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Title: Crack that Wrist
Pair: Klaine
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of suicide, depression, homophobia, and violence against children
Word Count: 956
Summary: Kurt checks his newsfeed before Glee practice and finds a disturbing story.
AN: Context: I don’t know if anyone has been spreading this around. I’m like Law and Order. I pull things from the news:
This fucker. This FUCKER.
No, really, fucker? You were misquoted in an AUDIOFILE? People are saying not nice things about you after you told people to break the wrists of their gay sons, give ‘em a good punch? Well, I never!
Kurt’s eyes are almost comically wide as he stares at his phone. Stares at it like it has betrayed him, become some kind of anathema. He slowly takes his earbuds out, hands shaking, and stares straight ahead as he sets it aside. His eyes close. He looks down. He swallows. Swallows down whatever hurt just came out and struck him.
From across the room where he is sitting with the boys, Blaine spots how still Kurt has grown, and wonders. He wonders if Karofsky just sent Kurt a scary message, or if Carole sent bad news about his dad. He leaves the boys who are hanging around talking about this wrestling thing downtown they want to go to and comes over to Kurt’s side. He takes his hand, and it is a little cold. Kurt looks at him and unsuccessfully tries to force a smile.
“Church does bring families together,” Kurt had once said, bitterly. “Around a grave.”
Mr. Schue is coming in when Kurt leans close to Blaine, shares an earbud, and lets him listen to a Baptist preacher in North Carolina advocating breaking a child’s wrist.
”Dads, the second you see your son dropping the limp wrist, you walk over there and crack that wrist. Man up. Give him a good punch. Ok? You’re not gonna act like that. You were made by God to be a male and you’re gonna be a male.”
Kurt’s hand moves over his stomach, and he starts breathing in and out slowly. Blaine feels nauseated, too.
And tears come to his eyes. He feels angry. Furious. There is fire in his belly and under his skin. He stands up so abruptly that Kurt jumps, and Mr. Schue stops writing on the board. Blaine pushes his hands into his hair, and grits his teeth, and he wants to just scream, or punch something.
Kurt’s strong arms circle around his waist from behind, and he rests his cheek on Blaine’s shoulder silently. Blaine is glad that he’s there, chest pressing against his back, because he feels like he might fall out of the world at this moment.
“Guys, what’s going on?” Mr. Schue asks. The others stare.
“We need a minute,” Kurt says quietly.
Blaine needs more than a minute. He needs a week. A month. A lifetime. He knows he shouldn’t be shocked by people’s hate anymore. But there are times when it is so raw, so nakedly and proudly displayed that the reaction can only be visceral.
Especially when their community has been so recently rocked by the tragedy of self-extinction, attempted or otherwise. Especially when one of the early conversations Blaine had to have with Kurt involved them admitting to certain feelings of depression and promising to look out for one another. Especially when they have both experienced violence, blows that order them to stay in line with the conviction of righteousness behind them. Defending the “natural.” Defending “God.” And Blaine knows that Kurt experienced his first when he was young, too young. Just as this false man of God advocates with a laugh and a room full of people nodding along to his every vile, hate-filled word.
Their teacher moves towards them again, and Kurt moves away from Blaine, just for a second, to hand his phone to Rachel, who fiddles with it and begins to play the file again on speaker phone.
The room listens.
“That man is not a Christian,” Quinn says in a low voice. Teen Jesus nods.
“Yes, he is,” Kurt snaps.
Quinn’s eyes fix on him coldly.
“He’s just not a human being,” he continues, terse and cold.
Mercedes purses her lips, says nothing, but gets up and wraps her arms around them. Rachel follows. Soon they are in the middle of a wall of girls. Even Santana, who so routinely bashes Kurt’s gender that Blaine has started not to notice it.
‘Not cools’ come from the guys. Mike joins the wall of girls and meets Blaine’s eye with a troubled frown. Mr. Schue erases the word he’d started to write up on the board. Something like, “Spri,” and he writes up, “Tolerance.”
“I’d rather have acceptance, honestly,” Blaine mutters.
“For real,” Mercedes says.
“And I’d rather have a guy like this know what it feels like for someone to break your wrist because they don’t like who you are,” Kurt says with a sour cheerfulness. “But we’re not getting that, probably. We’re going to get a short flurry in the media, not even mainstream, and his flock complaining about gay people bullying him, and nonsense about the first amendment as though it should protect you from the consequence of your own stupidity, and then shock and dismay, the next time the news lifts its head out of the sand to cover yet another suicide.”
So that week, they sing songs about “Acceptance.” The club is running short of ideas, though. They’ve done this so many times before, so many songs, trying to make things better, boost their spirits and be proud of themselves as they are, just through lifting their voices.
The girls stick closer to Kurt and Blaine for a few days. Blaine gets more pats on the back from the guys.
By Thursday, everyone has forgotten why Kurt is in such a pissy mood, and why Blaine just hovers near him, not saying much at all.
Pair: Klaine
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of suicide, depression, homophobia, and violence against children
Word Count: 956
Summary: Kurt checks his newsfeed before Glee practice and finds a disturbing story.
AN: Context: I don’t know if anyone has been spreading this around. I’m like Law and Order. I pull things from the news:
This fucker. This FUCKER.
No, really, fucker? You were misquoted in an AUDIOFILE? People are saying not nice things about you after you told people to break the wrists of their gay sons, give ‘em a good punch? Well, I never!
Kurt’s eyes are almost comically wide as he stares at his phone. Stares at it like it has betrayed him, become some kind of anathema. He slowly takes his earbuds out, hands shaking, and stares straight ahead as he sets it aside. His eyes close. He looks down. He swallows. Swallows down whatever hurt just came out and struck him.
From across the room where he is sitting with the boys, Blaine spots how still Kurt has grown, and wonders. He wonders if Karofsky just sent Kurt a scary message, or if Carole sent bad news about his dad. He leaves the boys who are hanging around talking about this wrestling thing downtown they want to go to and comes over to Kurt’s side. He takes his hand, and it is a little cold. Kurt looks at him and unsuccessfully tries to force a smile.
“Church does bring families together,” Kurt had once said, bitterly. “Around a grave.”
Mr. Schue is coming in when Kurt leans close to Blaine, shares an earbud, and lets him listen to a Baptist preacher in North Carolina advocating breaking a child’s wrist.
”Dads, the second you see your son dropping the limp wrist, you walk over there and crack that wrist. Man up. Give him a good punch. Ok? You’re not gonna act like that. You were made by God to be a male and you’re gonna be a male.”
Kurt’s hand moves over his stomach, and he starts breathing in and out slowly. Blaine feels nauseated, too.
And tears come to his eyes. He feels angry. Furious. There is fire in his belly and under his skin. He stands up so abruptly that Kurt jumps, and Mr. Schue stops writing on the board. Blaine pushes his hands into his hair, and grits his teeth, and he wants to just scream, or punch something.
Kurt’s strong arms circle around his waist from behind, and he rests his cheek on Blaine’s shoulder silently. Blaine is glad that he’s there, chest pressing against his back, because he feels like he might fall out of the world at this moment.
“Guys, what’s going on?” Mr. Schue asks. The others stare.
“We need a minute,” Kurt says quietly.
Blaine needs more than a minute. He needs a week. A month. A lifetime. He knows he shouldn’t be shocked by people’s hate anymore. But there are times when it is so raw, so nakedly and proudly displayed that the reaction can only be visceral.
Especially when their community has been so recently rocked by the tragedy of self-extinction, attempted or otherwise. Especially when one of the early conversations Blaine had to have with Kurt involved them admitting to certain feelings of depression and promising to look out for one another. Especially when they have both experienced violence, blows that order them to stay in line with the conviction of righteousness behind them. Defending the “natural.” Defending “God.” And Blaine knows that Kurt experienced his first when he was young, too young. Just as this false man of God advocates with a laugh and a room full of people nodding along to his every vile, hate-filled word.
Their teacher moves towards them again, and Kurt moves away from Blaine, just for a second, to hand his phone to Rachel, who fiddles with it and begins to play the file again on speaker phone.
The room listens.
“That man is not a Christian,” Quinn says in a low voice. Teen Jesus nods.
“Yes, he is,” Kurt snaps.
Quinn’s eyes fix on him coldly.
“He’s just not a human being,” he continues, terse and cold.
Mercedes purses her lips, says nothing, but gets up and wraps her arms around them. Rachel follows. Soon they are in the middle of a wall of girls. Even Santana, who so routinely bashes Kurt’s gender that Blaine has started not to notice it.
‘Not cools’ come from the guys. Mike joins the wall of girls and meets Blaine’s eye with a troubled frown. Mr. Schue erases the word he’d started to write up on the board. Something like, “Spri,” and he writes up, “Tolerance.”
“I’d rather have acceptance, honestly,” Blaine mutters.
“For real,” Mercedes says.
“And I’d rather have a guy like this know what it feels like for someone to break your wrist because they don’t like who you are,” Kurt says with a sour cheerfulness. “But we’re not getting that, probably. We’re going to get a short flurry in the media, not even mainstream, and his flock complaining about gay people bullying him, and nonsense about the first amendment as though it should protect you from the consequence of your own stupidity, and then shock and dismay, the next time the news lifts its head out of the sand to cover yet another suicide.”
So that week, they sing songs about “Acceptance.” The club is running short of ideas, though. They’ve done this so many times before, so many songs, trying to make things better, boost their spirits and be proud of themselves as they are, just through lifting their voices.
The girls stick closer to Kurt and Blaine for a few days. Blaine gets more pats on the back from the guys.
By Thursday, everyone has forgotten why Kurt is in such a pissy mood, and why Blaine just hovers near him, not saying much at all.
