One In Four
SwingGirlAtHeart
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One In Four: If I Were Brave


E - Words: 2,294 - Last Updated: Mar 29, 2013
Story: Complete - Chapters: 94/94 - Created: Jun 10, 2012 - Updated: Mar 29, 2013
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The kitchen on Monday morning was filled with the smell of pancake batter and coffee as Carole stood over the stove. There was bright, unbroken sunlight streaming in through the windows, giving the air a cool and crisp feel. Carole was starting to feel a little better now that she could tell spring was on its way, but it was still a couple months off and not quite warm enough for the snow to melt yet.

Finn staggered into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and half asleep. "Mornin'," he yawned, plopping down at the table.

Carole smiled. "Good morning, Mr. Show Choir Champion," she said, leaning over to kiss him on the top of his head.

Finn grinned sheepishly. "It was just Regionals, Mom. There's still Nationals coming up."

"And you'll win that one too," she replied smoothly, squeezing his shoulder. "Want some pancakes?"

"Hell yes," Finn said, then yawned again. "Did Burt already leave for work?"

"Yeah, he had to go in early," she answered as she returned to the stove and flipped a few pancakes onto a plate for Finn. "With all the stuff going on with Kurt, he's been stretched pretty thin. He's really behind."

"Not enough to lose his job, though, right?" Finn asked as she placed his plate in front of him.

Carole shook her head, sinking into the seat opposite him with a mug of coffee in her hands. "No, not yet. We do have to be careful about that, though. We can't lose Burt's health benefits."

"I thought you got really good insurance too," Finn said through a mouthful of pancakes and maple syrup.

"No, I do, but it's not enough to cover Kurt's medical expenses by itself and keep the three of us safe as well."

"Oh." Finn mulled this over for several seconds while he chewed. "Hey, how was the visit with Kurt on Saturday? Things were so busy at school yesterday that I forgot to ask."

Carole sipped her coffee, forcing a small smile. "It was fine," she said.

"Is he okay?"

She nodded, holding her coffee mug under her nose. "He's fine."


Tyler didn't like what was happening, partly because he couldn't understand why it was happening and partly because he hated it when the others were mad. The unfamiliar woods didn't help, either. He missed the playground and wanted to go back, but he didn't know the way. So he held Raleigh tightly against his chest and waited for Kurt to tell him what to do.

Kurt, however, almost seemed to have forgotten that Tyler and Eleanor were there and instead was shouting for help to anyone who might hear him, growing more and more frustrated by the minute. Tyler didn't think yelling for help would be much use, but he didn't say anything.

Eleanor, on the other hand, had the same opinion and was perfectly willing to say as much. "Who exactly do you think is going to hear you, Kurt?" she said with an eyeroll and an exasperated sigh, standing next to Tyler with her arms crossed and a frown turned lopsided by the swollen bruises on her face.

"Have you got a better idea?" Kurt snapped. "Because I'd just love to hear it."

"Yeah, actually, I do. We stop standing around like fucking idiots and we go back."

"And how do you suggest we do that, Eleanor?" Kurt cried, throwing up his hands. "Huh? I'm not exactly spotting a trail of breadcrumbs!"

Tyler flinched and stepped back as Eleanor's voice rose, her fists clenching in rage. "Would you stop whining and feeling sorry for yourself? Jesus! Just pick a direction and start walking! It's your head! You should know the fucking layout!"

"Well, I don't! That is my entire problem!" Kurt shouted, making Tyler jump. Feeling a lump rise in his throat, Tyler hugged Raleigh tighter and hoped that Kurt and Eleanor would stop fighting.

"I have no idea where to go or what to do because all of you are keeping it from me!" Kurt continued, growing louder and angrier with every word. "How can you expect me to know how to fight this when all you do is block me?"

"Stop it," Tyler said softly, hiding his face in the soft comforting cloth of Raleigh's belly. His head hurt and it was getting worse, but Eleanor wasn't finished.

"I've never tried to block you, you moron! All you have ever done is wallow in self-pity and whine about how much your life sucks! At least you have a body, Kurt! People know who you are!"

"Stop it," Tyler repeated, but neither Kurt nor Eleanor heard him.

"Yeah, they all know exactly who I am, and they're terrified of it!" Kurt's voice cracked.

Eleanor rolled her eyes again and Tyler's head pounded. He squeezed his eyes shut as Eleanor yelled back.

"God, you are so fucking stupid! They're scared of me!"

"Stop yelling!" Tyler cried, clapping his hands over his ears, but Eleanor kept going.

"They're scared of me, and Craig, and Truman, and Robbie, and Schism, and hell, even Zack and Tyler! No one has ever been afraid of you, Kurt! You're LUCKY!"

"SHUT UP!" Tyler screamed.

Both of them froze, startled by Tyler's outburst. He sniffed, fighting tears with his hands still over his ears.

"Stop yelling," he begged. "It's not helping and it hurts."

Neither of them said anything for a long time, and then Kurt sighed, casting a hesitant glance at Eleanor. "Come on," he said, sounding tired more than anything else. "Let's try to head back." He turned and started walking, his shoulders hanging lower than normal.

Tyler took a deep breath, the pain in his head finally subsiding, then tucked Raleigh into the crook of his elbow and ran after Kurt. Eleanor crossed her arms and followed.


Carole couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this exhausted. Even when she'd been struggling as a single parent with two jobs and a pre-adolescent son hell-bent on getting into trouble, all of her problems had been tangible and, compared to now, easy to deal with. She still had her fair share of financial worries, but now it was compounded by trying to manage Kurt's alters, making sure Burt took care of himself, and keeping a close eye on Finn. She was tired down to her bones.

So, it was a minor relief whenever she managed to get out and do regular, everyday, non-stressful things. Coming home from shopping on Monday afternoon, Carole felt slightly better as she toted the groceries into the house, letting out a sigh as she hung her hat and coat on the rack by the door. Finn walked into the kitchen then, and she smiled.

"Hi, sweetie," she said as she dumped a bag of apples into the fruit bowl on the counter. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Finn demanded sharply, and Carole stopped what she was doing.

"…What?" was the only response that came to mind.

Finn's glare was half furious, half astonished. "That Kurt might be dead?" he said. "That Truman's saying he killed him? That Truman is the same freaking person who made Kurt split? Any of this ringing a bell?!"

Carole swallowed, her lungs compressing inside her chest. "Finn… I just—"

"Burt told me everything! Why would you lie about something like that?" Finn cried, his voice rising. Burt came in, looking furtively back and forth between his wife and stepson.

"I-I didn't want you to worry," Carole stammered, knowing she had no defense. Burt stood to the side, unsure of how to mediate. It wasn't Burt's fault; they had agreed to tell Finn everything after Regionals. Carole just hadn't expected it to be immediately after. "I wanted you t-to have some time to try to feel better and do n-normal teenager things and not—"

"Mom, we had a rule!" Finn shouted, abruptly hoarse. "After we found out about Kurt, we said no secrets! Why the hell wouldn't you tell me?"

Carole was crying now, wringing her hands. "A-After what happened with you and Truman, I th-thought that—"

"He's my brother, Mom! I shouldn't be the last one to find out!"

"I didn't want you to worry…"

"I'M WORRIED!" Finn screamed, and Carole flinched. "I'm freaking terrified!"

Burt finally stepped in, reaching up to put a hand on Finn's arm. "Finn, your mom just— Finn! Finn, stop!"

Finn jerked his arm away from Burt and stormed out through the front door, slamming it shut behind him and not bothering to grab a coat on his way out. A moment later, they heard the engine of his truck rev and pull out of the driveway.


The hallways of McKinley were silent as Blaine walked down the corridor towards the weight room. It was nearing six-thirty and he was probably the only person at school save for the janitor, but he still made sure to walk quietly in case a teacher or two had stayed to work late. He hated having to tiptoe around – not just at school but at home as well. His father had finally calmed down somewhat and was no longer prompting "discussions" of Blaine's "recklessness" any time they were in the same room, but Blaine still felt the need to drive his fist through a wall every time his father opened his mouth, so he'd taken to sneaking into the school after hours in addition to spending his study hall periods in the weight room with the boxing bag. In any case, it was better than accidentally snapping at anyone who asked him the time of day.

Today, though, Blaine was startled to hear the sound of leather smacking leather as he approached the weight room door – someone was already there. Hesitating for a couple seconds, Blaine pushed the door open and leaned in, not sure if he wanted to disturb whoever had gotten there before him. His eyebrows shot up when he saw that it was Finn at the boxing bag.

The hinges of the door creaked and Finn turned around, his forehead beaded with sweat. He was wearing the same clothes as he'd worn during school earlier that day – whatever had prompted Finn to come, he hadn't bothered to change.

"What are you doing here?" Finn asked, caught off-guard and a little out of breath. "How'd you get in?"

Blaine blinked, his hands hanging in the pockets of his hoodie. "I could ask you the same thing."

"The football team's allowed to use the weight room until eight," Finn answered. "You?"

"The janitor leaves the back door to the cafeteria open so he can smoke," Blaine replied.

Finn laughed, a hoarse and hollow chuckle that made the hairs on Blaine's arms prickle. "How do you even know that?" Finn muttered.

Blaine shrugged. He could explain that attending a boarding school for a year and a half tended to train kids to find discreet ways to break the rules, but Blaine had a feeling that Finn really didn't give a crap.

Finn sniffed and tugged on the Velcro straps of his boxing gloves, wiping his forehead on his arm.

"I-I can leave if you want," Blaine said.

Finn shook his head, but he wasn't looking at Blaine. "No, you can stay. It's fine; I don't mind."

"Okay." Blaine slung his backpack onto the floor by the basketball rack and pulled out his own gloves as Finn turned back to the punching bag. Finn's form was completely off – his feet were in the wrong places and he wasn't standing at the right angle – but Blaine couldn't quite tell if it mattered to him. He tugged the glove straps tight around his wrists and approached the bag hanging next to Finn's. "Have you ever done boxing before?" he asked.

Finn glanced at him like he'd already forgotten Blaine was there. "Oh, uh… no." He gave a small shrug. "I just kind of wanted to hit something."

Blaine nodded. "I get it."

The two boys fell into an oddly comforting silence broken only by the sound of their gloves pounding against the bags again and again. Despite the fact that they weren't speaking or even paying attention to each other, Blaine was relieved that there was someone else who seemed to share his frustration.

Of course, the tiny little voice in Blaine's head reminded him, whatever emotional turmoil Blaine may be going through where Kurt was concerned, Finn was probably much worse off. Blaine fought off a shudder at the memory of Tyler's cries and Eleanor's angry screams and how Kurt's face had transformed in front of Blaine's eyes.

Maybe it was better that Kurt had ended things between them. Blaine wasn't sure he wanted to know what went on in the Hudson-Hummel house on a regular basis.

Slowly but surely, Blaine felt the tension leaving his shoulders and allowing his muscles to unknot themselves. Sweat was beginning to collect between his shoulder blades and at the base of his spine, his hair falling out of place. He was so concentrated on driving his fists into the bag as hard as he could that when a strangled hiccough came from Finn's direction, Blaine had to pause what he was doing to make sure he hadn't been hearing things.

Finn seemed to have worn himself out – his punches had grown weaker and even sloppier. His shoulders were shaking slightly, as if he were having trouble breathing. Blaine realized with a start that there were tear tracks on Finn's face, and from the look of things Finn had been crying for quite awhile.

And, like the crappy friend he'd become over the past couple of months, Blaine hadn't noticed until now.

"Are – are you okay?" Blaine asked lamely. It was probably the stupidest question Blaine could have asked at that particular moment, but Finn didn't give any indication that he thought so.

Instead, Finn let out a sort of half-sigh, his arms falling to his sides as he closed his eyes for a second. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, then swallowed and removed his gloves, dropping them onto the designated shelf by the wall.

"I'll see you in classes tomorrow," he said in the most disturbingly flat voice Blaine had ever heard, then strode out of the room, leaving behind only the creak of the punching bag swinging slowly back and forth.


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