Work Text:
At precisely 12:37AM, the Hummel house falls silent.
No steady breathing, no late night television crackling in the background, nothing. Nothing except a faint clatter you’d only hear if you were listening for it.
At 1AM, Burt Hummel arrives home and immediately falls asleep on the couch.
“Kurt!” Burt yells from downstairs at 6:53AM, “Kurt, you’re going to be late!”
His hands press together a sandwich that he wraps up to tuck into his son’s lunchbox. He checks his watch and sighs, “this kid.”
Burt grabs the plate he set out for Kurt, flooded with bacon and eggs. He takes off and the stairs squeak under his lumbering feet. He traverses the entire stretch of their house, exhaustion pulling at his shoulders. A long day of work awaits him, a long day he won’t make it to in time if his son isn’t awake.
He knocks heavily on Kurt’s door. “Kurt, kid, I’m opening the door. You better be—”
At 6:55AM a ceramic plate is dropped, shattering at Burt Hummel’s feet.
“Oh my God.”
At 6:59AM there are whirring sirens racing to the Hummel house.
At 7:09AM, he is declared dead.
By 7:31AM the news reaches McKinley High School.
Rumours of methods and reasons and sob stories float beneath desks and through lockers. Notes pass and articles are shared.
At Kurt’s locker, a small memorial has begun to form.
Only one person watches instead of honouring him, standing guilty in the sea of moving people. He clutches his backpack tightly and scoffs, turning around and storming a way.
At 12:30PM, the lunch room thrums with unease.
One particular group of talkative teenagers stir their unappetising lunch food in absolute silence.
None of them glance up, speak, or even dare to blink lest a stray tear roll from their eye.
They pretend like nothing’s wrong.
When the school bell rings at 3:30PM, the choral room fills with blurry eyed students.
Before even reaching their seats there’s a clamoring of: “Mr. Schue, is it true?” “Mr. Schue, please tell us it’s all wrong.”
Mr. Schuester ushers all the teenagers to sit down, and once they’ve fallen silent, he clears his throat. His throat is thick with sobs he’s been holding in for hours.
“A few hours ago, I called—” a sob breaks through his words, “I called Burt, Mr. Hummel, I’m so sorry—”
Tears flood from student eyes before he can even finish his sentence.
“Glee club is cancelled today, guys, um.” He sniffles, “if you need anything, come find me.”
The room filters out slowly, repressed guilt sitting achingly in their chests.
What did they not notice? Why didn’t they notice it? They should’ve. Why didn’t they?
Frustrated and simply sad swirls of guilt wash over all of them, and then sink sadly into their chests.
They all blame themselves.
At 4:30PM, once the high school hallways are cleared, mental health posters are plastered up in every classroom.
At 5:42, two girls sit in a car outside of a froyo shop.
“Santana, are you sure you’re fine?” Brittany asks, gently placing her hand on Santana’s thigh.
Santana swipes it away, and lies stiffly. “Yes, Britt, let’s go get our froyo now.”
“Okay, because I’m not.” Brittany barely even whispers, a tear coming down from her eye.
Santana is weak. She cries too.
At 6PM, there is one lonely man sitting at a dinner table across from where his son should be.
At 8PM, the guy from the hallway earlier finally breaks.
He rocks himself on his floor back and forth, sobbing. And when his dad walks in and asks what’s wrong, he lies. “Nothing’s wrong, dad, I just got emotional.”
“Is this about that kid, David? Uh, the Hummel kid?” His dad suggests.
“No, Dad. God. Just leave me alone.” David stands up and shamefully walks out of his own bedroom.
At 9:34PM, a lesson plan about musicians who struggled with mental health is arranged.
They will sing tributes to honour them, and him.
At 10:31PM, Finn sits in his bedroom when his phone rings.
“Hello?” He says, confused at the unknown number.
Hurried words rush from the other end of the line, “it’s not true is it? It isn’t true?”
Finn scoffs, “who is this and why do you have my number?”
“It’s Blaine—Kurt,” his voice breaks, “Kurt gave it to me for emergencies.”
Finn’s heart sinks. “Yeah, it’s true.” He sniffles.
Before the line cuts, Finn hears the most devastating sob. And then it does. At 10:33, Finn returns to absolute silence.
He knows that eventually his mom will knock on his door and say, “if you need to talk, I’m here.”
He thinks he will just hug her.
At 10:35PM, he goes to say goodnight to his son.
He makes it to the door handle before he cries again.
When 12:37AM rolls around again, the entirety of Lima, Ohio, for once—and likely never again—is still.