Archive of Our Own

There are a few things that Finn has learned while living with Kurt that keep his stepbrother from murdering him, or worse, revoking cake privileges.
 
 First of all, dirty clothes should be shoved all the way under the bed, if even a sleeve is showing Kurt’s been known to freak out and stand over Finn while he cleans his room.
 
 Second if there is food in the fridge that has cling-wrap on it, it should have cling-wrap on it when Kurt takes it out of the fridge, even if Finn’s finished, like, almost all of it.
 
 Third, and most importantly, when that playlist comes on, duck and take cover.
 
 Luckily it’s easy to listen for, because it’s all the music that his brother has but would never admit to liking. Gone is the 50s swing stuff or the mushy musicals. The tempo on this playlist is loud and fast with guitar shreds and a heavy drum-line. And quite frankly a lot of the songs have tragedy or blood and a lot of grungy anger.
 
 Personally, Finn actually likes most of the songs on it. For all of 5 minutes, until he realizes that the playlist only comes on when Kurt’s in a blind rage.
 
 It usually plays for maybe 15 minutes tops, but this particular Saturday, it’s been going strong since 6am. Finn wasn’t even aware that Kurt had this much angry music in his iTunes library.
 
 By 10am, it’s starting to get on Finn’s nerves a little.
 
 “Wanna go and work off some steam?” Burt asks, from his doorway. He practically has to shout to be heard over Green Day.
 
 “Where to?” Finn asks, flicking off Little Big Planet. He’d tried to play COD all morning, but the angry music was killing his concentration and his death count was way low.
 
 “I was thinking Kurt might like to go to the shooting range for a bit,” Burt says. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to miss that green witch singing.”
 
 Finn nods passionately.
 
 “I’ll go get the guns out of the cabinet,” Burt says. “Think you can manage Kurt?”
 
 Finn pauses to listen to the music coming down the hall. This one he knows from the radio and he’s pretty sure it’s actually about someone shooting people. “I think so,” he says hesitantly.
 
 “Good, be down in 5,” Burt says. “And if he puts up a fight or says that he has to be Blaine’s nursemaid today, tell him it’ll only be an hour, hour and a half tops.” he heads downstairs and Finn moves down the hall towards Kurt’s room.
 
 “Hey Kurt?” he calls out tentatively, knocking on the door. The song has changed again and at least whoever’s singing isn’t threatening to shoot people. Finn takes it as a good sign. “Burt wants to take us to the gun range.”
 
 The music stops abruptly and Finn braces himself for an attack. Kurt rises so quickly that Finn sees a momentary blur and he throws his hands up towards his face, afraid that Kurt’s tipped just slightly into insane and is going to haul off and hit him, but the fist never comes. Instead, Kurt brushes past him.
 
 “Excellent, let’s go.” he says, already halfway down the stairs before Finn can really register what’s happening.
 
 “Hey!” Finn calls after him, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up. “What’s up?” he asked, laying a hand on his stepbrother’s shoulder.
 
 “I’m not sure how it’s escaped your notice Finn,” Kurt says as patiently as he can, “but I’ve spent the whole week wanting to kill Sebastian.”
 
 Finn blinks rapidly. “No I got that.” he says slowly. “But—”
 
 “But I’m against inflicting violence upon another human being.” Kurt nods, waving his hand in front of himself, as if to wipe the point away. “Fortunately for that drowned rat look-a-like, the gun range doesn’t actually allow you to shoot people. So I won’t feel too badly while I imagine blowing the smirk straight off of his stupid meerkat face.”
 
 “You know,” Burt says, standing by the door, boots already on, “you could have just asked to go.”
 
 “Dad.” Kurt says, pausing only long enough to slide his feet into his Doc Martens. “Be honest, if I had come to you today and asked you to take me to the shooting range you probably would have sat me down and had a talk instead.”
 
 Burt pauses in sliding on his jacket. “Damn you’ve got me.”
 
 “I do,” Kurt says, mouth twitching into a smile. “Did you pack the 22 Winchester Special Edition?” he asks. “I want something with a little dramatic flair.”
 
 “That’s the one with the shiny handle.” Finn confirms.
 
 “Honestly, don’t they teach you anything in those video games?” Kurt says. “Yes, Finn, it does have a shiny handle.”
 
 Burt chuckles. “Yeah, and I’ve got the 44 Hornet for Finn too. Come on, let’s get going. And I’ll drop you at Blaine’s after.”
 
 “Alright,” Kurt says, picking the gun box and running his fingers over the case. “But only for an hour. I need to—-“
 
 “You’ll be there for Blaine,” Burt assures him.
 
 Finn grins at them and grabs his lettermen jacket from the hook on the door and follows them out to the car.
 
 “If the range is busy,” Kurt says, safely stowing the equipment in the back. “Can we find one of the permit spots?” He slides into the seat next to Finn in the back and Finn eyes him warily.
 
 “You really want to shoot something,” he states plainly.
 
 “I really wish you guys would tell me what was in that slushy.” Burt says as nonchalantly as possible.
 
 “I told you dad, we’ve handled it.” Kurt informs him shortly.
 
 “Yeah Santana got Sebastian to —-”
 
 “FINN!” Kurt says, punching his arm.
 
 “No, go on Finn.” Burt says calmly. “Kurt, we all know that it was more than a slushy, but we’ve got nothing unless you kids fess up.”
 
 “There is nothing to fess, Dad,” Kurt says, his tone clipped and final.
 
 “So you’re telling me that a slushy cut Blaine’s cornea,” Burt says evenly.
 
 “I’m telling you that the Dalton headmaster and Figgins are apparently looking into it and why doesn’t everyone ask Sebastian,” Kurt snarls. He takes a deep calming breath and Finn watches as his index finger twitches as if pulling the trigger back.
 
 “Alright,” Burt says. “You know, I was talking to Blaine’s parents, and they said that the police have decided that he must have just fallen on some gravel in the garage,” his eyes flicker up to watch Kurt in the rear-view mirror. Finn notices that an angry red blush is creeping up Kurt’s neck towards his face, but he’s not cracking. “So that Sebastian kid will probably just get a couple days suspension for bullying.”
 
 Finn thinks he sees Kurt’s right eye twitch. That alone is scarier than the idea that the playlist played for 4 hours straight this morning. He leans over to Kurt and whispers. “We could just tell him.”
 
 “We gave the tape to Sebastian,” Kurt says, speaking only out of the right side of his mouth, “so no proof.” His eyes flicker downwards and Finn can almost hear that Kurt is internally berating himself. Finn feels guilty for pushing the issue so he drops it, focusing on the back of Burt’s head. Very quietly, he thinks about Rock Salt and Slushies and Santana’s underboob tape and he hopes that Burt can read his mind. After all, it works in the movies.
 
 He must have been thinking really hard, because the drive to the range seems shorter than it usually does and he wonders if he passed out from thinking so hard. He stretches as he gets out of the back of the car but Kurt’s already heading straight to the range, his boots leaving prints in the dust of the parking lot.
 
 By the time that Burt and Finn get situated, he’s already fitting a pair of personalized headphones over his hair and aiming at the flimsy paper target dangling 15 feet in front of him. He lets of a slow blast of bullets and—it’s weird, but Finn swears there’s a rhythm to it. He watches fascinated because the speed that the bullets are leaving the gun is now increasing. He watches Kurt carefully and he swears Kurt is singing.
 
 “He had it coming. He had it coming all along.” Kurt sings along to his ipod softly, his voice cold and high, as the bullets rip through the centre of the paper. “He only had himself to blame. If you’d have been there, if you’d have seen it, then I betcha you would have done the same.”
 
 Finn blinks because he can almost hear the song. Rachel liked it, so it was likely from one of the musicals she tried to get Finn to watch. He sees that Kurt has his iPod earbuds snaking out of the headphones and into his pocket and he realizes in horror that the playlist has just followed them here. He turns to tell Burt, but finds that his stepfather is nowhere to be found.
 
 He shrugs to himself and picks up his own gun, which Kurt has shamelessly teased him as being for children. He’s about to fire his first shot when Kurt slams his hand down on the button to bring the target forward. He places his gun down again carefully and notes that almost all the bullet holes are on top of each other and all of them are perfect and centre on the target.
 
 “Maybe you should send that to Sebastian,” he says softly to Kurt, who either can’t hear him over his music as he loads another target on the hooks or is choosing to ignore the suggestion.
 
 Finn swallows and decides that it’s probably best to let Kurt be for now. He turns back to his own booth and starts to place his own headphones over his head when someone taps him on the shoulder.
 
 “I didn’t know you shoot,” Puck says, leaning lazily against the divider. Finn grins at the sight of a familiar face. Puck’s wearing camo pants and a black shirt imprinted with white letters that read “Welcome to the Gun Show”.
 
 “I don’t usually, Burt’s got a membership here,” he says proudly.
 
 “I came down here because there was the sweet sounds of someone who actually knows what they’re doing,” Puck explains. “Was it you?” he asks, pointing at Kurt’s discarded target which now lies closer to Finn’s booth. “Man, maybe you’ll stop sucking at paintball now.”
 
 “That’s not mine,” Finn starts as another rapid blast of shots are fired to their direct left. This time Finn’s pretty sure it’s the same rhythm as that song about the school shooter.
 
 “All the other kids with the pumped up kids you better run, better run…” Kurt sings to himself, confirming Finn’s worst fears.
 
 “Is that Hummel?” Puck asks in disbelief. “Wait is that Hummel’s target?” He leans so that he can see into the next booth and his eyes get wide with glee. “When did you teach Hummel to shoot?”
 
 Kurt puts his gun down carefully and lowers his headphones, draping his iPod buds around the back of his neck. It’s loud enough that Finn can clearly hear the last song change from shooting to hospitals “The I.V. and your hospital bed…”
 
 “I taught him to shoot, Noah, not the other way around,” he says, and it’s clear despite the noise level coming the combination of firing guns and loud, angry music, he can’t hear every word that’s been said. Years of bullying left him hyper aware of his surrounding.
 
 “No way,” Puck says, the smile on his face almost as terrifying in it’s pure delight at this fact, as Kurt’s need to lay waste to two targets.
 
 “This,” Kurt says, holding up the Winchester, “is mine. Not Finn’s, not my dad’s. Mine.”
 
 Puck practically shudders in delight at the thought that Kurt is some sort of badass and he’s had no idea for the last three years. “What are you listening to?” he asks. “I mean you can’t listen to musicals while you shoot Hummel, that’s just wrong.”
 
 “I disagree.” Kurt says, reloading his gun with new ammo. “Chicago has a great score. As does Assassins.”
 
 “There’s a musical called Assassins?” Puck asks. “Why have you and Berry been holding out on us?” The smile on his face is growing and Finn’s starting to feel uneasy.
 
 Kurt rolls his eyes and turns back to his own target, replacing the headphones on his head. Puck shifts from standing in Finn’s booth to standing behind Kurt, watching hungrily as Kurt fires a single bullet straight through the centre of the paper.
 
 “Damn Hummel, I’d never have thrown you into dumpsters if I’d know what a sharpshooter you were,” he says in awe.
 
 “Gee thanks.” Kurt says dryly, turning back to his target.
 
 “So what’s got your panties in a bunch?” Puck asks. “I can’t see you hanging out here,” he gestures around at the dark walls and fading posters demonstrating proper gun safety, “for fun.”
 
 “Sebastian,” Finn supplies, beginning to feel left out.
 
 Puck gives Kurt an exasperated look, even though Kurt isn’t facing him and is instead quite intent of very thoroughly destroying the target in front of him. “We should have gone to paintball and shown those Warblers what an attack on New Directions really means.”
 
 “And what does it mean?” Kurt asks dryly, pausing before his next shot, eyes never leaving his target. 
“It means no one hurts one of our own without experiencing payback.”
 
 “We’re not hurting the Warblers.” Kurt says slowly. “There’s no victory in violence and there’s even less victory in—-”
 
 Puck cuts him off, clearly bored of the high horse Kurt’s riding on. “Blaine is having surgery,” he starts. “I’m pretty sure—-“
 
 But what he’s pretty sure of, Finn will never know, because the air is suddenly alive with 8 bullets shot in rapid succession at the target. It’s completely destroyed, paper bits fluttering to the ground. He looks at Kurt, eyes wide and Kurt’s shaking violently. Puck looks at Finn and Finn looks at Puck and very suddenly everything clicks into place.
 
 “Blaine’s surgery is today,” Finn says slowly as Kurt lowers the gun. “He—-it was early in the morning wasn’t it?”
 
 Kurt nods numbly and stares at the gun with wide eyes, then down at his own hands.  
 
 “They left for Columbus around 6,” Kurt says. “It’s outpatient so he should be home soon,” his voice is quiet, constrained and straight to the point. A sharp pain in Finn’s chest flares up when he realizes that’s what Kurt sounded like all of junior year before Blaine. “His mother is going to call when I can go over,” he holds his hands up to watch them trembling slightly. “We should stop, I can’t shoot like this,” he packs the gun away and presses the button to retrieve the thin sliver of paper still hanging.
 
 “They make pretty good fries here,” Puck says lamely. “We could grab some while you wait.”
 
 Kurt nods shortly. Finn packs up his own gun, looking a little mournfully at it because he didn’t get to shoot at all. Puck and Kurt stand next to each other, waiting for him and Puck tilts his head over to listen to Kurt’s music.
 
 “Dude,” he says. “You should stop listening to that. That’s some dark shit.”
 
 Kurt looks down at his earbuds in surprise. “It’s Repo,” he says.
 
 “They’re wailing about surgery, no wonder you laid waste to the target.”
 
 Kurt’s stance turns defensive. “I didn’t create the playlist today,” he says icily. “It’s just what I have on my iPod.”
 
 “Well it’s way too dark when your boyfriend’s in surgery,” Puck shoots back. “What about your usual Streisand stuff?”
 
 “You just told me that you can’t listen to any old musical while you shoot!” Kurt says, raising his voice.
 
 “Fries,” Finn reminds both of them before it can come to blows. Not that he thinks Kurt would really hit Puck, but that look in Kurt’s eye he has Finn second guessing exactly what lengths Kurt is willing and able to go to today.

 “It’s not all blood and guts.” Kurt says defensively as they head to the tiny strip of snack bar.
 
 Puck shrugs. “I’m just saying that music can mess with your head dude,” he says. “It’s got — what’s Schue always talking about? Imagery?”
 
 “I’m fine, thank you for your concern.” Kurt tells him stiffly.”It’s outpatient surgery. Hundreds of people have it.” His words sound stayed, rehearsed, not nearly as natural as even most of his limited acting experience.
 
Puck leans against the counter as they watch the frozen fries being submerged in the fryers. “So—-you shoot.” he says lamely.
 
 “My dad’s always had guns,” Kurt says. “So it started as gun safety. I just happen to enjoy it sometimes when I’m—-“
 
 “In a blind rage over Blaine’s eyes get lasered on?” Puck says, then winces. “Too soon dude, sorry ‘bout that.”
 
 “Amongst other things,” Kurt says, wincing. Puck gives him a sympathetic look and grabs the tray of hot fries off the counter when they come up. He brings them over to a table and motions for Finn and Kurt to sit.
 
 Finn grabs a bunch of fries, dropping them when he realizes that they’re actually really hot. He sucks on his fingers and looks at Kurt.
 
 “You should eat,” he says, knowing Kurt won’t touch greasy food without a lot of prompting.
 
 “I will,” Kurt says absently, pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking it, adjusting it in the air to get the best signal possible.
 
 Finn picks up the fries again and stuffs them in his mouth before he can think about how hot they are.
 
 “I’m sure he’s fine,” he tells Kurt through a mouthful of greasy goodness.
 
 Kurt nods slowly, but his face is drawn and he’s staring at the phone like he can will it to ring.
 
 Puck looks at him and makes to touch Kurt’s shoulder but changes his mind at the last minute. “Seriously, dude, Blaine’ll be back up and making heart eyes at you in no time,” he says awkwardly.
 
 “Burt!” Finn says suddenly, relieved to see his step-father.
 
 “Dad!” Kurt says, getting up from the table abruptly. “We should go, it’s almost noon and—-“
 
 “Did they call?” Burt asks, laying a hand on Kurt’s shoulder and pushing him gently back into his seat.
 
 “No.” Kurt says dejectedly. “But I just—I should be there when they—-“
 
 “We’ll go when they call. Just sit tight,” Burt says. “You’re still strung pretty high, kiddo, maybe you should shoot off another round.”
 
 “Hey Mr. Hummel,” Puck says.
 
 “Hey yourself Noah,” Burt says, sitting down between Kurt and Finn. “So, when were you boys going to tell me about the rock salt?”
 
 All three of them go so quiet that all they can hear is the faint echo from the range down the hall.
 
 “How’d you find out?” Finn asks finally. Had his silent thinking actually worked? Is it possible that he’d actually developed super powers?
 
 “Well you mentioned Santana,” Burt says. “And she’s smart enough to keep the tape.”
 
 “She told me that we gave it to Sebastian!” Kurt says, and his face registers just how annoyed he is that Santana lied to him. 
 
 “Apparently it was blank,” Burt says. “Smart girl.”
 
 “His dad’s a State’s Attorney!” Kurt cries out, rising again.
 
 “Funny,” Burt muses, leaning back in his chair slightly and taking a fry from the platter, “I thought Congressman was higher than State’s Attorney.”
 
 “It totally is,” Puck assures him. “We just took it in Civics.”
 
 Kurt’s fuming now, “Sebastian is just going to get worse if we get him expelled,” he says.
 
 “And this is why you all still need an adult around,” Burt says. “I’m giving this tape to Blaine’s parents when I drop you off today and I’m not gonna hear another word about it.”
 
 Kurt slams himself back down in his seat. “Fine,” he says.
 
 Burt twirls the tape between his fingers. “You sure you don’t need to shoot off another round?” he asks again.
 
 “No,” Kurt says sullenly, toying with his phone. He glares at it and an uncomfortable silence settles over the table. Burt, Finn and Puck pushes the fries around amongst themselves, all four of them stiffening when the phone does let off a shrill tinny blast reminiscent of P!nk. 
 
 Finn wasn’t even aware someone couldanswer the phone that fast.
 
 “Hello?” Kurt says breathlessly. “Okay, yes, I’ll be right over,” he says, “Do you need anything? No, alright, is he okay?” The words come spilling out his lips, fast and furious. “Oh good, good. Thank you Mrs. Anderson,” he finishes politely. “See you soon.”
 
 Finn wonders if Kurt actually has the power to will things with his mind, because that was uncanny. Kurt stands again and collects his things, staring pointedly at the three of them. Puck grabs the fries and he and Finn bump shoulders on the way out to Burt’s truck.
 
 “Are you coming with us?” Kurt asks, but his tone is lighter now, like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders.
 
 Finn looks confused. “Yeah, we were worried about him too?” he says, responding as if maybe it’s a question, like Kurt will tell him if he’s wrong or not.
 
 “I suppose,” Kurt says. “But he’s just come out of surgery so you have 5 minutes.”
 
 “Oh man, he’s going to be doped up. I bet Anderson on drugs is hilarious,” Puck says as he and Finn slide into the backseat.
 
 Kurt raises an eyebrow at him from the front passenger seat and frowns. “This is why you’re not staying,” he repeats.
 
 Burt chuckles as he drives them all the way to Westerville in what Finn thinks must be record time (Kurt does not think this, and very loudly tries to tell Burt all the shortcuts along the way until finally Burt asks who exactly is driving).
 
 They pull up in front of Blaine’s house and Puck whistles appreciatively.
 
 “Nice pad,” he says as he hops up.
 
 Kurt surveys him up and down. “I cannot believe I am bringing you here wearing that,” he says as he makes his way up to the house.
 
 “Why, are the like super snooty?” Puck asks, following him up the steps.
 
 “No—” Kurt says. “But they’re use to —— Dalton boys.”
 
 Puck grins, “Well if Dalton boys can throw slushies at people in a garage after nightfall I’m sure I can fake it until I make it.”
 
 Kurt sighs and knocks on the heavy wood door.
 
 “Is like a maid going to answer?” Puck whispers to Finn.
 
 Finn opens his mouth to answer, but before he can, the door is pulled open and they’re greeted by a petite woman with a big, bright smile. 

“She’s dressed real well for a maid.” Puck says softly and Finn is about to correct him that in fact this is Blaine’s mother when she begins to speak.

 “Kurt!” she says, ushering them inside. “Hello Finn, Burt —-” she peers good naturally at Puck for a minute. “You must be Noah. Blaine’s told me all about you.”
 
 Puck blinks down at her. “Hello, er,  Ma’am.” he says slowly.
 
 “I’m afraid Blaine’s very, very loopy. But they said the surgery went perfectly.” Mrs. Anderson says. “You boys can go on up and see if he’s up to talking though, he was very chatty in the car.”   

 “Chatty is good.” Kurt says, his face a relaxed smile now. “I’ll send Finn and Pu—Noah, down in about five minutes.” he says, leading Puck and Finn up the stairs. 
 
 “I’ll keep your father entertained in the meantime,” Mrs. Anderson says, as Kurt heads up the stairs. 

 “I actually have something to talk to you about,” they hear Burt tell her as the adult make their way down the hall into the kitchen. 
 
 “Don’t be overly loud, or oafish,” Kurt warns them as they reach the landing. “He’s recovering.” He takes a step towards Blaine’s room when the door is thrown open.
 
 “Kurt? Kurt? Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, Kurt? Man, I love you name!” Blaine announces, appearing in the doorway. His new eye patch and bandage are larger and there’s a bruise under his eye like he’s been punched. He’s wearing a Dalton P.E. hoodie and a pair of jeans and his hair is gelled in place. But the most noticeable thing of all is that his smile is so wide that Finn is worried it’ll crack his face.
 
 “Blaine you shouldn’t be up,” Kurt tuts. “Why are you still dressed.”
 
 “Because I was waiting for you,” Blaine says. “And I’m fine, I’ve got tons of energy,” he takes a step forward and swaying in part from the lack of depth perception but mostly from the amount of narcotic in his system.
 
 Kurt catches him easily and Blaine wraps him in a tight hug. “Mmm, I love your sme—-hey! Puck! Finn! You’re both here! What are you guys doing here?”
 
 “Coming to see you, dude.” Finn says with a grin. “Congratulations on the successful surgery.”
 
 Blaine grins. “Thanks!” he says. “I’ll miss the pirate gear but yay for two eyes!” he drags the yay out so that it becomes five or six syllables as he squeezes Kurt tighter. 

 “Alright, back to bed,” Kurt says, taking charge of his rather handsy, drugged up boyfriend.  

“So what did you do all day?” Blaine asks, finally detaching himself from Kurt and practically sashaying back to the bed.
 
 “We went to the gun range,” Finn offers.
 
 Blaine, who is nearly back to the bed stops abruptly where he is and turns slowly, his smile even wider now, so he looks mildly deranged.
 
 “Kurt did you shoot?” he asks gleefully.
 
 “Blaine, not now,” Kurt hisses. “Lie down, remember.”
 
 “He’s always telling me that he’ll take me to the gun range,” Blaine tells Finn and Puck. “Because he knows that it turns me on,” he plops himself down on the bed and spreads himself very neatly across the right side. 

Puck chokes on nothing. “He—you—-what?” he stammers.
 
 Finn throws his hands over his ears as a precautionary measure.
 
 “Blaine! Shhh!” Kurt says, flapping his own hands wildly. “Alright, Finn, Noah you’ve said your hellos and well wishes now it’s time to leave.”
 
 “Are we going to have sex again when they do?” Blaine asks innocently. “Because I’m kinda sick of the no visa south of the border thing again.” 

Finn looks wildly at Puck, hoping they can make a quick exit, but Puck’s looking rather gleeful himself.

 “No.” Kurt says, gritting his teeth. “You’re going to sleep this off.”

“But you were just at the gun range.” Blaine whines, shifting so he’s sprawled on his side. “And now I’m thinking about you being all James Bond and me being your Bond girl only in a speedo and not a bikini. And I wouldn’t be evil, I’d be—-“

“Yes, yes maybe later!” Kurt says hastily. “Later we’ll talk about this Blaine. Now you sleep.” 
 
 Blaine makes puppy eyes. “Well will you sleep with me?” he asks. 
 
 “Yes,” Kurt says with a soft smile. He moves to the door and very pointedly ushers Finn and Puck out.
 
 “Bye Blaine, see you soon!” Puck calls out as they leave.
 
 “Bye dude,” Finn says as Blaine waves them off happily. Finn turns to follow Puck down the stairs but stops and turns to Kurt instead. “You okay now?”
 
 Kurt folds his arms over his chest and smiles slowly. “Yes, I am,” he says.
 
 “No more playlist?” Finn asks tentatively.
 
 “Not this weekend,” Kurt promises. “Make sure that dad doesn’t stay too long talking to Mr. Anderson about the Buckeyes.” he says. “I hear he has a police report to file.” 
 
 Finn grins at him. “Guess the playlist was kinda worth it,” he says.
 
 “Guess it was,” Kurt agrees. “Now go, I have a ridiculously high boyfriend to take care of,” he says, as they hear Blaine warbling out the soft strains of a poorly thought out Katy Perry mashup at them.
 
 “Good luck.” Finn says.
 
 The playlist might be one of the things Finn fears most, but the dopey smile his step-brother wears as he disappears back into Blaine’s room is one of the things he likes best.