If you could see me now would you recognize me?

Would you pat me on the back or would you criticize me?

Would you follow every line on my tear-stained face?

Put your hand on my heart that was cold as the day you were taken away,

I know it's been a while but I can see you clear as day,

Right now, I wish I could hear you say,

I drink too much, and I smoke too much dutch,

But if you can't see me now that shit's a must,

"Kurt Hummel?"

The name echoed around the silent dance studio. Nobody allowed themselves to move; nobody allowed themselves to speak; nobody allowed themselves to breathe, because nobody,nobodywas taken directly out of class like this by Madam Tibideaux, mid-routine.

"Kurt Hummel," Madam Tibideaux repeated, raising her voice slightly. Slowly, very, very slowly, a small boy with floppy chestnut hair and big blue eyes stepped out of the formation of his classmates. He made a gulping sound as he swallowed in fear.

"Come with me," the dance school's owner said, guiding Kurt through the door and out of class, turning back for just a second to yell for everyone to carry on. She led Kurt down the long corridor and into her office, where Burt Hummel, Kurt's father, was sat in one of the chairs opposite Madam's desk, patiently waiting. He turned around when the door opened, looking straight at his son, expression soft, but his eyes were red; Burt Hummel had cried today.

Even though he was only eight years old, Kurt could see through his father's mask. Something was seriously, seriously wrong. His dad didn't cry.

"I'll give you two a moment," Madam Tibideaux smiled comfortingly at Burt, comfortingly, before walking out the spacious office.

"What happened, dad?" Kurt asked as soon as he heard the door click shut. Rather than answering, Burt wrapped his son in a tight hug, holding him close.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt," the man murmured against the young boy's hair, dampening it with a few warm tears that fell fast. "I'm so, so sorry."

Kurt pulled away. "Dad?"

Burt inhaled, shakily. "It's your Mom. She was in a car accident."

On Friday, February 28th, Burt Hummel led his son through the graveyard in which the body of the eight year old boy's mother had just been buried. The skies were dark, a storm threatening to fill the area with heavy rain. Although the funeral itself had ended, Burt had held back to allow himself and his son a chance to say their final goodbyes.

Here lies Elizabeth Jane Hummel,

Loving mother, wife, daughter and sister.

January, 21st1974 – February, 14th2003

"It's just us now, kiddo," Burt sighed, clasping his son's hand tightly.

"We'll be okay though, right Dad?" Kurt was obviously trying to be stronger than he actually was, choking at the end of the sentence as he tried to hold back his tears.

"Hey, Kurt, it's okay to cry. It'll be okay," Burt said as he lifted his boy into his arms, holding him tight, tears hot in his own eyes.

Life would never be the same again.

Kurt sighed as he heard his father call down the stairs, jogging up to meet his father at the door.

"Yes, Dad?" the fourteen year old boy smiled.

"I need to talk to you. Now."

Kurt raised his eyebrows and followed his father to the kitchen, sitting at the dining table opposite his dad. "Yes?"

"Kurt, kiddo, I really don't want to have to do this, but you can't go to those dance classes anymore," Burt said, clear and simple.

"W-what?" Kurt couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "Why?"

"I'm sorry. I just can't afford it right now. I'm working extra shifts at the shop but it's just not enough anymore. Maybe one day you can go back, but it's just not sensible right now."

"But Mom wanted me to dance," Kurt breathed, looking down and trying not to cry. Dance was his outlet. He'd always felt like it kept him from breaking, like it helped him connect with his mother. It stopped him from hurting himself.

"I know, kiddo. I'm not saying to give up your dancing altogether, I just can't keep sending you to the classes. I'm sorry," Burt gave his son a reassuring smile, clapping him on the shoulder as he stood up before walking away, leaving Kurt alone.

"Why, Mom? How is this fair?" the fourteen year old whispered to the air around him, eyes hot and stinging with unshed tears. He pushed his chair out behind him and ran downstairs to his bedroom, which was located in the basement.

Kurt Hummel was fourteen years old when he first took a razorblade to his forearm.

"I wish I'd never come out of the closet," Kurt thought aloud as his best friend, Mercedes, as he wiped slushie from his eyes.

"Well, we both know that's a lie," the girl replied, dropping the cloth into the sink.

Kurt gave her a look. "It's really not. I don't want to put up with this for another two years."

"Well, we're almost done with sophomore year now, so it's not that long. You've gotten this far, boo; you'll be fine. And the whole of Glee Club are here for you, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Kurt sighed, grabbing his bag and leaving the girl's restroom, Mercedes following close behind, rolling her eyes.

"Anyway, I've got English and you have French, so I'll see you at lunch, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll see you later, 'Cedes," Kurt smiled faintly, patting the girl on the shoulder and watching her leave, before turning and striding through the ocean of colour that filled the hallways of McKinley High School.

"Kurt! Wait up!" Quinn called after the sophomore boy, who spun around, raising an eyebrow at her.

"What do you want, Fabray?" Kurt groaned. She only talked to him when she wanted something, which was normally Finn.

"I wanted to talk to you about the Skanks," the blonde smiled that award winning ex-head-cheerleader smile everyone knew and loved, looking up at him with her wide green eyes, looping her arm through Kurt's and leading him down the hall.

"What'd they do?" This wasn't a conversation the sixteen year old boy wanted to be having on the last day of his sophomore year.

"I'm joining them. I wanted you to join with me," she said, simply.

Kurt's eyes widened, comically, as he took Quinn's hand and led her into a, thankfully empty, classroom.

"You've finally lost your mind, haven't you? What demonic spirit ever possessed you to do that?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, Kurt. I'm sick of being kicked around. I made a mistake this year that I'm never going to live down, and I don't want everybody giving me those awful dirty looks and speaking about me behind my back. And I know you're sick of being kicked around like that, too; I've seen your arms," she pleaded, referring to the time she'd walked in on him changing before a competition, seeing the thin, pink scars that covered both of his forearms. "Join me, Kurt."

"Quinn..." the blue-eyed boy chewed his bottom lip as he tried to think of how to tell her 'no', but the truth of the matter was that the idea was incredibly appealing.

"You don't have to give me an answer now, it's just an idea. I know how hurt you are, and it sucks to watch you get pushed around all the time when we both know that it doesn't have to be like that. Just think about it, okay?" the blonde gave him a little half smile, turning on her heel and walking towards the door.

"Quinn, wait," Kurt said before her outstretched fingers took hold of the door handle. She turned back, a hopeful glint in her eyes.

"Yes, Kurt?"

"I'll do it."

"Want a smoke, Hummel?" Quinn smirked as her right-hand man strolled up to the bleachers, dropping his bag on the ground.

"What do you think I'm going to say? No?" Kurt chuckled, taking the lit cigarette from the ex-blonde's delicate fingers, looking around at the gang.

The two girls; Quinn Fabray, the hot pink-haired punk princess, complete with nose-ring and tattoos, and Tina Cohen-Chang, with black and red hair, heavy black eyeliner, and gothic outfits, the shy demeanor that was once associated with her when the group were sophomores long gone and replaced with a fiery and bitchy attitude during their Junior year. Then Nick Hamilton and Jeff Campbell; Nick with dark hair that fell over his eyes, covering the many piercings in his brow and with tattoos covering his arms; Jeff with floppy blonde hair with a single electric blue stripe through his bangs, two lip piercings and one in his nose. And then, of course, there was Kurt himself, the front of his hair dark pink, two piercings in his right eyebrow and a ring in his left nostril to match Quinn's, and another in his bottom lip. A smoky black colour lined his eyes, dramatizing the effect his bright blue eyes had. He wore a tattered denim jacket and torn, jet black skinny jeans with knee-high biker boots.

Quinn chuckled to herself. "Of course you wouldn't say no," she grinned, rolling her eyes.

"Whatever," Kurt muttered, passing the cigarette to Nick.

"Hey! That was mine!" Quinn protested as Nick slung his arm around her shoulders, taking a puff.

"You mean you're not going to share with your boyfriend, Q? That's mean," Nick nuzzled against her cheek.

Quinn let out a disgusted noise, shaking him off and lighting another cigarette. "For the last time, Nick, I'm not your girlfriend."

"Did somebody say fuck-buddies?" Jeff giggled, innocently looking around, pretending he hadn't said a word.

"Shut up, Campbell," Quinn groaned. "You too, Hamilton." Nick and Jeff both snickered; they loved winding her up. They also loved sleeping with her, but that's a different story altogether.

"So," Tina began after the laughter died down, "Who's ready for senior year?"

"Oh my god, Tina, have you seen the new history teacher?" Quinn gasped, fanning herself.

"I know! He's gorgeous," Tina giggled.

"I'd let him have his way with me, that's for sure," the ex-blonde winked.

"Oh, come on," Kurt rolled his eyes. "He's a teacher."

Both girls raised their eyebrows at the same time, giving Kurt a look.

"He's hot, Kurt. Trust me," Quinn said.

"Well, I guess we'll see, right?" Kurt grinned.

"Yep!" Quinn laughed, nudging Nick with her shoulder. "Senior year, here we come."