Chapter Text
Finn found it weird at first, living with the Hummels, but it wasn’t long before he got used to it. Kurt making breakfast on the weekends for him didn’t hurt. Sure, he definitely still put his foot in his mouth more often than he probably should have, but he and Kurt were getting along and he had a lot in common with Burt. Kurt and Carole got a long maybe a little too well, and Finn had this sense of dread, a feeling in the pit of his stomach that insisted they were plotting something together. But, oddly enough, he didn't mind it.
Finn would like to think of himself as a good brother, but there were instances where he had to doubt that. They weren't the moments where he said the wrong things and his mum chided him and Kurt either laughed or scowled back, his response seemingly chosen at random. No. They were the moments where he missed things, the moments that mattered.
Finn hadn't missed the look on Burt's face when his mum and stepfather came to pick him up from prom early. He could barely see past his own burning anger, but even in the moment he couldn't look past the difference in their faces. His mum looked angry, disappointed, concerned, confused--Finn hated how often she looked at him with the combination of emotions written plainly across her face--but Burt looked blank.
It wasn't an uncaring blank. It was a surprised blank. Like he couldn't trust his surroundings or the scenario. He looked around Finn rather than at him and maybe it took Finn a moment but he managed because, slow as he may be, he wasn't oblivious, wasn't stupid, wasn't blind.
Burt had been so nervous about letting them leave for prom with Kurt's hand wrapped around Blaine's, legs covered by leggings and a kilt, so unapologetically and fearlessly himself. Burt knew at least some of the things his kid went through on a daily basis, knew that Kurt kept a lot of it from him to quell the worry and the ire Burt openly harboured, knew that the words spat over the phone probably hurt more when they were spat to his face, knew that they were definitely spat to his face.
He was looking at Finn (or not looking at Finn) the way he was (or wasn't) because he couldn't believe that out of the three kids he had sent to prom, Finn was the one coming home early.
When Kurt and Blaine made their way to the front door of the Hummel-Hudson household Finn was waiting in the living room. He had been seething on the sofa since he got home, having anger-eaten about half a batch of cookies and a litre of coke straight from the bottle. When Kurt and Blaine walked into the living room he thought nothing of it: rumpled lapels, red cheeks, slightly swollen lips were all fairly self explanatory.
But it didn't take long to notice something else.
"You weren't running for prom King," Finn said it plainly, the burning in his chest suddenly extinguished, replaced with a fluttering sense of worry.
"I wasn't," Kurt spoke plainly back, face schooled into the picture of calm, tone as plain as Finn's own. Still, he didn't miss the way the words wobbled. The golden plastic crown on Kurt's head sat slightly skew-whiff and the sceptre in his hand trembled slightly. He looked like he was trying very hard to stay put together but there were cracks in his demeanor. Finn didn't miss them.
"What the hell happened then?"
"You're looking at Mckinley High's junior prom queen," he tried to say it with humour. He tried so hard. Blaine squeezed his hand.
There was a beat of silence.
"If I find out Karofsky had anything to do with this I'm gonna fucking murder him," the anger was back but stronger.
"He didn't," the voice was deeper than Kurt's and seemed almost grudging to admit that Karofsky wasn't at fault. Blaine grit his teeth.
"It was a prank, standard fag-fare," Finn hated that Kurt called it that. He'd used the word before but after living with Kurt it sounded wrong, like nails on a chalkboard. Even when Kurt said it in His sweet-sounding voice. Blaine frowned at that too, squeezing Kurt's hand tighter. Regardless of how Finn felt about Kurt's terminology, he knew it wasn't that. Kurt usually dismissed that, grit his teeth, but his tongue and made sure everyone else who had heard or witnessed it was fine. He was desensitised to the "standard". He wasn't desensitised to this.
Finn breathed in deeply through his nose. He could vaguely smell alcohol on Blaine and Kurt. Puck must have gotten around to spiking the punch after Finn left. He couldn't believe he'd missed this over his girl problems. He'd missed the opportunity to comfort his brother.
"You accepted the crown," it was a simple fact, one of the few things Finn knew he could say at that moment without snapping.
"Not eagerly," Kurt bowed his head, "I ran out of the room and Blaine ran after me," it went unsaid that no one else did and the anger in Finn only flared "and I wasn't going to let them ruin my night," it seemed like they had but Finn kept his mouth shut "so we went back in and I accepted the crown,"
"Karofsky wouldn't dance with him, so I did," Blaine hadn't spoken much, like he was letting Kurt control the narrative.
"We won," Kurt told him but he didn't sound convinced and, as much as Finn wanted to argue, it didn't seem right.
"Good job," Finn just patted him on the shoulder, letting his hand linger and squeeze. The fabric of Kurt's blazer was nice, he realised, far less scratchy than his own which he had peeled off like it was full of wasps as soon as he was thrown out of the dance.
"I'm going to get changed," Kurt told them both, striding up the stairs two at a time "I don't want to wrinkle my clothes," Finn didn't mention the rumpled lapel,"
Finn expected Blaine to follow after him but he stayed put in their living room. Finn had seen him there hundreds of times, curled up on the sofa with Kurt or dancing in front of the TV as Kurt giggled, but he had never seen a person look more out of place. "We need to talk," Blaine said "I think he'll be up there for a while: I don't even know how to get some of the things he's wearing off," if it was any situation other than this and involved anyone other than his brother Finn would have made a joke about why he might have been trying to figure that out.
Instead he left that alone.
"What do we need to talk about?" Finn knew even before he asked it that it was a stupid question but he had to say something.
"He doesn't make it easy for himself," Blaine ran his fingers through his hair as he sat heavily on the couch. It barely moved. "It was never going to be easy and I don't want him to try to be anyone else, I just wish he'd recognise that people aren't going to like it--I wish he wasn't so optimistic,"
"He knows," Finn wasn't stupid, he didn't always catch the way that Kurt's teeth grinded against each other, the way his upbeat expression became a little more waxy, the more caustic tone his words took on, but he didn't always miss them either. He knew that as much as Kurt brushed off the words they always stuck in at least a little. "Everyone here makes sure he knows and doesn't forget--Hell I used to--and I really don't think he's optimistic about anything, not really. Everyday it's phone calls or being pushed into lockers or thrown in dumpsters or threats or insults or slushies or the odd brick through the window. He's just trying to be optimistic because otherwise he has to be miserable," Finn didn't know maths or history or Spanish or girls but he did know family and music. And Kurt was tied to both.
"He just-" Blaine sighed and Finn sat down next to him "He just brushes everything off until he can't and then he doesn't know what to do. I bet you don't know about some of the things that happen to him because he won't speak about them. Karofsky threatened his life and he's already back. I bet you don't know half of that story either,"
"What do you know that I don't?"
"I can't tell you but that's part of the problem. It's all part of the problem. He doesn't mention things, he keeps Karofsky's secrets at his own sacrifice-"
"What secrets?" He asked desperately but he went ignored.
"Even when he does tell none of it gets taken seriously. Like time after time the world is proving that you can do whatever you want to Kurt Hummel and you'll get away with it,"
Finn wanted to ask about Karofsky again, wanted to know what Kurt was hiding from him, but before he got the chance to press Kurt came walking down the stairs. His footsteps were muffled by the thick socks he was wearing alongside soft, loose flannel trousers and a too-big t-shirt that had once been Finn's. He remembered giving Kurt that shirt when he saw the silk pyjamas he usually wore and felt like he should have a more comfortable option. He rarely wore it.
"I heard that," he didn't sound angry or annoyed and he walked straight into Blaine's arms.
"You aren't arguing," Finn watched the back of his head, not missing the calming movements of Blaine's hands on his brother's back.
"Can't," his voice was muffled as he spoke into Blaine's shirt, "Don't tell cos it's stressful," Kurt always was more concerned about Burt than himself, "and either way nothing happens," it was then that Finn realised he was crying and he couldn't do anything about it. Blaine pulled him somehow closer and Finn just watched from the other side of the room, hands hanging lamely by his sides, unable to do anything at all.
"I'm going to tell Burt," Finn decided and, as he crossed behind Blaine to walk up the stairs, Kurt lifted his head, watery eyes full of betrayal. He shook his head gently and a tear dislodged itself from his eyes, rolling down his smooth, porcelain cheek. "If I tell him," he stopped right before Kurt, looking him directly in the eyes "He might agree to let Blaine stay with you instead of on the couch,"
"Oh,"
"It's junior prom but we all know nothing will happen after this," Kurt giggled into the fabric of Blaine's shirt. It was weak but Finn decided it was a good sign regardless.
He bounded upstairs and gave Burt and Carole a quick rundown of the story, getting out as much of what little information he had before Burt's anger pulled him to his feet.
"That fucking principle," he growled and Finn recoiled a little. He didn't remember having ever heard Burt swear before, "He doesn't do anything to help my kid or keep him safe, he didn't have to read that name, he didn't have to allow write-in votes!" Carole had her hands on his shoulders but they weren't doing much.
"He's not going to want to speak to us," Carole's voice was soft and it never failed to calm Finn down. Burt deflated a little but his face was still flushed red and the curve of his lip still screamed murder.
"Tomorrow," Burt conceded with a huff "Thank you for telling me Finn, we all know Kurt wouldn't have. And tell Blaine that he can stay with Kurt tonight but we aren't making a thing out of it,"
"It's a special circumstance," Carole restated "So don't you dare try to use this as a bargaining chip," Finn honestly hadn't even been considering it. Maybe he would when he wasn't so focused on how pissed off he was.
"And the door stays open!" Burt insisted as Finn left the room.