom queen, Kurt Hummel.” He took the plastic gold crown and placed it neatly atop Kurt’s head, handing him a scepter to go with it.

Oh, Kurtsie, thought Carson. My poor baby. I swear I will kill everyone who did this to you.

Kurt stood in front of the microphone, looking unsure what to do. Carson tried his best to send positive vibes his way. He wasn’t sure that would work, but it was worth a shot.

“Eat your heart out, Kate Middleton,” Kurt said finally into the mic. Carson smiled. There’s my baby.

The crowd started clapping and Figgins patted Kurt on the shoulder as he leaned into the microphone.

“And now, behold the tradition of our 2011 prom king and queen sharing their first dance,” he said. Carson almost choked.

WHAT? Oh fuck no. No, he’s been humiliated enough without having to dance with fucking Karofsky. No fucking way.

He needn’t have worried, since Karofsky abandoned Kurt on the dance floor anyway, leaving him looking even more awkward and embarrassed than he already was. Carson was about to step forward and dance with him himself when he saw that Blaine had beaten him to it.

“Excuse me,” Blaine said, holding out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Kurt looked relieved and smiled, which made sharp pangs of jealousy and sadness start battling each other inside Carson’s stomach.  “Yes, you may,” Kurt replied, taking Blaine’s hand as the opening notes of “Dancing Queen” filled the gym and Carson had to stand there and watch the person he loved dance with someone else.

It was a very long rest of the night, especially when Kurt came up to Carson to inform him that he and Blaine were heading out.

“Out where?” Carson asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. No matter how much he disapproved, he knew he couldn’t prevent Kurt from going wherever he wanted with Blaine, and it scared the hell out of him.

“I don’t know,” answered Kurt. “Blaine wants to leave, so…”

I fucking bet he does. “Just…please be careful?” Carson pleaded. Or just please don’t go at all? I don’t trust him.

“I will,” said Kurt, pulling him into a hug. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” answered Carson, hugging him back and willing his voice not to break. He went home himself not long after Kurt and Blaine had left, putting his pajamas on and settling himself on the living room couch, his eyes trained on the front door.

Come home, Kurtsie. Please, come home now.

It felt like forever before the door opened and Kurt came in, thankfully Blaine-less. Carson automatically glanced toward his brother’s neck, as had become his habit now every time Kurt returned home from a date, and instantly wished he hadn’t. It was very obvious Blaine hadn’t heeded Carson’s warning about not leaving marks, that was for sure.

“Hi,” he said, sitting up and watching Kurt carefully set his crown and scepter on the coffee table before he joined him on the couch, resting his head on Carson’s chest.

“Hi,” he answered, sounding tired.

Carson wanted to sarcastically ask if he’d had fun, but decided not to. He didn’t have the energy tonight to be sarcastic.

“He didn’t do anything I have to cut his dick off for, did he?” he settled for asking. Kurt laughed.

“No, Carsey. I’m still in one piece,” he replied, taking Carson’s hand and squeezing. “I promise.”

“Good,” said Carson, kissing the top of Kurt’s head and squeezing his hand back. “Good.”